No one told me to search.
No told me that becoming myself was more important then becoming part of someone else.
No one told me to create is to be alive.
No one told me to be purposeful.
No one told me about the fear that appears when we are not connected to ourselves, our breath, our desires.
No one told me I would have to die many figurative deaths and I would be born over and over again.
No one told me that these deaths are good and that, although they ache, my strength is still going to be there shuddering and cold, but reachable.
No one told me to want more, to strive for depth, to crave and stand on my highest tiptoes to peer over the wall I come up against.
No one told me there was a garden on the other side of the wall; lush, blooming and bursting with possibility.
No one told me it was okay to climb that wall. To not be confined by it. To not let it block my path.
No one told me the white painted brick would slip beneath my bare feet and the wall would be higher than I imagined.
No one told me the view from the top of the wall was magnificent and true.
No one told me I would stand on the wall and contemplate going back to the side of the wall that was familiar and that moment would define me.
No one told me that when I jumped into the new garden from that great height, I would vibrate with the impact.
No one told me of the joy of the new garden, the spongy leaves, the sunshine, the shade of the willow, the crackle of a nearby creek.
No one told me that running through the garden would elate me.
No one told me that I would tire from the running.
No one told me that just when the garden seemed infinite and drenched with abundance, I would reach another white painted brick wall.
No one told me this wall was an opportunity, a new blessing.
No one told me I would have to scale another wall, rejoice in the discovery of a different garden, only to meet a new obstacle.
So I continue to climb, live in the garden, climb the next wall and so on. The beauty is in the accumulation of walls and gardens. These are layers that enrich our soul. These are coats of effort and growth and learning and love. They conspire to pull us forward, but we fight it. Our minds dart from one thing to the next, our thoughts the metal orb in a pinball machine. The trick is to be in the moment. To slow down the cycle, feel where you are. To be aware of what part of the journey you are on. To be accepting of the now so you can find its gift and it’s place in the scheme of things.
I understand now that no one could have prepared me for the unfolding of my life. No one could have told me that some days I would feel like freshly washed linens hanging on a clothesline, flapping in the sunshine, carefree and in love with the sun. No one could have told me other days I would be soiled clothes balled up in the hamper: putrid, sweaty, damp.
No one could have explained there is this swaying to life because, although I could hear it, I couldn’t possibly absorb its truth until I was buried in it. The most valuable lessons come from within. I have felt the warmth of the light come through those places where I have been cracked open. No matter how deep the yearning to transfer what I have learned to my children, I know their deepest nourishment will come from finding their own route.
May we uncover life’s riches in our own way and may we have gratitude for each piece of the journey.
Thank you for allowing me to speak my truth. Feel free to comment below.
If you enjoyed this post, please click on the share button below to spread the love.