the hard stuff

the hard stuff is the stuff that makes us squeeze tighter

the stuff that makes us tighten our jaw,

or our gut

or our sphincters.

The hard stuff is the stuff that makes us run into the dark corner of our minds and recite the mean stuff we have learned to say to ourselves,

the not enoughnesses,

the uselesses,

the uglinesses.

The hard stuff is the stuff that makes us deliver a little peice of our succulent soul on a plate to those who deserve it the least

makes us craven,

makes us self sabotage,

makes us resolveless.

The hard stuff makes us take our dreams and push them far out to sea in the worst weather,

without a captain

without an anchor

and without a bilgepump.


The hard stuff is where our treasure lies.

fear

"fear is trapped power"

This quote is bouncing off the sides of my brain.

I am often caught in fear.

Often feeling the prickles of sweat in my right armpit (only one, yes i know it is weird.)

Often feeling my thoughts speed up.

Often hearing the not-good-enough chorus (kind of like the welsh boys choir only a lot less sweet and melodic) burst into their caustic song.

I fear a lot of things, not being enough and not being worthy are usually at the bottom of those fears...

worthiness and enoughness are the foundation of that haunte house of my heart, the cornerstones of the bad feelings that well up.

what if i saw them as the underpinnings of something else.

What if unworthiness and not-enoughness were the signals from my wisest self that i was giving away my power, that i was cheating myself from a chance to be fully and truely present and able to be in my true gifts

what if the sweaty righty, the racing thoughts, the song of the choir of inner meanness were actually all signposts, neon lights, sirens that i needed to stop.

That i needed to step back into myself.

that i needed to check whether the power was leaking/pouring out of me, or offered with true love (self love and love for another)

what if all my fears were about checking in with myself and being true

what if all my fears were just signals to be kind to myself

what if i could open the trapdoor in my heart and instead of fear, power would come out, in all her glorious, splendid, benenevolent wonder.

what if fear was my call to love?

things that need to die

i did this as a journal page - i was experimenting with the masking tape being ripped up on the page and when i finished they looked like the little crosses that litter our roads...

memorials to the spot where people's lives ended

i am not alone in being a bit freaked out by death

the end of life as a breathing talking walking entity....

i used to be so scared of it i couldn't garden - growing my own veges meant i had to kill something in order to eat it...(Roald Dahl and his story about screaming plants really has a lot to answer for!)

now i see how death is part of life

the leaves that fall generate food for the plants to come

the lives of those who pass are never forgotten by those who love them and who are left...

I also realise that patterns in my life that seem natural are as ephemeral as anything and that in order for new nourishment some of them need to die

and so this page became a list, a memorial to things that i see that need to die...

like ...Self judgement

like... Being too busy

like... vicious self talk

like...feeling responsible for everything

like... feeling ugly

each little arm of the cross holding the energy for the soon to be departed feeling or pattern...

they have served me well

but long may they rest in peace