The rebirth came disguised as a punch in the solar plexus.
Her prayer was answered, but not in the way she was expecting. Asking for truth in this world usually doesn't come in a nice way. She lived in constant denial of her real feelings and anything that tried to expose or confabulate against her confort was labeled as bad.
Her first reaction was anger and despair. The routine gone, no more schedules to follow, no more missed gazes and unspoken contempt. Only the pure space and her heart in pieces. Suddenly, everything came to a halt. And the paper castle burned down to ashes as fast as a couple of weeks.
It was as if this fire was meant to be, every step that followed. She was being led by the Mystery. She remembered one story that fascinated her as a child: the children were lost in the forest but they magically found their way out following the crumbs of bread...oh no. They actually found the wicked witch who was waiting for them to eat them alive: eat their illusions alive. That part of the story she had not fully understood yet.
But life never forgets anything. Her fear laid hidden behind a perfect life that was as fragile as crystal and paper, as thin as silk handkerchiefs tied up with scotch tape. Her illusion had blinded her to the point that living was not a open question anymore, but a constant yearning, a constant asking: could there be anything more than this repetitive existance, so predictable and dull that i may go crazy, my God? One more day wearing this disguise....how am i going to make it through? But then, the structure would stand up on its own and cover her thinking, her feelings, her passion. Dull passion waiting to explode like a volcano that had been trapped under the earth for such long time.
The explosion took its toll. Her world collapsed as she tried to pick up the pieces until finally she realized she had no more ground to stand on. It was like standing on ice that was rapidly melting. All she could think about was the cold water, the freezing cold underneath.
The fear, the lack of air.
The darkness.
The unknown.
But then, she let go.
She realized drowning in peace was her only smart option. No where else to run, no one else to hold her hand or worry about. Suddenly it was her again, just her. Her heart beating fast, the last breath coming into her lungs with such peace. Surrendering made her relax and she felt her body was taken away by the waters. And the waters were not cold...not at all. They were warm and welcoming, as if they had known all this time about her longing and only wanted to embrace her. She softly surrendered to the clear reality that shined with ultramarine colors around her.
She fought no more.
..
...
....
As i wait for my red eye in San Diego, my heart feels settled and warm. I will never be able to explain the power of surrender to another human being. I had read about it, meditated, heard teachers preaching, but it was a still a concept. My mind was trying to grasp an experience i had been waiting to have for a long time, maybe for many lifetimes.
Surrender means deep trust that life is taking me in her arms with love and good intentions. The same life that murdered my false previous existence. That weird existence that now feels like an old dream, so far away in my consciousness. I picture myself there and can see how unfitted i was for the part i was playing. All part of my conditioning and social expectations.
Latin cultures can be pretty mean regarding women´s happiness. Our happiness is somehow submitted to our family needs. Our happiness is not ours anymore, but a matter of the clan. To be a good mother and wife means fullfillment in my culture. To scream because you are unhappy and not satisfied in a relationship means you are crazy. Males have a way of labeling any female that insurrects. So things stay confortable and cozzy. So families don´t desintegrate and life goes on with all of its incongruencies.
Females: we just survive, not thrive. We put our lives on hold for many years expecting our children´s success to fill up our souls. And then, when we are old and the kids fly away, we complain because we didn´t follow our own path. As souls, as women, as spiritual beings. It is such a paradox, yet it keeps going on for many in my country.
I decided to scream two years ago. I screamed so hard that my throat still aches. My life was trashed by gossip and scandal and yet i decided to go back to my torture with a full heart, understanding the discrepancy. Yet with an honorable intention. I did it out of love for my kittens and put my heart on hold. It didn´t work. It never works when you don´t follow your heart.
So my self-built castle fell into pieces because my own dear wise old Self started digging its foundation. Started screaming on my ear every night: What the f...what are you doing? Wake up!! And after many days of incessant prayers, they were finally heard. In my numbness, in my despair, the hit was hard on my ego to awake. And the results have been fantastic.
I feel alive, ready to face MY LIFE for the first time in many years. Totally wired on the thought that now i can write every day of my life with my own favorite handwriting, design with the most beautiful colors this life has given me and create whatever i feel like. My kittens will be as happy as their mommy is. That i know for sure. And now i can offer them something real, someone alive.
I am confident the generations that will follow me, my daughter, grand-daughters and great grand-daughters will speak of their granny as a rebel. Nothing will make me happier. A rebel is not someone who simply attacks the statu-quo, but an archetype for change. Change is the only constant in life and this path we all travel together has a name on it: surrender and let go. Once we get the knack of it, we stop suffering. We are alive with possibility, with inspiration and acceptance. And nothing we ever encounter is an obstacle, but a constant reminder that we are visitors in this earth for a very short period of time and it pays to takes risks.
It pays so highly, my God.
In pure golden, silver and precious gems, all unique pieces of amazing, unbelievable Love.
"...all those who are wounded by love must have the imprint on their face,
and the scar must be seen.
Let the scar of the heart be seen,
for by their scars are known the men
who are in the way of love."
