July Twenty-One: 31rst Edition

July 21, 2009 Candace Morris 9 Comments

Another year ends today, with an other beginning. This cycle is all around us...in the forest floor, in the compost bins...birth must precede death, death begets birth. In July of 2008, I was struggling to accept this concept with any amount of peace. In July of 2009, I've enjoyed the beauty of that acceptance and am now engaged in contemplation and analysis and (hopefully!) acceptance about all that happens in the space between.

I read an idea recently of a wife writing her husband a letter once a year on their anniversary. She would muse about what they had been through, their dates, their fights, their conversations, all that messy mix that is relationship. I am intrigued by this chronicling and am venturing to write myself a yearly letter on my birthday...today.

Though terribly tempting to write it publicly, I know it will be best for me to be private. In fact, it sounds like the perfect date with me...taking myself out in a fancy hat for an afternoon glass of champagne. Though it does not yet exist, I know it will go something like this:

When first I thought about what I would write to myself, I took as second to check in with my soul and well, the temperature is really quite nice. Nothing is acutely painful, nothing terribly angsty. I quickly thought, "Wow, I am totally getting better." And while this is true, what I realize is that many MANY issues lurk under the callouses, but that I no longer fear them as I once did. In addition, I realize that these last few months have been all about blissful rest.

This last fall, I fell into a dark depression. I was in so much prickly pain that I could hardly breathe, much less make any logical sense of relationships, career, or art. But as seasons always do, things shifted and I found some tranquility. I have been in almost shameful happiness for the last 6 months, and it's got me fooled into thinking I am, well...all done.

And then I have nothing left to do but step back, take my hands off the burners and stand in awe of he who crafts time. He has given me so much freedom these last years to completely and utterly deconstruct my notions of religion and growth that I brim with a thankfulness that chokes. He has seen fit to give me a season of blessed oblivion, time off from my obsessive desire to dig deeper and deeper and analyze all that I am at every given second, and let me live on the surface, coming up for big greedy breaths of air, lying on my back and watching the night-sky.

I can feel that time coming to an end as pain starts calling me back to the rich soil of my soul's flower bed. I feel scared to let go of this bliss...and I realize how changed I am. Once I ran to the familiarity of pain and suffering as my shelter and identity, now I have known true rest and fear that I've lost my stamina, gotten soft.

And then I remember...
With enough air, I can dive down to the most beautiful depths.

Because though I am rested
I am always and ever will be
my best warrior.

Happy Birthday, Self.
I think you're beautiful.

And that goes for you too.
Thank you for bearing witness to my journey.


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