A brief tale:
A dear mentor of mine recently shared about Mercury Retrograde being an invitation to review and repair relationships long broken. Soon thereafter, an old friend whom I haven’t heard from in years reached out to me, wanting to reconnect.
This particular friend was someone who had said some very painful things in the past, thus leading me to distance myself from them for some time. When they reached out during this current retrograde season (December 19th to January 8th), I should-ed all over myself.
“You should hang out with them.”
“You should forgive them.”
“You should be the big one, the enlightened one, the healed one sprouting her Popeye arms and third eye chakra galore.”
Those thoughts didn’t last long. About 23 hours, to be precise, before I remembered something about what the heck true strength is.
Tonight, I share a love poem for those of you who feel weak and unable, tender and broken still after all these years. For those of you who’ve tried to smile on top of the heartbreak, to dance on top of the broken floor, to sail toward the sunset on the ship with the gaping hole, the one lurching ungracefully toward the bottom of the sea.
For those of you who tell yourself that you’ve failed, that you just don’t have what it takes to be loveable like all the cool kids/adults/neighbors/enlightened ones. Who tell yourself that you “should” get it together, you “should” go out this weekend, you “should” get over that person, and that you “shouldn’t” take so goddamn long to heal...
You, my loves, have been lied to.
True strength is choice
always and always
through and through
Pausing when your heart needs a reprieve
lowering your head when you're frightened
when you've been shocked
toward the old hurt that you wish had left you
a thousand years ago
saying to the loud voices of Should and Should Not
“No, you cannot have me"
And to pull inward
close the drapes
turn off the lights
that you may listen
that you may finally see
And find in the shadows of the dark
the young frozen one
who would only dare to come out at night
who has waited for you for all these years
And take her by the hand
into your warm and soft lap
broad and forgiving
Teaching her to lay down her head
Telling her, “No boogeyman coming this time, my love”
and that, this time
the softness is staying
is this swinging the doors of your heart wide open here
quietly closing them there
the fallible and breakable one
the tender and uncertain one
incomplete and enough
softening amidst the fray
dipping yourself in sweetness
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