I didn’t know how the years ahead would play out. That the Gulf war was just a preamble. That my friend’s five-year-old would commit suicide before his twenty-second birthday. That I wouldn’t study music or social work; instead, I would begin to write. I didn’t know the pervasive sadness - the black well of depression - that would swallow me during that coming decade. I thought I knew where I was headed. I thought the road before me was clear - unencumbered. I was wrong.
We wear coats of many colors. Not everything is PG. Not everything is suitable, correct, or upstanding. The point is, can we allow ourselves to be swamp creatures and hellions and honest to Goddess she-wolves howling at the full moon, without judging those things as off-limits or wrong or beneath our station?
Each person is a mysterious forest of both seen and unseen elements. I think there is a dark river that runs through the core of our lives. And there are gifts in that darkness. That boiling soup contains things we need to learn.
Travel. Funky-walk-about-get-your-hands-dirty-experience-the-local-color kind of travel should be a prerequisite for life as an adult. Once you see those faces and hear their stories, you are changed. Once you experience the profound kindness, strangeness, hopefulness, and, even the understandable fears of the "other," you can never again think about any living person as being less important than you are.
We have to transform ourselves into a more compassionate, empathetic society... We must shed our violent history. But we also need to own it, make it conscious, and atone for it.
I remember the young girl I was as clearly as if I left her just yesterday. As an adult, I've gone back and retrieved her from that place of suffering and smallness. I know I can make of anything of my life I want to make of it.
I knew that the only way to rediscover and re-empower my own life was to go deep within myself. This meant that I needed to find out what I thought about everything. I needed to delve into the hidden parts of my life and uncover whatever it was that had stopped me from basking in the sunlight of a wholehearted life. I needed to stand in the center of what fed and nurtured me.
I woke up in the middle of the night last night and realized that in the end, everything — every experience, every choice, every mistake — is about love. There is nothing else...
THERE IS NOTHING ELSE.
There’s just love. It’s the only thing that’s real.
It’s the only thing that we can take with us when we die. We carry that love across the river of death. It seeds and blooms in our hearts as we are sent off into another life.
Those who risk it, reap the reward — even if it sometimes knocks us to our knees or mows us down — we are rewarded by exposing our most fragile and raw underbellies to the eyes of those we love. We grow if our hearts are open. We grow if our hearts break. There’s nothing to be gained by waiting, by stalling, by thinking we still have time.
We need wonder and awe. We need to realize that it is part of our birthright to wear our wings proudly. We each have a mission in this life. We have gifts and wisdom to share. If this were not true, we would not be here.
Trust that you can handle what life sends you. Don’t worry incessantly that if you open your life up again — if you send out your manuscript or offer your heart — that you will be shattered if your gifts aren’t openly or enthusiastically received. Life asks us to take risks so we will grow.