My mentor suggests, read the book. Go. Try. Apply. Then return and reread. You are no longer the same person as you were on the first sitting.
The story of one’s life should be given the same courtesy.
Memories fade, vintage lessons given a new light.
I have no interest in drudging up unnecessary pain. I’m content to let sleeping dogs lie. A contemplative stroll past the headstone of their memory is enough. I’ve said my goodbyes. I’ve made my peace.
I’ve gone. I’ve tried. I’ve applied.
I’ve gone… down the path of my life, alert to the signs that were given a blind eye and deaf ear by the generation before me. I’ve tried… to understand each of my loved ones subjected to the same silence-inducing behavior I was. Who could not, did not, or tried and were shamed back into submission. I’ve applied… my understanding of what it was like to break silences. To speak up and be given the luxury of being heard. To decide at a sobering young age what I wanted for myself despite, or because of, the silence and pain carried by those who came before me. And to listen intently to those who speak softly, as what they say may be as fleeting and true as a shooting star.
What feels like a lifetime later. It’s time for another look at the story of my own experience. My self. My being. A conscientious inventory. An unpacking of that which I’ve unwittingly carried. Of that which I thought I needed. And perhaps did. But do no longer.
A small shift. A stillness. An awareness.
And there they were. Voices. Fatigued with the patina of old fears. We felt equally surprised by the discovery of one another’s presence. A gentle hand rested on a shoulder, a loving look into watery eyes.
Your job here is done now, I whisper. Thank you.
A shared sense of relief. A grateful release. And a newfound lightness of being.