Down!
God it feels good to be moving through the days of my program.
I felt super good today, even with starting the day with Trauma class.
Which.
Well.
Is oft-times traumatic.
However, having done so much of my own work around trauma I feel pretty grounded and able to hold myself in the stream of information that is being shared and to share my experience, not someone else’s experience.
I have been privy to much information that is confidential over the years and many confidences of delicate nature, trauma, abuse, sexual violence, stalkers, bad jobs, violence, drug abuse, emotional abuse, troubled relationships with partners, children, spouses, parents.
I have heard so much trauma and witnessed so much that I am surprised that I am not inured.
Rather.
I am impressed.
I am a little bit awed, in fact.
By the ability of us humans to heal and grow despite, or perhaps because of the nature of the pain that has been experienced.
This is not to say that I wish for you a traumatic experience, it is rather to acknowledge that holy fuck I have done the damn work.
I have shown up.
I have held my space, my heart, I have eaten out of the palm of pain and I have lived to tell the tale and in the telling, grown, blossomed, survived, thrived.
Despite, not because of the trauma.
I am graced in the knowledge that walking through the fear is never as hard as the fear wants me to believe.
I get to do this work and I am so situated that I have been allowed to go to graduate school and pursue it and be a kind of healer in my community.
This is a blessing.
This is a gift.
A gift that carries a burden that could be hard to shoulder had I not already done so much to strengthen myself and move my own stuff out-of-the-way.
That’s not to say that I won’t come up, that it hasn’t come up, that there is not some ugliness there or terror to shed light on, there is always room for growth, for more blossoming and even when it is the dead of winter I know that the plum trees will bloom on Church street and the act of walking, my face lifted to the blossoms pressed against the night sky will carry me forward through another season of pain and growth and exquisite beauty.
I was also just happy to see my cohort.
Let’s be honest.
I missed my friends.
And.
I acknowledged to myself how important these friendships have become to me.
I feel really amazed, I wasn’t expecting that as a product of doing the grad school work, that I would have another unique set of circumstances and fellows to travel and trudge the road to happy destiny, a destiny designed to connect me further with people in community.
With love.
I love that I am seen and accepted.
Oh.
I am not always liked and I don’t always like people in my cohort, but.
I love them all.
I do.
Unconditional love.
Meaning I wish for each and every one of the people in my cohort, in my class, in my school, in my neighborhood, that same respect and love a showering of respect and a willingness to acknowledge that we all deserve to be happy, however that looks.
I don’t have to like you to love you.
I don’t have to like you to wish for you the best, whatever and however that manifests.
I am an equal opportunity lover.
Heh.
Maybe you find a love that falls across you gently like a pick pocket brushes your thigh.
This means.
That I also unconditionally love myself, even when I wonder, am I people pleasing again, am I holding my tongue because I don’t want conflict, am I acquiescing to someone else’s need?
I might be.
At least I can recognize it now and more forward with that knowledge too.
So much to learn.
So much to feel.
The good new kids, you’re going to have feelings.
The bad news?
You’re going to have feelings.
But.
The nice thing is, feelings aren’t facts and despite feeling many things, I don’t have to be held hostage to my feelings.
I can have them.
I can let them go.
I can let them move through me.
It is a gift to see the emotion, to name it, to love myself and let whatever is there, rise, float to the surface, gather light, bloom, blossom grow, then slowly wither, become a puff of dander that the next feeling breathes against it and pushes the seeds carried by small parachutes of fluff and gossamer, carrying the impetus for so many other feelings to grow, blossom, wither, and die upon the warm air of God’s breath.
A sigh of kisses.
A multitude of stars.
I can contain millions.
I do.
In fact.
So too, do you.
Extraordinary.
This.
How hard I have striven to find these small moments of metaphor, Dolly blue in the hand crank washing machine of my heart, the pain renders it all the more beautiful and I rise to the light of the full moon.
Woman.
Once more.
My own.
You may have tried to trespass.
I may have shut the door.
I may have resisted.
I have come to understand my struggle and my power.
I underestimated my strength.
My fellows see it.
They breathe it back to me in the language of love and unconditional surrender.
The is that is right now.
The being that is scoped across my heart, a light house beaming its beacon at the end of the universe.
A small flower opening.
My face to the sun.
Uplifted and held.
Tears on my face.
The water of love showering my heart.
Where all the wild things go to grow.
I sing my barbaric yawp at thee.
Sounded over the rooftop of the city.
Howled into the nether regions of love.
I gather you here, upon my breast, open hands to cradle you close.
The music of the spheres.
The resonance of light in your eyes.
Your head upon my shoulder.
Warm breath.
Human.
Together.
Moving through and above.
Beyond.
Into another realm.
Which is only this one repeated again and again as I attend to all those things that I thought were lost underneath the attic stairs where my dreams went to nestle and die.
Or so I thought.
They only slumbered.
They only dreamed.
And now.
Well.
I have them again.
And I won’t let them go.
Trauma class.
Trauma.
Trauma.
Trauma.
I meet thee there.
With.
Love.
And.
Surrender.
And.
Gentle.
Repair.
Auntiebubba 