Dancing in the Fog

I have gone for at least several weeks without at some point of every single day wanting to be dead. I think one would say that this is a good thing, right? In fact, right now, I am so happy, I feel like giant chunks of my own soul are being born and reborn right before my own eyes.

This last decade, not so good. Chronic health problems invisible to the eye which stretched me so far I really don't know how I didn't snap. Marriage breakup, heart breakdown. Then falling for someone because it felt so right to me, and yet was a land I couldn't enter anyway. Like some kind of blocked drain, piece by piece, all of my shit has come to the surface over the past 10 years. If I could have seen down through them, seen through the past decade and out the other side to here, I would have put a gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger without hesitation because, as dramatic as all this sounds, I have never thought I could go through so much pain in such a compacted time and still be standing up at the other end. I can barely write about all of this stuff still. I imagine I shall need a good five years or so to disseminate it all, to let it all absorb, to have some unreeling years in between to get a good feetplant.

And yet in the midst of all of that - joy so intense that my heart feels like it's going to pour out of my chest. A cracking open, and out of all of that, greater love, and no one but me will know how painful and horrible its been and no one will know how much more I cherish myself out of the birthing. And, in some kind of crazy way, a renewed ... awe for God, that he lets us go so close to the wire. Seriously, he is serious about getting shit out of his kids, and he won't stop even when we scream, defy and deny. Sometimes I wonder if he's not insane ;)

Yet I look about the world and my suffering pales in comparison. Not to minimise my stuff of course. Indeed, I make no apologies for any scrap of joy I get out of the rest of my life because I know, on some kind of cosmic level, I have said yes to God curetting, cutting and scraping, because I want it, this unnameable thing, the great Yes. I can taste it even though I haven't tasted it before and I can feel it even where I've never felt it. And I want it because I know it's worth it. I know it's that pearl of great price except I don't know how to refer to it except in analogies 'cause I've never been there before. But it's home. I know these things in my bones. I just know.

This is hard for me to write. I'm tempted to delete it. As crazy as it may sound, being I'm honest and open and out-there, I have a corresponding room in my soul where I find it really hard to speak my own truth, 'cause in a lot of ways I got taught by the significant males in my life that there were shameful reasons to hide my own truth away. I can't explain this to many people. I think they think that because my main front reception room is bright yellow that I don't have any black rooms but I do, and they have been hidden for so long, and it's only now all the shit has come to the surface that I really finally feel like I can start speaking my own truth. And that feels like some kind of amazing healing thing.

It's the weekend, in the middle of Winter, and I feel good and my heart feels more whole than broken, and as I write this I've got tears welling in my chest because life is so raw and so beautiful and so fucking painful, and the world is reeling to and fro, and somehow, despite how ridiculous it all seems like, God's got it going on.