Old stuff, arise… arise… arise

Whew. Every time I get intense with my spiritual work, stuff comes up. Old, painful emotions. Unresolved grief.

Sadness, like an anchor, pulls me down, telling me to stop rising up.

So I do.

I go down into the deep, but I carry my love with me.

As above, so below.

May the highest love in the heavenly reaches of my most noble soul be made fully manifest in the deepest sewers of my unconscious mind. No longer can I pretend to be spiritual while this volcano of pain boils and broils and bubbles and burns underneath the smiling facade of my many masks.

I must take the love deeper down. All the way. Into the roots and beneath them. Into the soil and deeper still. Into the rocks and the water tables and the old burning lakes of trauma that are still unheard, unresolved, unspoken, frozen in time and forgotten.

But love remembers.

Love knows.

Love knows where the frozen children of my fractured past lay buried like ancient flies preserved in amber.

Love knows how and where the trauma started, and knows how to unwind the knots of tension so that the grief can flow.

Love knows.

and my job is to trust that love knows,

and my job is to muster for the courage to feel what is mine to feel, and to let-go of what was never mine to feel.



Photo – Aimee Vogelsang via Unsplash

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