I spent much of today huddled under a faux sheepskin blanket in our 77-degree Southern California apartment, reading stories.
Stories of desperation, of longing, of triumph, of shame. Sweet, sweet stories from achingly real hearts.
I sit here, shamelessly weeping, feeling each and every moment, every heartbeat, every backward reflection that makes a story sing. I feel it all. I cannot unfeel.
I’m a puddled mess of tears today, feeling everything, shivering. I can’t help but think that these stories — penned by different hands, about lives I know nothing about — are somehow also mine.
I feel it all.
I sit, weeping, shivering, remembering that I asked for this. I asked, like the Velveteen Rabbit asked, to be made more Real.
Three different people pointed out to me recently that I’m in a spiritual initiation. I toyed with the thought of crowdsourcing — what tools, what rituals, would you employ in a spiritual initiation?
But of course I know the answer. I’m doing it. My initiation is MINE, and I already have all the guidance I need.
We humans are so fucking beautiful.
I weep in gratitude for the love and care sent my way. I weep with the realization that the community my beloved Dave Donatiu and I came here for is already circling around us. With tending it will become a lush garden. And I weep from wretched uncertainty.
But don’t we all live with uncertainty? Not with a ticking brain tumor time bomb, perhaps, but we each in our own way can’t possibly know all of What Comes Next.
And still, we take that next breath, that next step, and trust that we will still be here, that life will still be here to receive us. And I find that utterly beautiful.