Friday, September 30, 2011


I am sitting here crying. Crying while reading Pema Chödrön. Her words touch something soft in me that I try over and over to harden with various obsessions, compulsions, patterns, and harsh words. I'm told to not be soft. I'm told to not be raw, vulnerable, or a complete beginner. But through this freshness comes compassion and freedom.

I feel free to love again.

And I'm not really talking about the love you might think. But then again, I don't know what you think. I don't know what I think from one moment to the next, either, and I love that. I love who I am - and I guess that is the kind of love I am starting to feel again. Was this love not "free" before? Was it held hostage somewhere inside of my slowly shrinking bones? Maybe. It sure felt like it. I've been trying for some time now to excavate self-compassion and I think I may have just about found it.


It takes work.

I have the scars, both physically and emotionally, to prove how bad things got. Some days I don't give a shit. Some days I'd rather be a million miles away from myself than to actually face that person I suddenly don't know in the mirror. But there are moments where I catch a glimpse of the warrior I am, neuroses and all. In fact... Here's a quote from Pema that explains this better than I can:

"The problem is that the desire to change is fundamentally a form of aggression toward yourself. The other problem is that our hang-ups, unfortunately or fortunately, contain our wealth. Our neurosis and our wisdom are made out of the same material. If you throw out your neurosis, you also throw out your wisdom." -Pema Chödrön

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