The Heroine’s Journey

 

I’m not afraid anymore,

Like so many have said before.

I can finally feel it settle into my marrow.

My heart still strains a wee bit under its weight,

Sometimes…

But that terror no longer chases me into the arms of another

Mistake…

Or at least not for very long…

 

I’m not afraid of being alone…

Truly on my own.

I tore out his closet…

The one into which she longed to be invited.

I recycled the second rocking chair that had begun to rot

In the neglect filled air;

The fading expectation for its arms to be filled in a nightly slow sway,

Mirroring my own parallel process.

 

My bed is still the size of the monarchy;

Big enough for my kids to sleep walk into

And, big enough to hold the random well-loved

Or, broken-hearted visiting friend,

Lover,

Or both…

With forgiveness.

A queen’s recognition of her over extended accidental invitation

Or, momentary abandonment of burgeoning boundaries…

So hard to release all the ways one has become

The “yes” girl.

 

The temper tantrums still come in some of the darker moments,

When the immensity of my eternal solitude strikes me down.

But now I am better at catching them

Before they escape to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting hearts surrounding me.

The shame of my children’s visible wounds continues to demand

My attention,

My accountability,

My action.

 

It seems this story is apparently not over.

The semicolon persists.

Even as every despair filled fiber of my being has previously pleaded,

Begged,

Burned,

For my suffering to be silenced;

I continue to awaken.

It is the optimist’s burden.

 

I’m not afraid anymore of remaining Mindful.

Ohhh…the party still goes on.

But, the hoots of hedonism soaked joy now outweigh

The keening despair and cries for distraction.

There is more radical acceptance,

Even as I am inundated with arias of my endless imperfections.

I can open my arms to them now

On the balmy moonlit evenings spent

Buried in my garden.

I DID come into this alone,

Embodied.

And I will likely leave the same…

Just as they have always told me.

Only once again,

Embodied…

And, if I am lucky,

Buried in my garden.

Inspired by the night creatures’ ritual ritornelli,

I will cry out this aria di bravura…

My resounding aria of action,

My repeating aria of accountability,

To this end

Until my end.

 

I am not afraid of honoring,

Owning,

The internal isolation that has always accompanied me…

Truly, the longest relationship I have ever had is with her.

 

And, I am learning

That the same courage that has catapulted me

Out of planes

And, delivered me to:

the goddesses on Olympus,

the ends of tempestuous oceans,

The annihilation from her reckless love,

And the hollow cavern of his careless words;

This same courage is still my companion,

As I contemplate this next chapter.

 

And, while they called it my mid life crisis,

I remember I have been trained in crisis response,

Over and over again.

I know what to say to the hopeless soul.

I know how to see the invisible spirit,

To call in the One Within others.

I have always known…

To feel my way through…

 

Only now,

That courage is turning me toward that terrifying discomfort

Into whose eyes I still cannot quite bear to look

For too long.

And if that wasn’t me,

Then the fear released every time I do gaze into her moss soaked earthen saucers,

Exposes another truth I have forgotten

Or, have been trained to forget.

 

Oh, the starkness of the house stripped of our story,

Stripped of its metaphor…

This endless emptying of countless choices created together…

The new comfort of an old teaching…

I did choose the divorce house.

Perhaps I have always chosen the path that leaves me alone.

Perhaps the psychic was right about my lesson,

my legacy,

my learning

This time ‘round…

 

And still,

I am not afraid anymore.

I will no longer long to cover the roots of chaos

With a familiar Cinderella façade.

There will be no one to buffer the imprints of my hands,

My arms

My tongue

My lips

My breath

No one to hide the wounds

The ashes

From this inferno’s destruction…

Only my aria of accountability

Will remain and repeat after each arousing ritornelli,

Even if that leads me further away

From old connections.

 

He abandoned me long before I ever awoke;

Before I even knew I must leave

To find my way back to myself

Without grace,

An exquisitely awkward exhibition of vulnerability

Clinging to whatever ground I could cultivate beneath my clumsy,

Uncoordinated dance of return.

I think this is authenticity…

 

I will aim to accept every day,

Just as she does when she watches me reach for the door

Every day.

And, as I relax into the observations,

My view from above,

I will remember every time

They reach for me,

And repeat the refrain.

Only this time without bravado,

With tarnished integrity.

I will trip the light, my light

Perhaps, alone…

I am simply, no longer, afraid…

 

xoT

~we have to become our own~