Letter to myself on my Birthday
These threads, seeds planted, stuff that came to the surface in September is here now. As I flipped through my journal from that time, I located this. Another letter I wrote to myself that feels right to share here and now. For the context of what is arising for me now is similar to what it was then, reminding me that these roots are deep, vast and wide, and there is a lot that I am holding on to and that is stuck to me at the same time. The letter, written on my birthday, speaks for itself.
Beloved Sara,
Namaste.
You are not bad.
You are not mean.
You are not at fault.
You are alive. Living fully.
Making -no- it isn’t making a
Mistake, it is simply learning
You are learning
That is why you are here.
To learn, to grow
That is why you came here
To this body, now
44 years ago
To be placed in these circumstances
To be presented with these opportunities
To grow
To learn
To see
To witness
To reflect
If everything went according to plan,
What if everything went according to plan?
Would there still be growth?
Opportunities to learn?
Is there a plan?
Hum
Is there a plan, a plan to be followed?
Or is it more a path with lots of different options, terrain
Places to go, things to see?
I say, “you cannot get this wrong,”
You cannot get it wrong
Who says there is a right way?
You are you
Being you
I am me, being me
Noticing the resistance, the anger
The emotion, the feeling
When are you at ease?
When you sleep? Yes, a full night’s sleep.
Waking when my body is ready
Eating food that is nourishing me, not full of
Flour, sugar and dairy
That makes you inflamed and swollen
When I have consistent time set for me to be, do me
What I want, on my own
Without pressure
From within and without
From myself and what I perceive to be from others
Yes, these most recent event occurred for me to see what is here, deeply, once deep, now exposed even more.
You know you do not like to be micro-managed, told what to do, how to do it, when
You know you like freedom and flexibility
We all do, I think.
Which is sharper?
The hatchet that cuts down dreams or the scythe that clears a path for another?
What wisdom does the eagle whisper to those who are learning to fly?
When a ball of tangled line unravels, what remains at the barb?
From what are the walls of a sanctuary built? And those of a prison?
Where will the ravens take the debris abandoned on the freckled sand?
Who spins the elaborate web that entraps the timed spirit?
Is fire born of words? Or are the words born of fire?
Does metamorphosis begin from the outside in? Or from the inside out?
We all like to have flexibility and choice
Your worries, beloved
Your hurt
Your anger
Your thoughts
The guilt
The worry
The hurt
The anger
The questioning
They are not “yours”
They arise
Watch
Acknowledge
Like pee in the ocean
Nothing
Tiny
Miniscule
Step. Step. Step
Forward, not back
Towards growth
Towards growth
Love,
me
*The questions in bold are from Pam Muñoz Ryan’s The Dreamer, which I was reading at the time.
The letter in the post was written in my journal. This is the actual notecard that I wrote to myself that night.