Published on August 31, 2010
So I fear this is going to keep happening.
I think there are going to be quite a few more weeks like the one I just had. There are going to be quite a few more sleepless nights. Quite a few more days that I find myself paddling the murky waters of my emotions.
Because, I finally realized….
I’m shedding. Or maybe molting is a nicer way of putting it.
And I guess in some sense you could say I’m dying.
But no reason to be alarmed. Seriously, no reason to feel sad or pity.
This is the kind of dying we hope for–the kind that Yogis crave at the end of their practice as they lay still in savasana. The kind of dying that leads to a renewal of life.
I’ve known this for awhile–that I’m shedding the old life I used to have.
But I finally woke up to see I’m shedding old beliefs too. The ones I used to carry–used to nurse like little babies and sometimes wear as a badge of truth.
I’m shedding the scripture of things that are suppose to be a certain way, just because that’s all I’ve known for so long. Because that’s what my mama told me.
I’m shedding old ways of painting. Can you believe it? I’m shedding old ways of being creative in this big, beautiful world.
I’m shedding old relationships I’ve had….with my body, my mind, with my life…with the part of my existence that I consider my spirituality.
I’m shedding all of this in rivers of tears that can flow so deep that I mistake that I am drowning. And sometimes I shed all of this into loud earthquakes of laughter—and I will admit, I get frightened as I watch my world crumble around me.
I’m shedding all of this, you see, through nights of restlessness and unexpected afternoon naps. I’m not always myself…because don’t you get it–I’m shedding.
I’m shedding all of this. ALL of this.
ALL. OF. THIS.
And as much as it scares the living hell out of me.
It finally feels real good to shed…to molt…to die and witness my own rebirth.
And for whatever it’s worth, I will share it all with you.
Maybe I’m not the only one shedding.
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