Jun 18, 2019
In Opening the Narrative
The new story of my life is neither new or a story. It’s truth. In the shape of my new days I’m now filled with easy love where my labored lungs are able to exhale without effort. I’m singing the song of play, and joy, and bounty. The story of my life is not a script that needs to change. I’m done ripping at roots, transplanting flowers, and finding new seeds. Now, my hand are in the dirt to feel and remember that the nutrients are already here, were always there - nothing is missing. My life is not a syllable-filled story. It is muscle, bone, and matter. It is blood and cells and heart-bursting life force. My past is not just tragedy, fiction, or a police report where my self is overpowered and I am made a stranger or character actor in my own home. I'm no longer burdened by intrusion, insensitivity, or violation of others - which does not mean I forget or am not impacted. I recoil at the notion that my life is a story I just need to describe differently, as though facts and history can be glossed over with happy thoughts or different words. What of accountability, facts, and justice? What of clarity as the rock-hard foundation and truth-telling as bridge to building new pathways where moving over and moving on is possible? There’s nothing wrong with me. The story of my abuse does not bring up shame in me. In fact, it’s not even my own. It belongs to my abuser, and their abuser, and so on. I’ve been impacted. I understand that and complexity. People are sometimes careless, cruel, messy and criminal. People can be tie dye shirts in the washing machine bleeding out onto anything and into everything in their shared orbit. Sometimes tragedy is the result of sharing the same cycle as someone spinning out. It’s not always personal. Humans are the ones who wash and the ones to be washed. We are the ones who dirty and the ones who get dirtied. I’m not an either or an or. I know who I am, where I am, what I’ve lived, and lived through. I also know people can change. I take no responsibility for what was done to me but that does not mean I don’t remember it all or take responsibility for creating a world filled with less pain. I will not forever be at war with my life, my symptoms, myself or my past. I'm tired of scribbling out the same lines, crimes, deeds, and stains left tattooed in and on me. I'm also aware that I have left marks and scars on others, that I am a person who has, in m pain, left scar on others. I’m going to give back the pain that does not belong to me. I'm going to return the pain that was acted out on me and let it go. I'm going to take up the pain I have caused others and tend to that. I'm going to own myself, even my own mistakes, but not more so that my soul can soar. I'm more than old or new, broken or healed, weak or strong. It's not a new me I need to be. In my dreams, I am fluid, flexible, and free. I am running out towards the light and unafraid to be seen. Even the pen as my sword I can sometimes put down long enough to dream new dreams. Today, I want only a spoon to feed myself with. Today, I’m hungry for a fork sharp enough to stab the dreams on my plate. Today, I want to feed on hope so I can savor, delight, devour and taste it all without leaving behind crumbs, juice, or regrets. There is bounty enough for all of us. I want my biggest stress to be about where and how to share abundance. I have always been and will remain - underneath it all. Dirt is older than pain. The soil, the land, the earth, my soul is ever present for the returning to. Note: This free-write was posted yesterday on my Heal Write Now blog and here today. The title of this piece came from a writing prompt given by Donna Jenson during one of her online writing circles in which I've been an eager student. I've been in a strange and new place where I've felt my own voice changing when it's always been clear, strong, and singular (even when I've not felt those things). Now, my voice is a bit wobbly as my center feels more firm. It's not writer's block as much as it is writer's unblock. My feminist fury, rage at injustice, and my mid-life spirituality are all figuring out how to co-mingle and co-exist in my psyche, soul, and skin. And there's also more space. Maybe forgiveness, compassion, confusion? I'm not even sure. I still don't totally sound like me, even to me, and I've decided to share the writing anyhow because it's writing in transition. We don't have to be all the way to wherever there is to say where we're at right now. This image is of a bag I bought at a store recently. Five years ago, when I started Heal Write Now, "be the author of your story" was my tag line and it seemed radical to me. Now, those exact same words don't speak to me the same way. Here's where I am today. I am uncertain about certainty. I am certain about uncertainty.