Turn, Turn, Turn

I didn’t do it. Turn around that is. I was too afraid. I kept telling myself that I would do it later when I had more time or more interest (or more courage). However, we all know what happens when we continue to ignore what is knocking on our door, tapping on our shoulder or breathing down our necks.

It eventually bites us in the ass.

My stubborn insistent refusal to turn around has, perhaps, cost me a relationship (possibly with one of more of my beloved Mastery sisters). Without going into a long-winded story, let’s just say that I wrote an email that was my honest to G feeling. I meant it to be generative but I wrote it from a place within myself that I was blind to (because it was behind me in the stern and I couldn’t find the courage to look it in the eyes).

I didn’t turn around because I was afraid of what I was going to see about myself. And from what I could hear of the slow deep inhales and exhales behind me, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. Honestly, it sounded downright grotesque …a living breathing gargoyle.

And it wouldn’t stop talking to me with its breath.

Its breath was daring me to turn around. Its breath was taunting me with its smell. Its breath was steamy, hot and sharp on the back of my neck as it electrified my spine. Its breath rolled and rasped and coughed and sputtered like a big engine waiting for the brake to be released.

It was full of its own terrifying power, waiting for me.

Knowing that I felt small and tiny and boneless.

So I let this part of myself do what it has done many times in the past. I allowed it to wear down my resolve and courage and Love for myself and all things. Then it snuck up on me when I was busy adjusting my sails, or looking desperately for an escape or surrendering into its incessant, insistent, insipid breathing.

It silently, skillfully, and without my conscious awareness took me over.

I wrote the email, clicked on the Send button and let it fly unfettered to its appointed destination. The response to my email was immediate, sure and swift.

And I was broken by the experience of being categorically silenced and being seen as someone who undermines and sabotages.

I was deeply confused. So I went back to the email, read it again, and crumbled into bonelessness. My grief about what I had said in my unconscious but all-consuming state was more than I could bear alone.

I turned, not around, but in. I turned in, to my Self, and asked Love for help.