There is this moment.
When I am doing my own inner work.
My own inner explorations.
And I stumble across a story that I didn’t even know was story.
It was so tightly glued to myself…like fruit rollups and that piece of cellophane they are stretched across…I could barely see it.
Those stories…they hang on the tightest.
They are woven into the tapestry of what be believe about the world and who we know ourselves to be.
And they fight to stay alive because they fear what might happen if the vital protection of their stories was no longer present.
The fear of shame and pain and death is real, even if it’s only real to a small part of you.
So this moment…
This moment happens when I start to feel the stories dig in.
I start to feel the resistance.
The fear, mostly unknown and murky, rising to the surface.
I feel the defenses up and at the same time, I feel these parts retreating into me.
Not wanting to get caught.
Not wanting to be hurt.
And that is the moment, when my most electric, authentic, whole Self rises up.
Meets the retreat and overtakes it.
Total and complete of what is.
Looking with clarity.
Seeing every piece of the puzzle.
Knowing that even in its pieces it is whole and complete.
Those parts met with love.
Fierce and clear.
Willing to acknowledge the bullshit.
Willing to create change.
Willing to surrender as I embrace all of myself.
That is where I meet myself.
That is where I become myself.