What needs to die for your captive wings to unfurl?
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Elena Rego - January 30, 2014
This last season has been shattering with the revelations of what it is I must allow to die. Stories so deeply embedded, I had no idea they were there. Humbling, maddening, revolutionary and filled with grief over just how captive my wings have been. I’m not even sure how to name that which holds me back. Guilt, paralysis, the irrational belief that my time is borrowed and not my own, that I’ve gotten away by an escape that isn’t even real… Worse, that I’ve gotten so use to this that the leash I feel will come soon and yank me back from the life I so desperately love, it’s almost frightening to wonder what I would be or do if it wasn’t there. And that’s what needs to die – this attachment to a story that shackles me and keeps me from fully savoring, embracing and rocking my own world, my own life fully. Being afraid it’s going to be taken away had kept me smaller than necessary. Smaller than the actual truth of it. There has been a sick comfort in this. THAT is what needs to die.
Yet, you are living “it” now and it’s beautiful and freeing – you’ve escaped. No drag or pull or sadness. I’m sitting looking at a stone right now. It’s beautifully shaped, perhaps in the form of the Goddess. Rounded in the center, a perfect place to settle one’s thumb. Lately it’s been my hallmark, my constant companion, my worry stone, my meditation stone. It smells of patchouli and life far away. It’s giving me strength and peace, and enabling the abilities I have to meditate and fling far across the universe seeking guidance and answers I’ve begun to look for, as I find myself no less both changing seasons, but also moving across the country. I don’t know what I need to kill off, yet. The answers come as they will. But for you… know from one small direction that is now love without ego, there is a gentle peace, and gentle supports, little bits of connected string. They’re not cut, nor binding. Never ever binding. Memories, I suppose. You’re safe.
This last season has been shattering with the revelations of what it is I must allow to die. Stories so deeply embedded, I had no idea they were there. Humbling, maddening, revolutionary and filled with grief over just how captive my wings have been. I’m not even sure how to name that which holds me back. Guilt, paralysis, the irrational belief that my time is borrowed and not my own, that I’ve gotten away by an escape that isn’t even real… Worse, that I’ve gotten so use to this that the leash I feel will come soon and yank me back from the life I so desperately love, it’s almost frightening to wonder what I would be or do if it wasn’t there. And that’s what needs to die – this attachment to a story that shackles me and keeps me from fully savoring, embracing and rocking my own world, my own life fully. Being afraid it’s going to be taken away had kept me smaller than necessary. Smaller than the actual truth of it. There has been a sick comfort in this. THAT is what needs to die.
Yet, you are living “it” now and it’s beautiful and freeing – you’ve escaped. No drag or pull or sadness. I’m sitting looking at a stone right now. It’s beautifully shaped, perhaps in the form of the Goddess. Rounded in the center, a perfect place to settle one’s thumb. Lately it’s been my hallmark, my constant companion, my worry stone, my meditation stone. It smells of patchouli and life far away. It’s giving me strength and peace, and enabling the abilities I have to meditate and fling far across the universe seeking guidance and answers I’ve begun to look for, as I find myself no less both changing seasons, but also moving across the country. I don’t know what I need to kill off, yet. The answers come as they will. But for you… know from one small direction that is now love without ego, there is a gentle peace, and gentle supports, little bits of connected string. They’re not cut, nor binding. Never ever binding. Memories, I suppose. You’re safe.