BREAKING THE SPELL OF UNWORTHINESS!
There is so much power in loving all my broken pieces. The pieces chipped from my glass heart, the amputated toe or finger, the distorted waves emitted from my nervous system. They are parts of my whole inner family that have served me in sometimes protective, unseen and unimaginable ways I could never imagine.
Like dark Angels they sometimes fought the war I could never understand. They are the persistent parts of me longing for union that never felt accepted, or respected. Showing up as everything I rejected.
They are the orphaned parts of me I never learned how to love, parts of me that boldly imitated the ones who distorted love. They were the easy learners, the most spongy parts of me that only soaked up what was learned while paradoxically innocent of all transgressions.
Those rejected parts of me are still family members of my heart, living in the basement or some far away cage where the sun constantly tried to reach them but failed in its mission to soothe them and give them vitality.
In the dark they are distorted and misfigured, never fully seen but when they are touched by the angelic sun they become the most fertile and flourishing components of my soul. There is nothing wrong with them, or who or what they represent.
The problem has always been around how they are grossly misunderstood and never given a fair chance, ignored or violated as I may have felt at times. Like raw film never taken out of a camera or tossed aside for so long, they remain undeveloped and unprocessed loosing their chance to be full bloom pictures.
What if they too are angels in disguise looking like demons?
What if our supreme mother, father or teacher disguised them as pop quizzes all along? Then the failing grade was justifiable each time.
What if they were actually sacraments, rites of passages or preliminary ceremonies and prayers? What if my sense of unworthiness was actually compounded ill symptoms of failing each test, like how I felt when I got a B instead of an A in school, craving the misguided perfection I had been programmed to focus on. What if, like school, it was never about getting perfect A’s but about acing those repeated moments they appeared.
Like a parent that is randomly dealt the card of a handicapped child! I can’t give birth and walk away from my crippled children who still need to be nurtured and loved unconditionally.
Perhaps that is all the broken incapacitated parts of me longed for…. a cozy warm place called home that is always inside of me while being fearful and angry for being left out in the dangerous cold. Yet, it is in their nature to return to mother again and again. For they will never stop taking the shape of difficult partners or the need to be disguised as deceitful friends, or represent the ones that were inhumane to me or pose as the ones that committed illusive crimes against my soul.
They are not mistakes after all. The only mis-takes were the multiple missed chances I had to simply receive them. Today, I will pay attention, be on the look out for the return of the broken children.
Like a Mother who lost her offsprings but never looses hope, I will wait at the window or stand at the edge of the internal ocean waiting on their sun-rise or their sun-set. Depending on the weather, I will prepare and bring a picnic basket, extra blankets incase it is chilly. I’ll have some alkaline water to quench their thirst and freshly baked love to feed their agonizing famine.
They are the beautiful plants or flowers that never got watered. They still have a shot at blooming if I water, feed and love them on time, sonically called by the ones that grow tall and nourished deeply missing them they can be a full healthy whole garden once again.
From this day forth, I will be watchful, waiting in love for the homecoming of my separated family members. There is faith that they will attempt to come home again. The spell of unworthiness is being broken, clearing a path for them to come home for good.
