“Whoever survives the initiation of the dead receives the most wonderful gift: resurrection. The resurrection is to be like a child – to be wild and free, but with a difference. The difference is that we have freedom with wisdom… instead of innocence.” ~Don Miguel Ruiz in The Four Agreements
Lately the tragic poet in me has been mourning the way recovered innocence bleeds out with more living. I know it seems backwards when you’re perfectly healthy to seek more cherished hours by staring death in the eye, but how else would we conjure a reawakening? Death is and always will be Life’s dance partner. And the alchemy of Love is as scary as the transformation of Death because we can’t know how it will change us.
Ironically, it was a beautiful, blind, stumbling fool who crushed every knuckle of the tiny fist I did not recognize in my own heart. Only then Love moved through me as a radiant golden beam, quietly splitting palms and chest so wide, I had no choice but to see my own wound at last.
Eventually grief moves beyond ego. Only then do tears become like magical lenses to aid the lonely work of scavenging nutrients for our collective human soul. With no place left to hide my own shadow, maybe now I can finally outgrow the most kickass opiate to soothe and mend hope — irrepressible pure INNOCENCE.
Been grieving hope and stubborn innocence while trying to shake thru a sieve all the impurities and human frailties that muck up Love. Grieving because those two seemingly beautiful qualities have always bubbled up to mend any wound I have ever suffered. Now I see in hope and in innocence there is also a blindspot of denial. Fear is Love’s only enemy. I asked the universe to break my heart so that I could know the pain of too much tenderness, and now I have no fear.
And I intend to move beyond survivor to warrior. I don’t want to Love. I want to be Love.