I've often said this to feel a glimpse of my own humanity, the weakness inside and even my fear. This time, it's not an excuse or an apology but more of a beautiful declaration. Ya, I like that. Poetical bravery I called it in an earlier writing.
Will...sheer will power, the strength to place mind, a thought, empowered by heart before the darkness of fear...is a super-power.
I know only this way to evolve from the stagnation of pain into a spirit creature, one with the wings that are shackled to my sides from the choices that held me back.
I've plagiarized from the great minds that proceeded me, coupled my own life experience as a mixer and served it up as an original craft cocktail, made exclusively by me and you know what...I've come to have heart in the power of story, of second chances and the true hugs of loving fellow travelers that don't let go while in their grip.
That little kid, you know, the one inside I had to go get re-acquainted with...well there are three of them, 8, 14 and 18...all fine young men that got left behind somehow in the dysfunctional process of well meaning parents that, god love em, just did the best they could. Time is spent just sitting with these little guys, hearing their anger, their viewpoints on the injustices of their years and my only reply is, "I hear you and I love you."
We've come to an agreement, these three young ones and me, that I, yes I will be their parent and they've agreed to intentionally check in with me to be heard and felt. Perhaps now the self-sabotage and compulsive behaviors will slowly subside.
Yes, it seems so.
I checked into that fancy slope-side hotel the other day, you know, the one that's practically deserted between ski seasons and is at sub $100 prices.
Winter Park, you are glorious! Mmm, that hot tub was nice.
A lonely pool table and I became good friends as a new home brew they proudly make right there in house was sampled. Seems everyone is a brewer here in Colorado. Love these hills.
As I sit here writing, starring at the duality of rich blankness of the slopes, I think about life, the power at my fingerprints to create whatever it is that I want, to love, to be loved and slowly the grief held deep within subsides.
"There just isn't room any longer, you simply must go and I honor what you taught me, the richness of soul you gave me. Your job is done, I'll take it from here, thank you very much," I playfully, yet sternly negotiate with myself.
Like mourning a loved one, we grieve the time lost all with a slight steadfastness that better days are coming, that the time in the emotional cave was not for nothing and we built a strong foundation with the rocks hurled at us, maybe even intended for our demise. I've come to know this as, "hope".
I feel like a star athlete that trains all season to receive that ONE throw, that one maneuver that will position his team to victory. But nobody can train for him and he's in total isolation when his toned body is stretched long, one arm reaching beyond capacity to place his fingers upon the laced leather cradled to his body right before crossing the finish line.
He hears the announcer scream with excitement, "Touchdown!" The crowd goes wild!
Train. We must train. Dang...I dreamed of the announcers roar, I imagined the sweet victory and experienced the agony of defeat and in the end, made the longest and hardest trek of my life....the eighteen inches from my head to my heart.
To cross this finish line, well friends, it was worthy of the sacrifice. Depression, it seems like an invitation now, a pleading to connect, to love myself completely and take that same passionate fervor into the world and give to others. "I am worthy."
Even now, I have to sit with that statement, wait for the quality product of this universe to be manufactured and delivered to my door. I've got time, sweet time.
There is a knowing-ness inside me. My vision is clear.
My feet are grounded.
Oh West here I come, this cowboy is coming to town. Giddy-up! (Yes, I just said that. Sorry.)