～The Prophet Muhammad, quoted in "The Way of Love"
Her prayer was answered, but not in the way she was expecting. Asking for truth in this world usually doesn't come in a nice way. She lived in constant denial of her real feelings and anything that tried to expose or confabulate against her confort was labeled as bad.
Her first reaction was anger and despair. The routine gone, no more schedules to follow, no more missed gazes and unspoken contempt. Only the pure space and her heart in pieces. Suddenly, everything came to a halt. And the paper castle burned down to ashes as fast as a couple of weeks.
It was as if this fire was meant to be, every step that followed. She was being led by the Mystery. She remembered one story that fascinated her as a child: the children were lost in the forest but they magically found their way out following the crumbs of bread...oh no. They actually found the wicked witch who was waiting for them to eat them alive: eat their illusions alive. That part of the story she had not fully understood yet.
But life never forgets anything. Her fear laid hidden behind a perfect life that was as fragile as crystal and paper, as thin as silk handkerchiefs tied up with scotch tape. Her illusion had blinded her to the point that living was not a open question anymore, but a constant yearning, a constant asking: could there be anything more than this repetitive existance, so predictable and dull that i may go crazy, my God? One more day wearing this disguise....how am i going to make it through? But then, the structure would stand up on its own and cover her thinking, her feelings, her passion. Dull passion waiting to explode like a volcano that had been trapped under the earth for such long time.
The explosion took its toll. Her world collapsed as she tried to pick up the pieces until finally she realized she had no more ground to stand on. It was like standing on ice that was rapidly melting. All she could think about was the cold water, the freezing cold underneath.
The fear, the lack of air.
The darkness.
The unknown.
But then, she let go.
She realized drowning in peace was her only smart option. No where else to run, no one else to hold her hand or worry about. Suddenly it was her again, just her. Her heart beating fast, the last breath coming into her lungs with such peace. Surrendering made her relax and she felt her body was taken away by the waters. And the waters were not cold...not at all. They were warm and welcoming, as if they had known all this time about her longing and only wanted to embrace her. She softly surrendered to the clear reality that shined with ultramarine colors around her.
She fought no more.
..
...
....
As i wait for my red eye in San Diego, my heart feels settled and warm. I will never be able to explain the power of surrender to another human being. I had read about it, meditated, heard teachers preaching, but it was a still a concept. My mind was trying to grasp an experience i had been waiting to have for a long time, maybe for many lifetimes.
Surrender means deep trust that life is taking me in her arms with love and good intentions. The same life that murdered my false previous existence. That weird existence that now feels like an old dream, so far away in my consciousness. I picture myself there and can see how unfitted i was for the part i was playing. All part of my conditioning and social expectations.
Latin cultures can be pretty mean regarding women´s happiness. Our happiness is somehow submitted to our family needs. Our happiness is not ours anymore, but a matter of the clan. To be a good mother and wife means fullfillment in my culture. To scream because you are unhappy and not satisfied in a relationship means you are crazy. Males have a way of labeling any female that insurrects. So things stay confortable and cozzy. So families don´t desintegrate and life goes on with all of its incongruencies.
Females: we just survive, not thrive. We put our lives on hold for many years expecting our children´s success to fill up our souls. And then, when we are old and the kids fly away, we complain because we didn´t follow our own path. As souls, as women, as spiritual beings. It is such a paradox, yet it keeps going on for many in my country.
I decided to scream two years ago. I screamed so hard that my throat still aches. My life was trashed by gossip and scandal and yet i decided to go back to my torture with a full heart, understanding the discrepancy. Yet with an honorable intention. I did it out of love for my kittens and put my heart on hold. It didn´t work. It never works when you don´t follow your heart.
So my self-built castle fell into pieces because my own dear wise old Self started digging its foundation. Started screaming on my ear every night: What the f...what are you doing? Wake up!! And after many days of incessant prayers, they were finally heard. In my numbness, in my despair, the hit was hard on my ego to awake. And the results have been fantastic.
I feel alive, ready to face MY LIFE for the first time in many years. Totally wired on the thought that now i can write every day of my life with my own favorite handwriting, design with the most beautiful colors this life has given me and create whatever i feel like. My kittens will be as happy as their mommy is. That i know for sure. And now i can offer them something real, someone alive.
I am confident the generations that will follow me, my daughter, grand-daughters and great grand-daughters will speak of their granny as a rebel. Nothing will make me happier. A rebel is not someone who simply attacks the statu-quo, but an archetype for change. Change is the only constant in life and this path we all travel together has a name on it: surrender and let go. Once we get the knack of it, we stop suffering. We are alive with possibility, with inspiration and acceptance. And nothing we ever encounter is an obstacle, but a constant reminder that we are visitors in this earth for a very short period of time and it pays to takes risks.
It pays so highly, my God.
In pure golden, silver and precious gems, all unique pieces of amazing, unbelievable Love.
"...all those who are wounded by love must have the imprint on their face,
and the scar must be seen.
Let the scar of the heart be seen,
for by their scars are known the men
who are in the way of love."
～The Prophet Muhammad, quoted in "The Way of Love"
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario
Nota: solo los miembros de este blog pueden publicar comentarios.