"Half of me is beautiful, but you were never sure which half.”
I have always resonated with wild mustangs. Wild mustangs are not domestic horses. The mustang is meant to run fiercely, live free, discover and to simply be. It was never meant to be caught, put in a pen and saddled. Much like great battle ships give us awe & pause when we see them moored in a harbor. But these great ships were not meant to only inspire us and sit anchored, they were meant to fight.
Who are you? What are you? What is the great story of your life? Where are you being held and only looked upon? When people are kind enough to tell me I’m beautiful, I often wonder do they even know which half of me they see? Do they know what about me makes me “beautiful” to them?
The only way to be seen for who we really are is to be willing to stand and show our soul to the world.
The radiance of our soul ignites sparks, it sends up flares, handled properly it allows others to create the fire within them too. To be willing to bear our soul — that takes love and bravery.
We are born free with hearts that know the path to courage. The divine buried like a hidden treasure within our very hungry souls. What happens to our intuition? What slave master is so fearful we huddle within ourselves silently hoping to not be found?
As children, we are given a prescription for the performance of a lifetime.
Do this and you will be liked.
Wear that and you will be pretty or handsome.
Say this and you will be accepted.
We learn to fit the mold, although that mold is being held by vices and bungee cords because the authentic self inside will have freedom, it’s only a matter of time. In my own life, it was the confinement camp of a religion based on fear, legalism and a Septuagint moment of men.
No, thank you.
In my family construct, again fear was our fearless leader. We weren’t taught to live, rather we were taught to avoid death. Death by sin, death by shame, death by becoming. Death by trying new things, by venturing too far from home, by allowing people to see who we truly were.
As a result, this wild mustang allowed myself to become a domestic horse. I had a pen that was too small. An owner who didn’t know how to care for me. And a small enough window in my stall giving my imagination a beacon of hope to dream.
The sad truth is, if we accept life this way for any length of time, that acceptance leads to “learned helplessness”. Even if the door to the pen was open, I wouldn’t run.
Did I forget how? Did I remember that I could? Did I want to stay?
Neither of these, I had silenced my voice. I believed those who said it didn’t matter and worse, I agreed with those who said this was “best” for my life. But, this life wasn’t my life. Again, I allowed a prescription for other people’s pleasure, not my own.
And that window…that window represented freedom. I’d watch the birds fly and I longed to soar with them. But, I wouldn’t be a tiny little sparrow looking for grub and leftover bread crumbs. No, I would be a mighty eagle, with vision to see far beyond the domesticated path I had been given.
Spend enough time in the solitary of our minds, we will do one of two things. We will choose the path set before us or as Joseph Campbell so beautifully inspires us, we will realize our path is the one we create with our own footprint. While we are imprisoned our spirit remains free.
Harmony was so faithful to radiate in my darkness — darkness that was not negative rather it became one of my greatest teachers. Harmony taught me to gather my mind, my body and my spirit.
I realized the hoax was not in believing that “more” is possible, the hoax was the placebo of “security” I was prescribed by others whom I trusted with my life.
Harmony’s voice grew louder and reminded me of the song for my life, a song I have always known deep within me. It is the song of freedom. We all know our own rhythm. It is our heart reminding us it knows the way to courage. It is our spirit whispering in our ear, the door to that pen isn’t as sturdy as it used to be. It is our body screaming at us saying, we are strong enough to run and not look back.
As I stand on the ridge of the beautiful canyon I have climbed, I breathe in the sacredness of becoming the hero of my journey. My mane blowing in the wind, I am fierce without apology. My intuition’s voice is no longer muted, it is my guide and companion. And perhaps now, when you look upon me, you know which half of me is beautiful.
During these times of great shadows, we must bring harmony to the world so ready for healing. It is not our job to fix it all at once, but it is our task to bring harmony to the places and people within our reach. After all, dramatic change is not about one big sweeping event, its the small acts by grateful and generous people willing to show up, harmonize and play their instrument in the great symphony of life.