I have worn the judgy coat of armor, pronouncing what I thought of this person or that person, this group or that group, assigning wrongness while absolving myself. I know what it’s like to hide beneath the judginess, pointing my finger. I am not proud about that.
I understand that as a human being, I am in a constant state of metamorphosis. It is not only physical— shedding skin and hair, generating chemicals like endorphins, replenishing red and white blood cells— it is also mental, recharging brain cells, realigning with safe habits, learning new ideas and concepts, attempting new practices. And it is also spiritual, stretching myself, opening my heart wider, listening to my soul, expanding my energy for a deeper embrace of the human experience.
We are all this. I am love. You are love. None of us are ever NOT love, even in hate. None of us. We can never stop being the love which made us.
As long as I breathe, not only am I in a constant state of being, I am in a constant state of becoming. We all are. I have found it helps to write through it. It’s a way to self-nurture, allowing an exploration of experiences, embracing confusion and discovery alike. It is a hug which I can routinely give myself and when I share it with the world, it becomes a fist-bump. The more I understand me, the more I can see you.
I love us. I love how ugly we all are, I love how gorgeous we all shine. I love the digging, the moving through the muck of all our lives. Yeah, sure sometimes it gets awful— the hurting, the name-calling, the accusing, the neglect, the misunderstanding, the failure to see or show up sometimes, the my-way or the highway ideas, the forgetfulness of mistakes, the self-righteousness. Oh, the human experience, how it erupts, bringing so much new life.
Inevitably we each retreat, don’t we? And we go into ourselves, as we brush our teeth or shower or take a dump or get under the covers, preparing for sleep. And we each become that child again, the girl or boy within us all. The child we see when we look into our own eyes through that looking-glass. And we remember, oh yeah, that’s right: I am love. Even if the realization only finds some of us in our dreams.
After Donald Trump won I was mildly flabbergasted. There were even occasions when I giggled like a mad scientist, recalling what my mother often said in bitter commentary of the world— you get back what you put in. Yes, we do. And yet, there also comes perspective. And as I have grown I’ve learned that perspectives can shift with cell renewal and regular brain activity. Oh sure, we can grab on, hold tight to favored outlooks. But the body does what it does no matter how we try for control, be it shrinking our minds, shrinking ourselves, or pinching butt cheeks to block gas. Change comes. The planet is evolving and I’m onboard for the ride. I had to remember that even The Donald is love. And he is no less worthy than me in that fact.
Life brings its plethora of constant lessons, doesn’t it? It never ceases to amaze me. I am ever the student sitting at the feet of The Universe. What I knew in my thirties pales compared to what I am learning in my fifties. Same goes for what I knew as a teenager versus what I knew in my twenties. One of the big differences between who I used to be and who I am now is, I am way less afraid of my Truth than I once was. Once ago I used to be afraid to look. Who wants to see the shitty sides of themselves and admit that they see it? Not me …. or so I thought. Who me? I am the bastion of peace, kindness and fairness. Why should I look any further than that? Me? I’m an angel, a good person, ask anybody! I was WRONGED. The world has been so unfair. I am sweet, precious and innocent.
Uh huh. I swallowed quite a bit of my own bullshit. I used to be so steeped in fear, I couldn’t see or talk straight. Because if we’re being honest, none of us are perfect. Not even close. And thank god for that because it would take all the fun and wonder out of the earthly experiences.
My Truth scares me way less these days. Whatever my eyes can see already exists within me. And it’s finally all good, even the ugly parts. I am ever becoming, always learning and growing. The woman I was last week is newer in understanding than the woman writing here today.
So I am disrobing, throwing off the judgy armor I once took comfort in hiding beneath. I can see now that when I wore the armor, I sauntered down a few wrong roads, and reaped errors in some choices. Fear can either be a beast or a gentle tickle of fine hair at the back of one’s neck. I no longer feed the beast. If with all my ugly, shitty parts, I can still hurtle like a shooting star into new and beautiful seasons, then anyone in the world can do the same. Regardless, the Earth story unfolds.
I love you. I love everything about you. Keep shining.