I wrote, in what seems like really another lifetime ago, that fear was running the show and that it was something that I wanted to work on. Save that it most certainly is the same lifetime, because I am still dealing with that exact issue. Granted, life has provided me (and us all) with some fresh material.
But amazingly, importantly, I might be getting to the heart of it (and I chose that word carefully): fear is expressed or conceived in direct relation to my lack of trust - in myself and, sadly, in the universe (or The Powers that Be if you prefer). If I am looking in the mirror and that is the reflection that I see? Well, it is tempting to look away, I can tell you that much. But how can I trust myself if I can't accept myself first? I get that. So I am digging down in my bones to summon the bravery and courage to lean in, even though I still am looking so dearly for something to hold onto, a structure that seems solid enough to carry my weight. It has to come from within.
I remember being on the plane on my way to the States very nearly one year ago. For some reason, I had a really clear idea that I should get the word "trust" tattooed in the whiteness of my inside wrist. The same blue-grey as my eyes in a sloping but formal cursive. So now, after so much, I have circled back to that very word and it is written, actually, only on the inside, and it is asking for attention. Shine a light, shine an eclipse.
Can I "imagine that life is always right," as Rilke asks? I have a blissfully good imagination, it is my main source of company at times. That too is in the footfalls of a leap towards trust. Off a cliff of the known into other, certainly, but there is great beauty in it.
And if there is anything where I can unhesitatingly invest my trust, it is in beauty. In Natural Beauty, specifically, that of the universe's gold dust. So I do.
It is where I will start, or start again (for the hundredth time), while coaxing that voice within me to believe that it is reliable and that I am too. I can grieve whatever experiences of abandonment happened either in childhood or, say, last month, and then move on. It will get there and I am listening. In the meantime, I can make a promise to Spring.
"Dear Spring, I give you my firm intention, to be open and present, to do my best 'à me liberer' from outdated beliefs. I will let your beauty guide me to renewal, with trust that all that I am experiencing is or will be for my best. I am so grateful to still be here and turned towards facing. Together, I hope that we can breathe anew. Thank you."
Trust could become the True North on my inner compass. Growth can spring from even blackened branches.
The words Self-Care and Potential are popping up quite a bit for me right now. Like popcorn. The latter makes me squirm uncomfortably and always has. It sounds like a threat but what if it isn't and is more of a promise instead? It feels possible, certainly when linked to another "P" word that has been swirling like a hawk: Purpose.
What do these words mean to you? And what promises are you hoping to make to Spring? No need to share (but by all means do if so inclined or email them along). It just might be interesting to ask, with the utmost of kindness, or maybe I am just hoping you will be by my side while I do. I know that I can trust in that too.
PS. I have a feeling that this is one of those posts that will come off as sad when it was meant to be anything but. There is so much positive that is buzzing in me, like the bees around the almond tree blossoms, announcing a new season.
PPS. Thank you for stunning me yet again with your overwhelmingly kind responses to my previous post. You give me the courage to publish posts where I feel vulnerable to do so, such as this one!