This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness
come as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
from “The Guest House” by the iridescent Rumi
Each year when the New Year rolls around, I am hesitant to add to the mountain of messages that offer people insight on goal-setting and processes on creating a year to remember. You can breathe a sigh of relief—this is not that type of letter.
I made a claim in Love Letter 12 that I am here to be honest, show up as authentically as I can. I love playing with words and images and am intimate with their power to create and destroy, so as those who know me can testify, I choose them very carefully. And so it goes.
However, there are those days when the most honest and most eloquent thing I can say is, “What the fuck?” I do. I swear. A lot on those days I feel anger for being hit hard by the eighteen-wheeler of doubt—again—on the freaking roller coaster of I’m not enough—again.
Sometimes the word “fuck” is the love medicine I need to heal. And sometimes I need an effing large dose of it. Like many of us, we desire to throw off Fear’s carefully stitched cloaks of self-doubt, humiliation, and failure to do what we love in a way that has profound meaning for us and for those who are in our lives.
I work equally as hard to move through those days where we feel like we are being stretched a thousand different ways far beyond what we think our bodies, our minds and our hearts can endure. Moments do indeed arise in which I question what I am doing and whether or not I should walk the road previously trodden, the path more taken. I see spirits and feel angels and channel their loving words, but sometimes it doesn’t matter how beautiful that part of my world is because even though it’s sunny outside, I’m going through a cloudy day.
Now I don’t sit in this space for very long. I am here for the inner and outer revolutions—mine, others and this planet’s. However, for the time that I’m in that low, I’m in it knee deep and sometimes waist high.
I used to beat myself up for going to those less than inspiring places because of the nature of my work and the trajectory of my dreams, but I’ve learned that we’ve come here for the storms just as much as we have come for the sunny skies.
It’s the stuff that revolutions are made of. And deep down I feel we know this. I’ve out and out declared I’ve come here to risk it all for a life of radical authenticity, sacred inspiration, mystical adventures, the deepest of belly laughs followed by the sweetest of kisses, soulful intimacy and the truest, bluest of love.
Fortunately, I have developed a will, a why and a way that pulls me through. Supportive friends, a kick-ass playlist, courageous clients who want to step up, make love, make art, make meaning—I know what it takes to fire me up, laugh again and feel the preciousness of being human and gratitude for doing what I do.
I have a strong faith and a strong partner who respects the process of this type of creative tension between the highs and the lows and acknowledges my ability to wake up and rise up and if I need a hand, I’ll ask for the warmth and kindness of his.
May this Love Letter be that hand for you so that you know I understand what you are going through on those days you just don’t want to get out of bed. We came here to experience it all and find our way through together—you doing your thing over there and me doing mine over here.
Sometimes on the path of overthrowing the tyranny of “This is as good as it gets,” “It’s too much” and “I’m not enough,” the greatest achievement of that day is being able to shut the doors on rationalization and rekindle the spark of the revolution and dance in the fire.
Love Letter #14
January 12, 2017
Photo from @genessapana at unsplash.com