Pulse

Not long ago, it was pointed out to me that I fear rejection more than death, and in the moment, that made perfect sense to me... upon further reflection, I realized that thought process may be in the minority, and it is what keeps me paralyzed in my own head.  In an attempt to further unpack all this, I have been challenging myself to seek out where that originates within me... I frequently feel as though I am missing the glaringly obvious connection points... all of this shit has got to correlate somehow, I just cannot, for the fucking life of me, see how. 




Part of me wants so desperately to rid myself of that hollow, empty, loneliness that lurks in the deep pockets of my consciousness.  But I am also aware of the need to honor all of the fragments that form who I am.  I know they all have to do with a frame I built long, long ago.  Crafted partially out of cultural and social constructs, partly out of a subconscious story I've been telling myself most of my life, which makes it all seem so tough to dismantle.

Each time I experience another genuine glimmer of myself, I like it... which is why I am confounded as to why it appears to be such a struggle to pull those authentic pieces of myself to the surface.  Lately, I am recognizing more of the ways in which I hide those parts of me.  I guess maybe hiding is the wrong word... maybe those pieces are shrouded or skewed, hiding under layers of carefully contrived boobie traps.  Luckily, my consciousness allows for a tiny few rays of light to filter through my cracks... so even when the innocent, frightened, little girl I sometimes refuse to acknowledge, retreats to what's left of her partially dismantled wonder wall, my soul tribe members develop an extraction plan and dispatch a search party.  Upon emerging, I am able to look back and survey the progress.  Each time I revisit what used to be the fortress of my defenses, I dismantle yet another piece of that crumbled skeleton and further the rebuild which is my new frame.

I would have never guessed this process to be so paradoxical. I am constantly wrecking to re-build, dismantling to re-assemble, and retreating to emerge. While I hate those uncomfortable stretches that accompany inner expansion, I love them at the same time. I am fairly certain that nothing will ever be crystal clear, but I am also pretty sure that I do not I want it to be... I do know that these awarenesses are not to be taken for granted.  They are sacred in a way I cannot begin to articulate.  It is vital that I extend myself that same grace I so freely give others... I need to remember that the same facets that draw me to the souls of others- those cracks and imperfections, those little intricacies that can only be truly appreciated close up, those elements of a person's composition that speak to us on an inarticulate and intangible level- are precisely what make up the authentic self, and therefore, authenticity is no more complicated than breathing-and it is the very ACT of covering all that up that robs the world of the sublime and exquisite beauty that is this human experience.