betrayal | Monday Mindfulness

Pain provides an opportunity to turn towards lessons and lessening or to adopt as a wounded state as a part of identity.

For sure, the wave of wound on the heels of pain can feel logical and essential. It may perhaps be needed in order to make a choice. The wound from pain can be like a riptide that is easy to get caught in…that can provide great struggle and even the potential to drown.

However, to ride that current, perhaps even begin to understand it’s make up and direction and feel more fully into it just briefly, produces the wisdom to release the struggle and be propelled to its edges by its own force.

Without resistance, the riptide has nothing to hold onto and pushes away what it cannot drag down.

In due time, the churning and swirling when met with curiosity, tenderness, and patience has the capacity to deliver an object once more to calm and safe waters.

It is in returning to this calm space where wisdom is found…the pain lessened and the wound converted to a lesson.

While woundnedness perpetuates a perceived lack of safety imposed externally, wisdom reinforces the notion that safety is created in the choice to experience but not drown in the wound.

While ideally the sea of life hopes to offer smooth, calm, clear waters, it also aspires to shape future landscapes and to never remain the same, retaining unintentially in its purpose the potential for pain.

And in this way, there lie endless opportunities to ride or resist, to learn or succumb.

For so long I have worked to convert false and illusory love into something genuine and real.

I took every secret, every lie, and tried to make good of it, convert it with my own love, and hold it in my heart as if somehow sacred.

It cut me off from believing I was worthy or capable of experiencing authentic love…so much so that I lost the connection to my own self love.

My heart never forgot. It diligently safeguarded that little piece of me while it held all the other illusions and hopes.

The portion of my heart that held onto dreams of apologies and repair finally grew so heavy and full of empty promises that it ripped itself away. Painfully it twisted and tugged, like an overripe piece of fruit trying to resist gravity’s pull. It finally fell away. Oh the sorrow. Even letting go of something rancid and rotting is still a severing, a deep and real loss.

As that fruit of my broken heart smashed to the ground, its void still consuming my awareness, little seeds of potentiality embedded in the ground. I saw in them hopes that somehow we have all learned from these lessons of untrue love.

Somehow we will remember that without filling there can be no emptying. Without love there is no hope. Without unabashed openness and courage, the fruit cannot ripen and go on to somehow grow into something beautiful.

And in the meantime, the void from the fallen fruit begins to fill with new leaves.