Dear Pretender

I cannot un-see what I have seen. I cannot un-feel what I have felt. And I no longer wish to. I am. I claim my moments.

At the pinnacle of my very own extinction, I found the mirror. I had thrown away my wisdom, deeming it none other than a fad cascading along the coastal range — I would not be a pretender. Yet, a pretender I became.

It can be so easy to forget that we are an accumulation of moments. We are our choices. They are the pulling force, the law of attraction in it’s rawest, most physical form. You can choose your thoughts, but it is your actions that truly become entrusted by those around you. Entrusted to uphold, or entrusted to decay. How can I truly sit with the ones I love? How can I truly choose?

I’ve taught myself to discredit many of my own experiences — force feeding myself information and regurgitated solutions, but I fear my dream is not my own. Yet, I had felt so much shame in claiming it. I hid away in a paper map, seeking a mission that would somehow reroute my brain’s inner combustion. I was afraid of my fire, yet secretly nurtured the embers. How was I to serve others with merely art? I shouldn’t. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t help it. It’s the only way I know how to keep the fire going. Should I not be focused on healing the world? And then, as I had called out, I had received and I had mirrored my own unconscious expectations. I banished wisdom. I had decided it was my burden, an obstacle to my destination. And then, as I reached out to where I had already been, I began to ask myself had all of the ceremony, the prayer, the shaman’s words been nothing? “Yes” was the answer in those moments. And thankfully, almost a year and half later, those moments have come to pass, and the softness, the grace, the true courage in my eyes has returned.

The spiral of my being continues. You see, the adventure of integration is like composing a piece of music. You can try to use the mind, make lists of forced inspiration to only feel disconnected from the product. Divine inspiration is a gift — it melts into your fingertips, sits sweetly in your throat. There is no thought, only expression of the present moment. It is not of intellect. It is that of the heart that cures us. And it is given only when it can be received. I cannot un-see what I have seen. I cannot un-feel what I have felt. And I no longer wish to. I am. I claim my moments.

We can practice patience. We can practice kindness. We can practice compassion. These are all good practices, but they are not medicine. Once you have felt it — really felt the core of your very own being, your DNA dancing on scales as the melody of you — you never forget it. And all of the above is effortlessly included. And in times when you keep it from yourself — due to change, fear, anger, exhaustion, resentment — there is a constant state of lacking that you can never, and will never, fill until you dare to receive yourself in all your entirety, in the messy human you have been gifted to experience. And with that is the peace I have been seeking.

Goodbye, goodnight, my dear pretender.