"It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are." ~ E.E. Cummings
"to gain your own voice, forget about having it heard. become a saint of your own province and your own consciousness." ~ allen ginsberg
Worthiness. The objectification of her glow. Societal pressure. You are anything. But. Worthy. Enslaved. We give our lives in servitude to this belief. offering life for the expression of her love. I mean, the only ones that seem to matter. material objects, tools meant to support, empower, and enable us to live to the heights of our fullness. Societal pressure. We’re lost. Forfeit of power. Working for something they’ll never let us believe. Worthiness. We are manipulated, poisoned. Reminded we are anything. but. Worthy. Lied to. Left, numb and complacent, in this. Terror.
Material objects don’t bring happiness, I know that — I’m happy — I’m not looking to these tools for that. I’m looking for support. I’ve bought their lie. Poisoned. I’ve been manipulated. I’m lost in the middle trying to reconcile the distance. Limbo. Abundance don’t close your door on me. Begging, pleading. As if life knows anything but provision. As if life would do anything other than sustain itself. As if life knows anything other than love. This. Life.
"One day you will wake up and there won't be any more time to do the things you've always wanted. Do it now." ~ Paulo Coelho
Poisoned. I’ve bought the lie. Manipulated. Lost. Consumed with the desire for something they’ll never let me believe. Worthiness. I’ve forfeited my power. I’m terrified. Destitute. Alone. This terror.
I bought the lie. “Give your soul to me and one day you’ll be worthy. Give your soul to me.” I walk that line. I dip my toes. I’m not sure what’s happening. Maybe I gave in? Dedicating my life to “busy” trading my days for the promise. Empty. Worthiness. I haven’t been in a situation that I felt like I couldn’t get myself out of in a long time — not since I was little. Since I began slaving for these expressions of her love. I mean, the only ones that seem to matter. material objects. breaking my back to keep her in my life. Societal pressure. Worthiness. They remind us, we are anything. But. Worthy.
Is this what she’s supposed to feel like?
I got used to the slaving. to feeling unworthy of her love, until I gave blood sweat and tears to earn it. You see, the soul and ego. Worthiness. Unworthiness. Two sides. One coin. It’s easy to get these facets of the one character confused. One energy, many manifestations. Abundance she provides, in a magnitude of ways. money is just one of the ways she shows her face in doing so. So why the attachment to that face? Material objects, tools. Societal pressure. Why the willingness to trade our lives? Success. Arbitrary. Don’t we see in the world that which we intentionally focus on? What are you choosing to focus on? Maybe it’s time to clean the lens. Who can you trust? In a world that would love to have you believe you are anything. but. Worthy.
"When you get to a place where you understand that love and belonging, your worthiness, is a birthright and not something you have to earn, anything is possible." ~ Brene Brown
I’m done struggling for her. I’m worthy. I Am. I’m me. You’re worthy. You’re you. I’ve worked hard for everything I’ve ever had and I’ve got news for you, even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be any less worthy. Abundance blesses all lives, with a variety of her faces. Let’s not get too attached to one of them. I know. Easier said than done. I’m with you. Unworthiness. This lie. Spoon fed. Poisoned by. This terror.
I’ve been talking a lot about taking responsibility for our own lives lately. Even more, I’ve been thinking about it, a lot. Here I am petrified. Scared of taking further steps towards my own freedom. Terrified to go out on that ledge, to take yet another leap. To free fall. Net-less. Isn’t this faith? Faith I said I had? Interesting. Unworthiness. The terror.
I’ve had a sad story to blame — my whole life — for why it was the way it was, why I had to make the decisions I made. Stick around. I’ll tell you. Some day.
There’s great power in the stories we tell ourselves. What stories are you telling?
What stories are you blaming? For your life.
The story only matters in explaining how we got here. It isn’t about the story, it’s how we respond to our story that counts. It’s what we choose to do with it. This is power. This is freedom. To choose. What are you choosing?
“I am responsible. Although I may not be able to prevent the worst from happening, I am responsible for my attitude toward the inevitable misfortunes that darken life. Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have – life itself.” ~ Walter Anderson
Here I am, realizing that I’m bargaining for life. Bargaining for my vision of success. Comparing it to others. Impossible. It’s mine. Perfectly tailored. Undeniably unique. Incapable of being duplicated. This wonder. This vision. This life. This point of view. My love. Unique. Experience.
What do we do when we see something in our minds? Dreams. Visions. Magic. Something that isn’t being done. What if we see the beautiful mirage of a road, gently paved with stardust, in a whispering wood. What do we do? I have a vision. I see the path. How do I get there? Do I go against the grain, do I risk this feeling of societal drowning, of dying, with no promise of freedom on the other side? Do I risk it all for the love of my vision?
