Sunday Scribblings {Fellow Traveler}

Dear Fellow Traveler,

If you were sitting beside me right now, sipping a cup of tea and listening to Damien Rice while the wind howls at the window, I would tell you it's an honor to travel life's path with you, that I'm glad you stopped by.  I would tell you it's nice to share this moment with a fellow seeker, that this pilgrimage is long and tiring and it's good to have made a friend.  I would tell you that lately there have been more days that have left me feeling drained and exhausted than days that have filled me with renewed energy.  I would tell you that I've wrestled a lot with doubt lately.  I've doubted myself, my talent, my value, my place, that I've questioned who and what I belong to.  I would tell you that lately God has had soft brown eyes, the kind that make your heart well up just a little, but I'm only able to see them in the stillness and it's sometimes so hard to quiet my distracted mind, a mind that keeps getting lost in stories of things I want and the person I'd like to be.  I would tell you that last night in the tube a memory came to mind, a memory about a piece of art a friend of mine created some years ago after realizing that both the words lie and the word Eve lie within the word BELIEVE.  I would tell you that memory seemed to surface as I've wrestled with a few lies that I unwillingly (and maybe sometimes willingly) bought into.  I would tell you how these lies shut me off from the rest of the world, from people I really want to give my whole self to.  I would tell you how much I hate that I believe them.  I would tell you that some days there is something in my chest that wants to break open and that some days I think I could cut my chest open to get to it, to set it free, but you really can't rush these things, even when you think if you don't at least try you might die.  I would tell you how the aching leaves me feeling as if I can't breathe.  I would tell you that the other evening I was getting my son ready for bed and in the course of conversation I said something about always being good enough and he looked at me quizzically and asked, "Mom, what does good enough mean?" and I wondered when in life it happens that we go from not even knowing what the term 'good enough' means to spending the vast majority of our time trying to be good enough, or trying to believe we are in fact good enough.  I would tell you that good enough has been on my mind lately, that good enough has been tied into my prayers, that good enough is the tears right behind my eyes.  I would tell you that good enough is such a crippling concept and I wish I knew how to go back to the days of not knowing what it meant to be anything other than exactly who and what I truly am.  I would tell you there is something deep inside me I can't get to and that it drives me mad because if I could get to it, if I could just get to it...well, there's no telling what might happen.  I would tell you I'm scared and sometimes I think I know why and other times I seem to be scared for no good reason at all.  I would tell you how badly I want to write the ache out, to give it form, but I can't quite get it right.  I would tell you that what's worse than not being able to give it the right words is thinking it might one day go away and that would be so much worse because I know in truth the words come from the ache and I need the words, I have to have the words, it's the words that give me life.  I would tell you some secrets I've been holding, secrets about things I want and how I don't understand why I can't have them.  I would tell you that I really know they're not mine to have and that I wish knowing that was enough but it's not...not yet anyway.  I would tell you about some things I've come to understand lately, things I haven't talked to anyone about because I'm afraid they'd think I was crazy, I'm afraid they wouldn't understand, but I know you would fellow traveler because you're learning similar things about yourself and like me you know the way we learn them can't be questioned or judged.  I would tell you I've been trying to pray but I can't remember how.  I would tell you sometimes I forget God exists.  I would tell you I'm happy but not full, I'm satisfied but not finished.  I would tell you I'm not the person sitting in front of you and you would understand exactly what I mean by that.  I would tell you I'm not afraid to break apart because there's something healing about breaking to pieces.  I would tell you all those pieces cut my hands but that's okay because I need to break.  I would tell you some days there is a fire but most days I'm just too tired to care whether it keeps burning or dwindles out.  I would tell you about my failings and then I would ask you to help me dig through them to find my success.  I would tell you the world within me is often more real than the world outside me and that I'm learning to be okay with that, that I'm learning not to erase the inner world.  I would tell you I wish I could be this transparent, this real and honest, this raw and vulnerable with everyone.  I would tell you all these things and we would cry, not because we're weak and defeated, not because we feel sorry for ourselves but because we've been holding on to the tears a little too tightly and it's time to let them go. 

And now fellow traveler it's your turn to share the things you've been holding.  I'm here listening.  I'm here ready and willing to cry a little with you because I know, I know you have to let them go.

