We should be taught the romance of darkness. How to unwrap the yummy nibbles to mouthfuls of shade so that we sense the tingling on the tongue of the sugar coursing through every vein. Today, my northern hemisphere booty sits tilted as far from the sunshiney star I resemble the most. The fire, typically so perky that people often aren’t quite sure what to do with all of my vibrantly big doses of positivity, had been dwindling down to barely smoldering embers inside many of my body parts these latest months. Sexy tides of summer abruptly tripped me into winter solstice mode a bit too soon for my usual taste. Medically-induced mishaps will easily lavish you with their festive sorrows. Pruning gloom positions redemption where self-pity once tried to act as if it could lease your entire space indefinitely. Stoking ourselves is the purpose of a life supremely sorted.
We didn’t sign up for this therapy session. ~Dr. Jeremy Goldberg
Coaching yourself to cohabitate with the blindsidedness of bad things befalling us regularly is a lesson in employing empathy. I want us to color our darks so darkly that peeling off a blue feels as securely wrapped in warmth as encircling oneself in a yellow or dripping against the seductive red. It’s unceasingly in season to behoove the style of haunting our own ghosts. Your melancholies are phantasmic silhouettes of what your soul aches to speak. The louder you listen the longer your epiphanies. Sometimes my speech only comes in words of dancing, eating, singing with my body, or massaging my brain. There might be dreary days whose comfort cascades across your frame in the avalanche of water pelting from the showerhead. Just as you would sift the soils before patting in a new bud that begs to grow, the upheaval to blossom is a non-linear reach. Let’s loosen our shadows.
Did you know that you can splinter into a zillion shreds and remain ok? I wish there was a loudspeaker that started each day with your favorite sounds of music or stillness and announced whatever you needed to hear. Mine shall frequently remind me that anytime I’m not earning (in the traditional sense) I am persistently ‘working’ on myself, which is the utmost career choice I may ever embody. Buried in the credit we’ve accumulated on plastic cards or in the ether of investments lies the commitment of industrious infinity to generate empowerment enough to vanquish pains. Merely by being you are doing the best that you can. Of course, there are numerous ones capable of doing trillions of trimmings better than stacking the hearts they’ve bound for graves through murderous means or the like. I believe that having a life at all grants you a Ph.D. in what I’ll cite as the Philosophy of Fortitude.
Will you win the scar wars? The truism of nukes ought to be applied primarily to our obstacles. May you crave the sensitive faults that render wildly bungled blows. We’re constantly available for rewriting the poop that we produce. Pollinating our crap with comparison antics is Dalai Lama dynamism. I think our agencies are purified through the potency of our defecation. I’ve recurrently calculated that the larger the wads of excrement doled out per human the more improved their range of elimination. He fed you a breakup ~ That marks increased personal poetry flirt flings. Your body tightens the health leash ~ Practice the relaxation game. A parent won’t put down the drinks ~ Venture you launch the development capsule of your autobiography: Always Touch It (as in your vices to your wounds). Our defenses become the chops to craft our prized coins of villain or superstar. We gain ground by digging deeply.
I’m an inebriated optimism freak. How jealous can you make yourself for thriving with your best living? Suppose, you get to it! Each filthy flash of expression offers us an instance to love bomb the shit out of it. I’ve resolved to fall in love with my darkness. The kind of loving that settles in the brain for the voyage of a great haul. Wander the halls of indifference. Talk to anyone, especially strangers, about their miracles or majorly moist messes. Trust that you can walk within the pitch-black midnightness without conventional stumbling. Certainly, fumbling is a piece of the puzzle. But, it actually lends you the figuring it all out. Throw your mistakes a big-ass party to celebrate hurdling hurt. When we stop trying to prove anything to ourselves or another and install the f*cking around with suffering that leads us to orgasmic displays of profundity we’re well on our way.
May your passion for such dark days bring you lasting peace whenever you desire it.