Updated: Feb 17, 2019
I am worthy of love…
I Am love..
I woke to rain this morning…and the last residues of a layer of slush over the greening fields.
And because it doesn’t rain here frequently, and certainly doesn’t snow, yesterday’s rain and snow has flushed over the land–the dirt roads, the hills, and down into rivers of streams that circle the barns and carve out beds over the pastures, the fields, and what might be considered the lawn, though sheep, goats, and other animals frequently graze its offerings.
A wet day…
One might say a ‘drab’ day, but the green of the grass, the variegated greys of the sky and the dark silhouettes of the old oaks create an atmosphere that’s somehow gentle, tender in its moisture as the stream beds flood down the drive, the roads, and into the fields.
I arrived into all this this morning with the same variegated greys, the same profusion of rush and soft tears–as if a flood gate had been opened, modulated, then carefully closed again…
Love can do this…
Love’s gifts, failures, gratitudes, joys…
We love the joy and euphoria as we find ourselves fusing and coming into alignment with another in our hearts, and energetically in our bodies, as if the Soul were speaking a language all its own–which it is. And then too there’s the pain and suffering, the separation, the breaking apart… the feeling that our heart is being cracked open…torn asunder and shattered in ways we can't comprehend. The personality, the ego, it goes through that–it is part of being human. It is part of learning who we are at a deeper level.
Love. Intimacy. Relationship.
This complex of love and relation has risen like a stitch through the landscape of this journey, through the landscape of the days as I made my way from one state to another, and as I make my way through each day here.
There is the love and affection for T. as he's come and gone, seemingly unable to claim the truth in his heart, the knowing of his heart, and the connection between us, and being too unable to speak about it. Unable to release the pains tinged with longing for another that have festered for years, that he has somehow come to console himself with–having gotten so used to them, they feel like they are the safe, the familiar.
We cling to our pain, each and every one of us, until we are truly ready to let it go and breathe in the world again. We cling to our pain and find solace in it out of fear of the unknown, the new, that may bring us more.
And there is the inevitable pain and sorrow in me having exposed myself to this for so long in relation to him–its inevitable erosion of my self-worth, and worse, the failure to trust my own heart's knowing, that doubt that had slowly crept in and begun to confuse so many days.
And there’s the intermittent ‘blame-game,’ though I know in my heart, my Soul, I was the one responsible for me and what I experienced–no one else. Not him. But me.
It is hard to stay in that knowing, that realization that if we can stay with our own responsibility to ourselves, we can grow, learn, and forgive… Instead, one wants so much to say, “You did this…” But he didn’t. I allowed it. I made all the choices I made, the decisions I made in the hope, the potential, of love…
We all do this. It's nothing new.
And in truth, I understood and still understand what he was/is going through–and so often I felt/feel compassion. I still do. But I wanted to believe I could change this, encourage him to choose something different. But only he can choose to release the old and find liberation that will allow him to love again, to trust his own heart again. Not me. But being so empathic, so understanding, I hurt myself in holding on so long to the deep potential between us, and thus didn't really serve him as a good friend either.
The truth is, I haven’t forgiven myself for that yet–for allowing myself to be in the dynamic for so long....for not being courageous enough, for not choosing me sooner.
For allowing myself to begin to lose faith in my own heart…
As I drove west, towards California, the sun setting first over the Blue Ridge Mountains, then the hills and farm lands of Tennessee, the vast stretches of Oklahoma and then into New Mexico and the red rock of Sedona there was also the growing realization I was beginning to feel, experience, that I could begin to find the gifts of my experience with T., the learning there was available–that I could feel it, come to know it in a way that offered wisdom and not merely the easy human pain…
And as I drove west, I began to remember too that C. was in California, and to be in California without seeing him would somehow simply be a lie, an evasion of a truth at the deepest level.
C. and I had been connected for so many years. We had weaved in and out of each other’s lives for the better part of 40 years, hearing about each other’s experiences–about family upheavals and deaths, about artistic and professional ventures, about failed romances, and the hopes and aspirations we each still held or were letting go.
Somehow through all of it, we had remained connected…until our last reunion..
As all these thoughts and feelings settled into the distance, the hours and light and day would come back into focus, and each of their names and lives would vanish into the tall pines, the vast fields or the red rock. And I would simply be present, alive to the moment, the movement of my life heading across the country, the movement of my body through the hours.
A stitch sewn through the hours, through the landscape, and through the vast territory of me as I swam consciously and unconsciously through the interior of my Being…
C.’s and my last connection was a confused one.
At the time, we had both be