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“It cannot be our church, our gods, our life partner, our children, our career, our finances, our reputation, our relationships that dictate our choices, not if we are to inhabit our life fully. One by one we walk to each of these precious candles and watch their light get snuffed out. ‘It cannot be you. It cannot be you. It cannot be you,’ we say, tears streaming down our face because this is grieving. The light is fading, and this is scary. This is letting go. This is kicking out the only ground we’ve had to stand on, because we know if we kick hard enough and deep enough there are roots down there that must be our own. This is saying I must see to myself. I must have myself. I must own my own living.” {Wild Mystics}
“The descent into the shadowlands can feel relentless and unbearable. This is nothing new to you. You are intimately familiar with unbearable things: rejection, suffering, grief. Depression. Relentless expectations, from others or yourself. Doubt. Rage. Disappointment. Letting others down. Moreover, glib answers don’t satisfy you anymore. Your old skin? It doesn’t fit but everyone expects you to keep wearing it even though it’s worn clear through in places and you’re shivering. You don’t fit in anyone’s box, least of all the one you’ve tried to build over the years to please everyone around you.” {Wild Mystics}

i am moving into a new place.

things can’t stay as they have been.

i can’t keep breathing and living and moving like i was.

i must leave this place and go to the new one.

what will this moving cost me?

what am i leaving behind?

what will greet me in the newness?

am i going crazy?

am i walking away from sanity and goodness and the ground under my feet?

why does it often feel so wrong to step outside the lines drawn for me my whole existence?

why do i give so much power to others and to my own inner critic?

why is it so hard to really hear my own heart? my own dreams?

i don’t want to live a slave to others’ expectations.

i don’t want to just survive and die.

i don’t want to live every day in such silence and isolation.

where is my community?

where are those who understand this place?

don’t others wake up in this dark place too?

how do i go forward without taking a injurious or fatal step?

how do i clear out all the other sounds to only hear the one true voice?

i want to be guided by the creator of my heart, the one who knows me fully.

i know if i punch and beat on my own heart that i won’t be able to hear that voice.

i know if i allow my identity to be fueled by anything other than my creator and my own heart in accordance with that true voice i will be going astray.

won’t i?

how far is too far?

how much is enough?

what is right and what is wrong?

i don’t want to lose my way trying to find it.

creator, my deepest know-er, are you there?

do you hear me?

are you lighting the way in this darkness?

where is the flame?

i want to come to where you are.

how do i find you?

how do i find me?

who can be trusted?

so many false loves there are.

can you come find me?

can you run to me in this dark place?

or must i trudge on in the dark till the light comes?

who am i even talking to?

is anyone really there?

there is more, i know there is more.

i feel it even deeper than my bones.

life has crushed me almost beyond recognition.

but you still see me don’t you?

you haven’t stopped knowing me.

come to me.

i am scared that on my own i will choose the wrong path.

i can’t let others choose my path.

light a candle for me.

do i see a small flicker of light up ahead?

where did it go?

i’m here waiting and moving and yearning all in the same space.

{Hope Wood © 2014}

“As you start to walk on the way, the way appears.” {Rumi}

“I’ll tell you right now, the doors to the world of the Wild Self are few but precious. If you have a deep scar, that is a door; if you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much that you almost cannot bear it, that is a door. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.”{Clarissa Pinkola Estes | Women Who Run With the Wolves}