“Love is the riverbed. It is the ebb and flow we must allow ourselves to lay in. The deepness we must jump headfirst into, the darkness we must explore to emerge with our own true refuge of richness. It is the jagged rocks along the way we must overcome, breakthrough, return anew. It is the healing of past wounds. The willingness to engage the pain for beauty to emerge. A remembrance that life is a lesson about integration; that we must integrate our shadow parts to achieve equilibrium again.” -excerpt from Estamos Unidos
It is the healing of past wounds. The willingness to engage the pain for beauty to emerge.
A wound can never fully heal without being acknowledged.
A wound can never fully heal with constant fixation present.
A wound can never fully heal from another’s love smothering your pain.
A wound can never fully heal without retrieving lost pieces of your soul.
A wound can never fully heal, but it can strengthen the core of your foundation.
In western society, vulnerability and empathy is looked at as a weakness even though we may say otherwise. There’s this idea if we admit that we feel hurt, or anything at all, we will be deemed less. We are expected to run ourselves dry-working sixty-hour weeks, having a thriving social life, taking care of our kids, being involved with extra activities, volunteering, and still be functional enough to get by without sleep. There is an insidious trap put in place for people, especially POC, to make it seem impossible to have the time to process both their personal and inherited pain. There is a pain we are pushed to embrace in replacement of exploring the pain from both our personal, and collective histories.
We are not guided to explore the pain our ancestors experienced because the past is “over and done with” and we need to move on. We are expected to always move forward and never look back. We are expected to continue to advance, evolve, and move on to the next important thing without ever incorporating our past selves into the present or future.
The current climate in society shames, shames, and shames. It’s easier to put the blame on others than to face the faults within one’s self. It’s easier to hide away truth and tolerate pain, than to own our shortcomings and faults. This stems into the other idea that somehow, we always need to be “right,” and to not be is the worst thing in the world.
The truth is: there are multiple truths, realities, and planes in the universe.
I believe this is a simple truth most people believe they know, but they do not actually understand it with their whole being.
Theory, the art of knowing, and Being, the art of embodying, are two completely different playing fields.
It was December 2016, the first time I experienced parts work. Parts work is a type of therapy that abides by the theory that human beings have many selves within the self. It infuses hypnosis to get the client to a deeper state where they can shed light on parts of themselves which were shunned into the shadows. I went into my session with an open heart and mind, and left with a healing message to myself:
You’re fabulous because you are confronting your rebirth. You have successfully integrated your Anima and Animus and are learning to live in balance with the many parts of yourself.
Remember how you were just Maria 5 years ago? The girl who did not know who she was. She would try to find solace in any other living being because she was too afraid to explore the darkness inside her. She was so afraid of the gaping hole in her heart that she would sink her teeth into other people’s situations. She failed to notice the universe resided in her heart; the abundance of space it empowered her with. The most pure, true, and expandable invitation it contained to authentically hold another spirit. She was too afraid of her power that she learned to give it away–allowed others to feed on her until the light drained from her eyes.
Remember how she thought that was the meaning of unconditional love? To give everything at the expense of her own needs? She turned to a frail old woman well beyond her time. Shriveled and weary from all the blood spilt. She barely survived–but today. Today, she was revived. She met an abandoned innocent boy. He crouched in the cold of the shadows shivering with no clothes except for battered under garments. His hair covered his face, but she could still see the dirt smudged across it. His dark brown eyes spoke to her about the silence, the lost songs consumed by it. He could not speak with his mouth because he did not believe he had a voice. He barely believed he even existed. He did not trust the world that failed to recognize his humanity.
The neglect this boy had faced in his life permeated through every one of his attributes, but his eyes were the ones that called out the most to her. There was something very familiar about them she could not quite pinpoint. He had long soft eyelashes that spoke of dreamlike wonder. They complimented his glossy glow which cradled the little warmth left inside him; a spark she recognized. They reached for each other as the light appeared and together merged as one.