I came up through the mud, baptized in fire and blood. I’ve been beaten and bruised, homeless and hungry, addicted and depraved. I’ve been abandoned, neglected, blamed, and drained.
When I broke free of imposed circumstances, I proceeded to recreate a hell for myself – and it was a dark, hard escape. Like the lotus, I was born in the mud and fought my way through the muck. And like dear, lovely Lotus, I have blossomed in the light.
That’s not to say the dark doesn’t come for me from time to time. It’s not to say my existence is all rainbows and glittery sunshine. But, as a recent card so eloquently put it, I am Diving for the Light. Diving – diving into darkness and pain – and grabbing that sliver of fire, keeping it burning, bringing it to the surface.
Rather than ignoring the darkness of my roots, pretending it doesn’t exist – turning away from it in fear of “accidental attraction” (because, like attracts like is the mantra, isn’t it?) – I am allowing myself to look it full on. Staring with wonder into its depths and feeling it press upon the edges of my psyche.
I’ve gotten stronger, less dense, freer. I can dive and resurface much more easily now. The practice – my Practice – has given me wings. Buoyancy. A certain ease of movement through the muck.
And the fear is almost gone. I can almost stare demons in the face and smile. My biggest fear has always been getting stuck inside my head, getting lost in the dark. But that’s changing, now. Now, I see that my light is bigger than the dark – in fact, it always has been.
Bring me your darkness, and I will give you light. Show me pain, and I will show you wings.