sacrament & salt

The concept of reaching into my past confused me. How could reliving something so far away, so distant, so disconnected, heal me in the present? What could a story I’ve read many times tell me new? I could not make heads or tales of this. Why was I encouraged to search the story of my past for clues to the life of my future? How could digging with dirty nails into closed wounds do anything but cause more blood and sticky tears? Yet, that’s what we’re told to do. That’s what all modern, pop, western psychology tells us. To heal truly, it must be done. But WHY? *shakes fist at Cloud Daddy. What possible purpose could pulling up the weeds of a defunct, rotten, and loveless childhood do for a grown ass woman? Why peer into the looking-glass of time, to meet eye-to-eye with myself in child form? Crucifying the mother and father would only makes them martyrs. Retelling my sad sob story seemed masterbaturtial, and pleasureless. Self-sanctifying and embarassing. So, naturally, just like most things I didn’t truly understand because I just didn’t care to, I rebelled. I pushed it down. Deep. Deep freezer deep. Gone. Forgotten. I was fine. These things no longer bothered me. These were not the underlying reasons for my current chaos. I was the reason for my current chaos. I am the chaos. I’m impulsively reckless, inherently insecure, cocky and cocksure, a pushover, an explosive bitch, overly sensitive and decidely ice cold.  I’m a mess. I can’t seem to figure out basic adulting neccesities others conquered decades ago. No matter how much pain I cause myself. And others. A wayward, friendless, jobless, homeless, directionless mess.

I’m all these things. I’m also warm, patient, empathetic, exceptionally bright (my mother’s words), and aware. I’m effortlessly creative and mutli-talented. Quietly perceptive and quite intuitive. More than anything, I’m complex. And if you’re reading this, as are you, because we all are. Everything is. Until it isn’t. I’ve come to learn the true world in which we live is a world of opposing dynamics. To push back with effort springs you freely forward. Only by trudging upward against gravity, can we experience the joy of soaring down. Only by waiting through the dark, can we feel the joy of playing in the light. Only by suffering through pain, can we now revel in appreciative pleasure.  But knowing something can very often (astoundly often) not mean one understands that very same something. We often think we do. Until we know we do. These are very different experiences. My journey is about exploring these polarities, as yours is as well.

Now, all of this sounds great to discuss theoretically.  However, I was lost and confused in how to do this searching exploration, had no idea how one would go about such a quest. Didn’t care about caring because I thought I knew what I truly came to understand later. Thus was my crux. Thus is the human crux. But, like most quests in the stories of our heroes, they come smacking us in the face, dragging us by the pinky toe, pulling us away from our soft, comfy delusion, demanding our attention and participation, whether we want them or not. We are thrown around and thrashed about until beaten into submission. Come willingly or not, but baby pack them bags nonetheless. It’s gonna be a wild ride. You are on your own hero’s journey. What you’re meant for you will find you, even if you do everything you possibly can to not look it in it’s big, beautiful hazel green eyes.