Sometimes someone reminds you of a poem you once loved but never understood in that way we are meant to viscerally understand poetry. And then you reread it, maybe months, maybe years, later and it’s all the words you had been searching for to describe that feeling you had no words for that you were feeling deep in your marrow but maybe afraid to admit existed because if you admit it exists it might disappear like a wisp of smoke. But even if it does disappear you know you will have known what that poem felt like under your skin and in your muscles and through every cell of your being. And even with this you know it is not a wisp of smoke but more solid yet malleable like maybe clay or silly putty or play doh. And even so knowing that when not cared for properly these too can become dry and cracked and hard and fade to dust. So you know the tender care you must give to yourself and the words and the feeling and the other and this giving doesn’t feel hard or heavy or like a burden but feels like ease and freedom and everything you once hoped for but didn’t know possible because you didn’t know you could be so broken open and so put together all at once.
And maybe, we realize, just maybe this is what love actually is and what it means to love ourselves and our lives and the people we have allowed in it. The people we have allowed into our heart and soul and who give us space and breath and hopefully we do the same for them but it isn’t about reciprocity or owing or obligation but is just about giving because we want to give and receiving because we are ready to receive. Because we’ve learned we can’t make people stay but we sure as hell can make them want to leave and so we know that space is needed and trust must be grown and maybe we find ourselves again and again, all the different parts that were lost along the way and they help us put them back together with gold paint and glitter so our shattered bits are even more beautiful.
And maybe we are all angels and maybe we are all demons all at the same time and maybe it’s about finding the people who understand this and who our demons and angels all play well with. And maybe all these beings and bits dance together, wild and free and close and intertwined.
And sometimes there just aren’t words to describe that feeling but some words come close enough and wouldn’t it be great if we weren’t so afraid of scaring people away or making them think chains come with our love and we could just say I Love You even knowing those three words come no where near the depth and breadth of what we feel and know?
And what if we get brave and ask the questions and say the words and stop dancing around it all and allow that this doesn’t look like what we’ve been told it’s supposed to and that is okay in fact it’s better, more than better. It is magical and real and now and not dependent on what may or may not come or go in the future but is simply rooted in this moment because this moment is all we have and sure we can plan for the future or fantasize about it but we never know what twists are up ahead so why do we worry so much and in this worry miss out on this magical alchemy of reality that is happening right this moment.
Sometimes someone reminds us of a poem and we find home in those words because they open the floodgates to our own.
This essay was originally written and published on Insta on February 28, 2021, as the inaugral post of my gwynnraimondiwrites account. It has been edited slightly for publication here.
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Recent essays on Embodied Relating:
Endings, (ego) deaths, & transformations (A Random List o Tings)
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