Facebook memories took me back to a post I made years ago, to a poem I wrote called Wings of Death. As I was reading it, I was trying to remember which metaphysical death I was referring to, and I realized that while there were many metaphsyical deaths happening during that time, the death of that poem was referring to me literally wanting to die.
While part of me knew that what I was experiencing was temporary, and would end, most of me could not see the end in any real way- and in that horrible place of darkness, that seemed to last forever, I desperately wanted to die. Death was the blanket I wore.
Something of me did die, lots of somethings, but it wasn’t my form, and I have experienced many tangos with metaphysical deaths since, as shedding of the old and growing into the new is in accordance with the laws of nature/life.
Fast forward to now, where there is also a death happening. Except that this time there is something profoundly different: there isn’t the weight, the despair, the hopelessness or the stuckness that have existed in my many tangos with metaphysical deaths. For some reason, I can deeply feel how this death is inseparable from liberation, and in that knowing brings there is such a different resonance.
This death brings expansion, hope, possibility, and curiosity. As I’m letting go of lies, of fantasies, of half truths, of survival strategies, I feel the widening and deepening of who I am, as well as the health of life herself.
Being raised to believe dysfunction was reality, it is amazing to have clarity to discern what real functionality is, and is not, and to act accordingly.
It is profound to be aligned with health, to choose functionality. It is a radical shift of orientation, and it changes everything.
And I also feel the rest. Awkwardness, unease, and, vast amounts of grief. The grief I’m ok with, most of the time. Grief doesn’t have to make sense for it to be true, and, this grief makes a lot of sense to me. With each constriction of my energetic system digesting the old, I feel the expansion of new. The grief of release brings with it the expansion of growth- the clearest resonance of the intertwinement of birth and death I’ve ever known. Mutuality.
A dead leaf falls off and a new bud appears. It’s simultaneous and amazing. There is awe, and pain.
And and and… I’m in a new dynamic- and it’s like I have struck gold for the most fertile and harrowing ground to explore the dying and birthing parts of me. If I’m not staying grounded it can easily turn into insecurity and doubt, with an accompanying loud persistent whisper, asserting the patterned and entrained narrative that I was raised believing: my not enoughness. My young one’s fear comes poking her head in… and she tries to convince me that I have to fawn to avoid people’s displeasure of me, people’s dissatisfaction with me. She tries to convince me that I have to adjust, I have to hide, I have to tone myself down, I have to be quiet. The liberated part of me feels this restraint, and she gently says- “no fucking way, my love. Uh uh”, while the patterned young part of me feels the fear of releasing this preoccupation of other, and tries to trick me to stay small.
I see that young one. I acknowledge her. I bring her in. I give her milk and cookies. We hang out and read. When she tantrums /fights or flees, I give her space to do so. When she needs comfort, I give it to her. When she freezes, I breath with her. When she fawns, I slow down with her. And, I do not reduce myself to her. My adult Lisa sings loudly, dances boldly, says the things, and is true to the mundane Lisa bits that are Me.
I extend patience to myself. I am learning this day by day. Sometimes I *will* restrict. Sometimes I will pull back. Sometimes I will shush. It’s ok. It’s not a race. It’s not a race. It’s not a race.
Maybe you’re on this journey of discovery too. Maybe you too feel insecure. Scarcity. Doubt. Maybe you’re aware of your past relationship trauma, and have familial patternings knocking on your door.
Remember: You’re also ok. There is security here too- always nearby. Always Here, too.
To all my loves who are also on this journey of authenticity: You don’t need to adjust to my insecurity, or fawn to my fawning when I invertedly slip into that, and nor do I towards you. You don’t have to take care of the parts of me that are scared and afraid, and nor do I with regards to you. AND, let’s stay slow with each other.
My loves, thank you for seeing me. Thank you for slowing down with me. And thank you for naming your truths, too. I love slowing down with you. I love seeing you. I love that we are living, and dying, together through healthy interdependency. I love us.
Photo Credit: Josh Davis