I'm not holding on to pain. My hand bleeds when I hold a rose by the thorns, and it's no more beautiful. I was cheated, ridiculed, bullied, embarrassed, probed. Wake up. Wake up. I've finally received the message and it's to let go.
In times of emotional turmoil, I've been told and I've told others to hold on. To weather the storm. To hold out until the pain passes. And I did hold out and then I had my respite of sunshine. Then the clouds rolled back in to rain again and I would toughen up. Somehow, pain was rain with a 'p' and I held on to it for dear life. Somehow I've learned that pain should be feared, that I should run away. I couldn't run forever, I don't have that stamina, and it shouldn't really be a surprise that I hold the rose in my hand and I'm still squeezing.
Resilient. On my 17th birthday, I received a gift from my friends with messages to me. The first one recognised that these messages may help me out when I needed them, help me with my resiliency. What do they say? You're awesome, you're a great friend, stay true and gold. I've taken these band-aids and held them in my hand, but I always let them go when I bled because the rose was something I didn't have. So I thought I needed to hold on to it in order to have it. I made a mistake.
And I'm not recovering. Watch the red flow downstream, gurgling out from fresh pits in the earth, along estuaries in the palm that fork out into the rivers lined by flesh; the blood is in no rush as it slowly coils about the hills, through valleys under digital cliffs and out, sometimes via cascades. I see it spill. Dot. Dot. Pool.
The rose is beautiful, it is unique and it doesn't hurt when I witness it, when I appreciate it. It hurts when I hold on to it, when I try to make it mine, when I think I need to have it. Illusion - I don't need it. I enjoy its presence and when it is gone, it shall be no more. This way, letting go doesn't hurt because what is here is as it is and when it leaves it no longer is here.
I pen this note then to remind me to let go, to let pass all that comes, to appreciate all I am given, all I receive, and all I give. So I'm not holding on anymore. I float. I am free.
I've thought about this for a long time. Now is right to allow what is to be here. Having it another way is denial, resistance. So let it be. I am free.
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2 years ago
1 comments:
My rose is an eccentric shade of orange and red. Like fire almost. It is no longer desirable to hold as it is starting to wilt and decay as if it was burning before my eyes. This transition we all face, like a fading in and out of the seasons. From summer to autumn. But at least now we can both relax, even oversleep because this story has ended. From fairytale to fearytale. Autumn will come and destroy all that is tainted, but also all that is good. So that we may learn to appreciate what we have. So we don't take things for granted. So that we may start again. And try to do it right next time round.
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