Off Road and In Reverse
I originally wrote this in February, and I’m amazed that the deepest parts of my soul were guiding me even during the darkest period of my life.
…You don’t deserve to dream without confusion pulsating through your veins. I have this thing with seeing anything in my vision that lacks words. For example, if I were to see a picture or a scene and there is no lettering or wording on it, it makes me feel uneasy. I love words. I love reading. It makes me feel connected to the world. It helps me to be calm. But I’m at this point when there are no words. My life is like those horrible Suzanne Somers products that simply have pictures for directions. I hate that shit! It confuses me. I’d much rather read directions than try to figure them out through symbol. And so, again, to reiterate, no one deserves to dream without being so fucking confused that you begin to question the validity of your tears…of your fears…of every single aspect of your life. Until you have fought hard to find out who the hell you are and what the hell life is about; until you finally tell your internal mother to shut the fuck up and let you live; until you are lost somewhere, alone, and you see no one else with you but millions upon millions of stars, staring at you, giving you possibility–so much that you stand there in fear and trembling, realizing that you are actually, seriously in control of where you go and what you do and who you meet and how you live, you shouldn’t be allowed to dream. Nope, not until you realize that you are the directions–that you are creating art that is called your life. That it has to be made from scratch for it to have any kind of quality and worth. You get to pick what colors are on the canvas. You get to pick the shape of the sculpture. You get to be the director, the writer, and the star of the film that is you.
And now, I’m amazed–completely amazed–that all of this came out of me. It’s as though someone else was telling me the great secret to life.
And today, nine months later, I am still amazed that I wrote that. When I write things, sometimes, I am overtaken by another. A wise one. Wisdom. She visits me through my own writing. When I wrote the above, I was in a dungeon, filled with pestilence and pain. I had no heart knowledge of what I was writing, which is why I believe it was Sophia talking to me. The bold line popped out to me simply because each day I learn that life happens through symbol, be it a smile, a tear, a breeze, or a hailstorm. Life is symbolic, illustrative, complex, intense, and deeply spiritual. I have been on a constant search for directions–blatant, boldly written, concrete directions, and they don’t exist. My penchant for words has kept me off course. And now, I realize that my journey to Venus begins deeply within my soul, which only travels by the means of emotional and spiritual energy. Not words.