What do we do? Who can we trust when the majority of the world doesn’t understand? Where do we go?
"The world will suffocate you with labels and expectations if you let it. Conditioned Identities. I don't want to hide anymore. Please. I'm tired. I just want to be me." ~ LVV
I’ll tell you what. I’m not immune to the blind spots within myself. Unworthiness. With terror. She visits me. Terror her accomplice. He does his best to test me. “How bad do you want it? You think you’re ready, for freedom? They all think they’re ready.”
We’re so busy trying to be machines, we’ve forgotten that we’re people. Standing outside the crowd. This. feels like dying. Terror. He beats me down. Bleeding. Gutted. Crying. I’m begging for relief. Overwhelming. Dizzying. This terror.
I fight through my tears, grasping at strength. Reaching for what I know. Something to count on. I don’t know if I’m ready. What I do know is I’m done bargaining for life. Societal pressure. Believing their lies. Poisoned. I’m done. The time has come to put my faith in myself. The faith I thought I already had. She comes in waves. Reminding me of what I need. Illuminating the dark spots, left ignored. The work to still be done. Brutal. Loving. Unrelenting. Life. Once again. She surprises me.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." Psalm 23:4
I have been so terrified of standing on my own two feet whilst convincing myself that I had been. Illusion. It’s trickery. Working in a job for years that offered me many gifts along my path and yet, never fulfilled my soul. I have been trying to find the easiest road around it. This. My next move. This valley of the shadow of death. This valley I’m terrified to pass through. I have sought the easy road and I have called it tenacity, I have named it grit. I have sought well paved paths and convinced myself I was following the one least travelled. True, somewhat, partially. Relative. I have never given all of myself to the light that beckons or the dark that calls. I have lived between the worlds, too scared to cross the threshold. Uncommitted. I have been a slave to my own mind. Politely following set rules, conditioned patterns, old paradigms. Not trusting. Me. This is the pattern. Feeling unworthy of my own trust. Being in my own corner. Surrendering unto myself. This is the challenge. Commitment. Going all in. Faith. Trust. Believing that truth shall prevail above all. Disrupting the stories they told me of how I could be anything. But. Worthy.
"Be brave to stand for what you believe in -- even if you stand alone." ~ Roy T. Bennett
Where am I? I am here. I knew that it would always come to this. I knew that I would arrive here. This is the terror that I have spent my life trying to avoid. I had a plan. Save myself or be saved — but never face this terror. The terror. He eats me from the inside. Spiders crawling in my skin. I can’t move. Broken glass. Shattered dreams, dreams that were never sought. Staircases. Folded. Descending into darkness. The pit. Empty. Bottomless. Consuming. This terror.
How many of your dreams have been shattered, because they were never truly sought? How many of you have felt the terror, trembling with fear, feeling as if you are dying, petrified to believe in yourself?
How many of you have left your dreams on the staircase that you’ve folded before you ever climbed it?
A Night Thought
"Thou must go forth alone, my soul! Thou must go forth alone, To other scenes, to other worlds, That mortal hath not known.
Thou must go forth alone, my soul, To tread the narrow vale; But he, whose word is sure, hath said, His mercy shall not fail.
Thou must go forth alone, my soul, To meet thy God above: But shrink not; he has said, my soul, He is a God of love!
His rod and staff shall comfort thee Across the dreary road, Till thou shalt join the blessed ones In heaven's serene abode." ~ Mary A. Jevons
I ask for willingness. I ask for courage. I ask for tenacity, grit, bravery in my corner. I ask for these things from myself. As I take the path less traveled, unpaved, dark and desolate. I accept, graciously, the rights to my own freedom. I will prove them wrong. Those who would have us believe that we are anything. But. Worthy.
Can you hear me? Do you feel me?
What stories are you blaming? For your life.
Who can you trust? In a world that would have you believe you are anything. But. Worthy.
I’ll tell you, my dear. You can trust me. I promise you, you are worthy. I know the struggle you’re going through. I have lived it. The stories are different, they always are, the details they vary. But. I know the burden you carry. The essence. I can feel it. The pain. The fear. The fog of the unknown. The terror. Dizzying.
What do you see? Tell me your dreams. No matter how big. No matter how small. Take my hand. You can trust me.
Together we will pave a path on the staircase of your dreams, through the whispering woods. Take my hand, I will guide you through the dark and thickened forest. We will blaze a starlit path, for the love of your vision.
My dear, you can trust me. You have the courage. Take my hand.