The Death of Me.
Today, with intention I sip, knowing that openings will present themselves as I drink the sacred cacao as it absorbs in my body.
What surfaces is joy, bliss and knowing along with revelations on what is meant to be seen and healed in this present moment. They say this precious plant medicine will open you up and bring you to the door, but it’s up to you to walk through it or not. I was ready to break on through to the other side.
A deep discovery that begs forgiveness. Puzzle pieces placing themselves together effortlessly in my heart and mind.
A past life memory arriving in present time asking, “Do you still love me, even though I took your life?” I sit in deep love and compassion, and say, “Yes, I forgive you and love you always. I did then, and I do now.”
The heart never forgets and love never dies. Releasing wounds and stories from our past, in this life and others opens up gates of expansion for deeper love of self and others.
Heart busting out of my flesh as I feel what happened then and now. My eyes have become waterfalls of purification in an unplanned baptism of my inner truths gushing out of me. He killed me in another life out of jealousy because of a close relationship I had with a woman.
It began to make so much sense to me and how it was playing out now.
I will never forget the day I read his words for the first time:
“From the glass door I watch.
The lightning crashes and thunder roars all around while I stand protected by this thin piece of fired sand. I want to step out into the darkness, to feel nature’s fury and take a chance that this life is not yet done with me.
I want to leave this place where I feel secure and protected to venture the wild unknown — to get that sense of freedom and knowing that I’m alive.
The voice calls and beckons me to step outside. A bolt sears through the sky illuminating what cannot be seen in the darkness. I can see the highlights of the trees in front of this door as the thunder asks for my answer.
I raise my hand to the glass and can see the outline of my hand reflected as if a part of me is outside trying to get in. Is the other me frightened? It the other me asking me to protect him? Or is he asking me to come with him, to venture into the great unknown where the only certainty is uncertainty?
Whichever, I stand alone looking at myself in the glass unsure of the steps I’m about to take. I am here, now… not there, then.
The reflection of the self I see disappears with each flash of light as the self I wish to be beckons, knowing that whether I’m here or there I am seeking that call of the wild I have heard since the day I was born.
I look around in my box, this place I have built for myself that somehow feels safe. As the storm rages out there I see the beginnings of truth. This box is painful. Each piece of timber laid, each window set, each nail driven a testament to pain.
In pain I sought relief — I sought security and I built this place to give me a sense of that. Yet, in a storm such as this we begin to see that each piece of timber, each nail and each shard of broken glass is a weapon against us in the winds of time.
Each link of the chain we wrap around ourselves becomes a testament to a lie, and we begin to strangle the very thing we want to be. We weigh ourselves down with a false sense of everything, never knowing what we are because of the boxes and chains we have forced ourselves into.
I cannot play in the rain if I’m chained to this place. I cannot see the stars with this roof blocking my view.
I cannot see the world from the summit of a mountain if I keep myself locked behind these doors. Somehow the wind, rain, lightening and thunder don’t seem as dangerous as this place that’s giving me the illusion of peace and safety. Dying free is better than living under the burden of these things.
I want to be free and enjoy this lightness of being. I want to dance in her arms with the rain drenching us. I want to hear her song in the wind, feel her power in the natural state we are in.
I need to break free if I’m ever going to get those things I want the most — those things I see when my mind is still and my heart is open. I need to shatter the glass door so the storm can envelope all of this. So that I can never return here.
I pick up the hammer I have used so many times before in building this place. It brings back memories I don’t wish to have. I stare at it, wondering where I ever found such a tool, and can’t remember when I ever picked it up. I don’t want it anymore. It needs to be lost in the storm.
I look around and smile.
I can’t wait to be free of this place and walking into the unknown. I walk up to the door. I feel a sense of trepidation and relief mixed together in this moment. Soon I will be without shelter. Or will it be the sky is my roof?
I chuckle at the thought, somehow knowing… I believe I will have to dodge the wreckage of my illusions, the debris of my mind as it is consumed by out there. I look up, seeing the other me slowly raise the hammer with a look of fear in his eyes and determination in his grip.
He hurls the hammer both toward me and away from me at the same time.
I hear the sounds of glass shattering along with the rush of wind and crack of thunder. One of us ceases to be in that moment of great liberation. I am free as the orange tinted clouds betray the dawning of a new day on the horizon. I cry, I laugh, and I dance… I am born.”
~ Sam Vega
I knew once I read these words, my life would be forever changed. His heart pulled me in like a magnet and I knew that I needed to follow this force if I was going to free myself. I remember when our eyes met for the first time. It was like reuniting with a long lost friend.
The room went black and as we embraced I said, “Here I am.” He replied with a tear in his eye, “You made it.“
“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.” ~ C.G. Jung
He walked with me for sometime, showing me vistas and challenging terrain. We loved, we fought and we would always return in love. He came back each time to show me a deeper part of myself.
He came back to save my life.
A revelation and redemption as I was discovering myself again. He pushed me and I let him. I was not a victim in my death, I asked for it. He came back to show me what I am made of and what I deserve in this life. The jealousy he felt then, was symbolic of the power I held within.
He came back to crack me open.
He came back to set me free.
He watched me fight for the liberation of me.
I faced death again, only so I could live.