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Of Rage and Love

So, I am sitting here.
Right now.
And I can feel this part of me.
This not so little part.

I watch her.
The little green monstery looking fluff.
Living in rage.
In fear.
In smoke and mirrors.
Because being seen is on the agenda.
And she is not just hiding.
That doesn’t do her power justice.
She rips and claws.
Pulls every bit of me that she can manage behind these thick, red curtains.
For reasons I don’t think I even have words.

Yet there she is.
This scream that wants to rise from my belly.
This ache to crumple in on myself.
This paralyzing apathy that just sits.
This haze that swirls in confusion telling me I don’t know what I want, when really…I so fucking do know.

I can fight her.
I have.
She wins.
Because she has a skin in the game the whole of me never will.
So I won’t.

I will love her.
Because it’s what I do.
Not because it will fix her.
She doesn’t need my patronizing glare.
But because I am more of my Self when I do.

And then I will listen.
To a knowing.
That this moment.
Right now.
Is an invitation.
To not hide.
To show you.
My Self.
I will remember that when I know the invitation.
I can hear my Soul.
And when I hear my Soul.
I can honor the adventure.
That is way bigger.
Than what this moment seems to be.
And though I don’t know what it all means.
I will accept the invitation.
To show up.
To not fix.
To heed the call.
To live the adventure.
To embrace the wildness of my human experience.
To do the shit that I do.
To be seen.
As is.
As I am.
In this moment.

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