The world was still last night. I sat in the quiet and felt held down to the earth, uneasy in the way everything held its breathe. This morning a wild wind rages through the trees, just beyond my window to the right branches sway and dead leaves drop; I understand the wind, the way it bends the trees, comfortable in the difficulty for its roots are deep. Such a drastic difference, last night and the coming day though both influential in order and chaos, and I feel it echoes the internal work, to be honest about the state of things, whether my heart is still and silent or wild like this blowing wind.
The Winter is leaving soon, I watch as the last remnants of a cycle die away, making sacrifices for budding branches and emerging new life. So too I watch my heart, much like a stubborn leaf holding in vain against the wind, how it refuses to let go. Perhaps the stillness bothers me because it reveals what waits in the silence. The tension in my body now, an electric truth making itself present and known inside my chest – it leads me to continue in spite of myself, and explore this pain; running straight into the hurt is where the healing hides. I could mask this, I could distract myself. Shit, turn up the music and dance, nothing wrong with that, but what waits when I am tired and need to rest? The same nagging insight that I am running, but instead should stop and slay the dragon who won’t leave until I face it.
Layers, that is what the game is all about. You peel one down and heal the wounds beneath, only in time in some other fashion find yourself needing to dig deeper. I caution myself to ever believe this work is done, but sometimes wrestle with resolve because it is an exhaustive battle. It is hard to be this honest, but one thing the work teaches you is that it IS the purpose; to shed the burden, to face the hardest parts and accept or adjust what is and what isn’t true. At times I am staring up a mountain I could never climb, so I think until I take that first step, though the pride of reaching the top too soon eclipsed by a horizon with higher peaks and steeper cliffs… this is the journey, this is the work, and I am learning to endure it better with each new opportunity to face myself, though it be quite difficult at times.
My chest buzzes, a familiar sensation I’ve come to accept as part of this path I’m on, in this body I passenger living this story of Christina. For years I resented it, labeled anxiety and attached with it so much unpleasantness, it felt like a burden I couldn’t lift, couldn’t control, and had no utility other than misery. Now, well, now I understand that I do not have “anxiety”, I have history stored in my fibers, in my tissue, in the energy that makes up my being, and from time to time it comes to reveal to my consciousness the work that needs to be done. Sometimes I never arrive there, to the center of the pain, other times I know exactly what I am facing and only fight my own resistance to let it pass through me. It is heavy work, but my experience is that it ultimately is more beneficial to face your shadows than run from them. I’ve examined my own heart, I’ve faced my own death more times over, and in more detail, than I can ever describe. I’ve seen what it looks like, the pain I carry in my chest, and I’ve buried my deepest losses in the sands of eternity while grieving death both of love and of flesh. Still, nothing I’ve seen within me, nothing I’ve uncovered in this process of healing, nothing I’ve thought or intuitively understood, has been quite as difficult as this one part. This part I just never seem to be able to fully accept or let go, and when I am standing beneath this mountain, shaking legs and exhausted before ever taking a step forward, I understand why my chest aches, why now it comes to show me, teach me, help me, but to receive here I have to hurt. I have to let it flow and remember my roots are strong though the wind ravages me as I accept what I am facing.
Pain grows as the words go dark, for words can only do so much, go so far. This process of writing only documents truth, yet serving this moment of painful acceptance there cannot be words in the way. This is soul work, this is refinery of the woman as she runs into the wind and where it takes her she must just say thank you and lean into it. This is the journey of a healing heart, in the stillness and in the wind. Someday my journey will end, and there will be no more mountains, yet I’ll never know that day to be my last for it only comes when breathe leaves and I go silent, still. Right now, the wild wind, cold and reckless, beckons me to break, yet instead of submit, I harness it and push it through me, every fiber, every cell, ravaged, until the pain is swept away once more, some part of my heart softened, healed. I am tired, but let it be; time won’t stop for me to rip myself apart, and so then comes the hardest part…