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how do i live after i’ve lost myself?
this spiritual reckoning that i’ve been in, how do i walk through the last of the underworld and emerge victorious into the ordinary world once more? the clarity that burns from a flame, lit with a match, burning on the wick, so sure and certain of itself there is no flicker. this clarity of my own being-ness is elusive. i am lost. i feel lost.
how do i live now after i’ve lost all of who i am? i long to know myself so thoroughly that rarely am i lost with drowning questions: what do i do; how do i do it; when do i do it. who am i? how do i show up in this world? how do i show up in this moment? how do i live after i’ve lost myself? at what point may i claim myself again as my own? where in this journey am i given back into myself, instead of a flailing player giving lives and layers, over and over and over again, to the game.
i long for the moments that string together into minutes, further reaching through hours and past days-weeks-months-years that i feel wholly myself, where i am wholly living a life that fits me like a warm cashmere sweater might. i long for the conversations and snippets of social engagements where i no longer have to flinch when someone talks about the mundane ‘blowing their mind’, or when describing what i’m up to in my life doesn’t start with my dad died, it was suicide, i found him. i long for the space in-between that reaches up and graces me with the peace and knowingness that this path has been necessary and needed, for all involved.
i long for conversations free of ‘that makes me want to kill myself’. i too long for a society that allows the grieving to grieve, that refrains from asking stupid ass questions like ‘was it messy?’ or ‘did you know?’. i long for the hard conversations to emerge and bubble to the surface with ease and be addressed with ease. i long for the terror of gunshot and fireworks, sudden loud banging noises and slamming things to lessen within my psyche, so that i may live in peace in the world around me. i long for the images, gruesome and consistent, tattooed beneath my eyelids to wash away with the tides. i long for the tears to make more meaning, as they write lines of asymmetrical poetry down my cheeks.
has this become my new normal?
this heightened awareness and new sensitivities to… all of life? is this the greatest gift that has been delivered through every cell in my being? i long to know when i have arrived there, in that place of deep knowingness and centeredness. it is a place i have been striving for for what seems like eons: magnitudes of time and space stretched out both-all-every-ways, having infinite measure and weight.
when do i land? and in this landing, is there a place to call my own? when am i home? is this another elusive egoic trick of trickery, searching and seeking for something ‘out there’ when all along here it is, right here inside of me?
i have taken into the forest, through the woods, and have journeyed many-much distance through time-space-places. i have taken the journey seriously and i have battled the demons and dragons, those fear based mongrels, into their own reckoning. i have gathered the gems and the oils along the way. all that is left is to bring this back to the tribe, back to my people.
i long for others to say the thing plainly; when they are having a bad day, to say so. when they are having thoughts of killing themselves, to say so, and so it sounds like: “i’m having thoughts of ending my life~ killing myself~ going on living right now feels impossible~ i need your help~ please help me”.
i long for a world in which suicide is not a crime, is not a sin, is not social taboo. i long for the human adults to wake up and see clearly, to know they will not be swallowed whole by these thoughts and feelings of pain, heartache, depression, sadness, grief.
i long for a family that supports me, who sees me in my pain and allows my own grieving and processing to take place in my own time, in my own ways. i long for these humans, my blood born tribe, to see me fully and allow me to be the spiritual expression that i am. i long for them to never again tell me that i am doing it wrong. i long for them to know the heartache of being kicked out of the tribe.
how do i live after i’ve lost myself? when do i know i have landed? how will i know when i have found myself? what will this all be for? the wakes and ripples that i have been teeter-tottering upon, will they become my new language: iconic poems, ballads, verses, and rhymes that deliver reason into my lobes?
what will this all be for? what will this all be for?
i love you,
xxo ~k 💙