Comments

[loans]

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[EllarT31]

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[Aundria]

I feel like I just read what my own heart and soul have been saying for years. I find myself at a loss for words and yet full of them all at the same time.

As a fellow traveller struggling to regain her voice in the midst of much disappointment and loss these last few years, you inspire me to pick up my journal and let my soul dance and sing and weep and laugh across the pages once again, like it yearns to do.

Thank you for being so vulnerable and so honest, and for the much-needed reminder that I never walk alone in this journey called life.

[jenica]

you make me feel so brave!

these words plucked tears right out of my soul before i could tuck them away, *there's something healing about breaking to pieces. I would tell you all those pieces cut my hands but that's okay because I need to break*

michelle, you have such a way with words and emotions. i know there's more to be said, more to write, more that you just can't figure out yet... and it's frustrating. but what would be the purpose of life if everything was figured out from the beginning?

the simpleness of not *needing* to know what "good enough" means... that to me is the innocence and beauty of faith. i believe that faith is much more than a believe in things not seen, but more of a *remembrance* of the things we've always known to be true. because when i find truth, i can feel my soul resonate with it.

i too am a traveler. and sometimes i don't even feel like i know which direction i'm traveling in.

[michele]

you words are melodic. they have texture and taste. not many have the ability to come through with such poise and honesty.

i adore your blog, your words, your inner world.
it's somewhat like mine...

[My Inspired Heart - Sandra]

{{tears}} ...this was perfect, beautiful....thank you.

[Alex]

Not sure what happened to my previous comment... But anyhow, I just wanted to say I came back here to read this post one more time. What you wrote expresses so much of how I feel. I get it and share it fully. Thank you for this. Thank you for igniting my heart's aching and allowing me to drop some otherwise tightly kept tears...

[Tumblewords]

Beautifully and clearly written. You've said what many feel but can't say. I've begun reading a little 'wabi sabi' which is learning to love imperfection since there really is no perfection. To the best of my ability seems to be a phrase I'm learning to love! One of my granddaughters says, 'Pobody's nerfect.' I believe her!

[Angela]

i've been holding onto the precious threads of living. watching right before my eyes the end of a life while a new one grows inside my belly. i would wonder aloud why a door closes every time a new life begins in me? why does that have to happen, why couldn't it just be a beautiful corridor of open...we'd conclude that all that open would become very dull, but i would still long for it a little.
your expression of feeling is beautiful here Michelle.
thank you.

[ruby]

thank you for these beautiful words...they speak so truly to my heart...in the place i am in right now. perhaps the courage to capture these feelings will come to me...

[ruby]

thank you for these beautiful words...they speak so truly to my heart...in the place i am in right now. perhaps the courage to capture these feelings will come to me...

[ruby]

thank you for these beautiful words...they speak so truly to my heart...in the place i am in right now. perhaps the courage to capture these feelings will come to me...

[Star]

Very easy to relate to these words because I think they're true in one way or another (and probably many ways) for all of us.

I'm still searching, but have found a place within my soul to rest and take a deep breath, which feels good. I've also learned a lesson in the domino effect of "enough" over the past year: sometimes when you come to terms with "enough" in one area, the light shines through it and illuminates another area that was previously hidden. And I learn and grow and try to be "enough" all over again.

Sending you wishes for blessings...

[Marilyn]

Michelle, this is a heart-breakingly beautiful post. Yes, indeed, sometimes the breaking apart is the only way to put it back together in a way that feels right. I hear you, sister...and feel so honored to bear witness to the part of your journey you choose to share with us. Much love.

[claire]

May you find and create peace and harmony in your inner world, and the outer world.

[Bethany]

How lovely and poignant and deeply true. I felt like I was reading the monologue buried somewhere in the chaotic basement of my brain, the one I too would put words to if only I could get it right.
"I know in truth the words come from the ache and I need the words, I have to have the words, it's the words that give me life." And you've managed to give life to others' wordless aches in the process.

[jo]

I "discovered" your blog yesterday, a joy stummbled upon when I needed it most. Thank you for sharing yourself so openly. Dicoveries find us only when we are seeking. Your words have blessed my day.

[deirdre]

You've read my heart and put it in words. This thing we carry inside, and too often don't cherish, is usually also what makes us better people. Thank you for expressing the longing so beautifully.