Your greatest wounds are the source of your greatest healing. Whatever you’re most ashamed about, the things you carry deep down, where it’s darkest, sensitive bruises blackened by the kinetic force of things incongruent with what you know to be right, these will remain purple in the wet darkness. Healing requires courage, truth is the great mediator of sorrow, it’s both the incision scalpel and sutures that will heal you up and leave you saying “oh that wasn’t so bad.”
Our society is rife with contortion, twisted for the goal of love, the contortion ironically depriving you of the love you’re attempting to garner. Relationships with little black boxes of “no don’t look in there.” I love you and you love me, but who I was and what I’ve done is nobody’s business, not even my own. “I’m not my past.” Is that true? I’m my past, I mean not all of me is my past, but it certainly informs parts of me. Little things that ricochet around in the dark recesses of my mind, like some sort of temporal bullet of pain biting in the night, intrusive rabid hound dogs. Like buried living corpses, they must be exhumed and put to death with love and truth. Otherwise it isn’t love, it’s mutual projection, that’s all modern love is, mutually assured projection.
There’s this strange paradox of vulnerability and courage in love. Like exposing your neck on a chopping block with the wrong person, or laying on an operating table with the right person. The wrong person will be aghast, yell “Oh the humanity! You’re HUMAN? Why didn’t you tell me!” and leave you there groveling in the dirt searching for your head. But the right person will, not painlessly, but lovingly cut the rotting pieces from your being and kiss it all better. A little phonetic knife trick that says “I love you all the same, thank you for telling me.” While both of these scenarios are not painless, they are ultimately good. The first is good because after you’ve found your head in the dirt, you are free from a lie. The second, preferred option, is you are completely loved for you, not some stupid fantasy world.
A heavy tongue is made light with movement. It is a disservice to yourself and the one you love to not drag the parts of you you’re most ashamed of to the light (most of the time kicking and screaming), for these are the parts of you that need to be loved the most. This is how you honor your counterpart and yourself, to trust their strength to carry burdens you’ve held onto for years. Freedom behind the terror, the treasures of integration and love behind what we fear most. Tensions you’ve assumed are just part of you will melt when the walls of what you think makes you utterly leavable are exposed and destroyed with “I’m not leaving you.” So be brave, exhume, drag the shame, pain, and fear to the one you love’s feet. Give them the opportunity to love all of you. True love is baptized through the fire of truth, a love you know that will stay and you can trust, souls unraveling and basking in the sweet heat of mercy. Honesty unlocking your endocrinal code, lips whispering linguistic confessions like synaptic firing pins. Projection is cowardice, kill the slithering snakes of contortion. Omit nothing. Because if they can’t kiss your darkness, then they don’t deserve your light.
I tried to find an excerpt to share but every single word danced with the other. Hauntingly beautiful- as always.