I am sitting on the shore at the ocean's edge looking at the cliffs that surround me. The sun beams hot across my shoulders while the icy fingers of the Pacific reach through my body, stretching as far inland as possible.
Perching in a nest dug deep into the sand, I crane my neck upwards to watch the seagulls fly, listening to their calls echo over the roar of the ocean. I follow their flight to the waves crashing against the cliff-side; its power causes the stone to break from its surface and slip silently into the depths of the black waters. Even bedrock is no match for the power that our good Mother holds. Yet, she always returns to the injury, as if to lick the wound she just made in apology.
I shift my gaze in front of me, watching as this same, ferocious tide gently creep upon the shoreline to kiss my twelve-month-old belly and cover the tops of my toes. I am delighted by Her attention, this water mother of mine, and my heart opens wide as Her reaction swells and rises over and above me, embracing my body in a hug so tight that it expels all the air from my lungs. I am caught in the pull of her motion, swirling with bits of shell and stone that dance upon Her ocean floor. For a moment, time stops still and I marvel at being weightless in the wonder of going home.
I had barely passed my first birthday when the ocean swept me into her belly, but it wouldn't be until I hit my thirties that I would come to understand why my drowning was so necessary for me to actually live.
I have always walked intimately with Death and would even dare to say that I’ve spent half of my life pulling on its coattails begging to take me back home. My cries were never answered in the way that I wanted, and instead, I was forced experience it within all of its many forms—shedding the skins of the people that I've been, and severing the circumstances in my life I so erroneously chose to make my own. Because of this, backward has never been a choice of direction for me, even if it was something I thought I wanted. Naturally torching any bridge built for good measure, my wounded child would laugh maniacally while my heart scrambled to salvage any fibers that might have miraculously remained.
Now, as I stand upon the bank that makes up the core of my knowing, I can reflect outward in a hazy gaze upon the islands of memory that dot my existence. Long gone are the ashes of their bridges; the billows of smoke from their flame. I lick my cheek to drink my own tears as if it will make it easier to swallow the responsibility of why I can no longer return to any of these places— to everywhere that I’ve ever been, and grow alongside everyone that I have ever loved. Perhaps this is why I have never been afraid of dying, but instead, of life.
We have recently had some very deep fears present themselves to us. I didn't foresee how powerful these triggers would manifest, nor the magnitude of the entirety of all those who would be affected. As we pulled off the shadows we carried upon our backs, one-by-one they would step in front of us. The troll to our bridges, they demanded we look at them, forcing us to give them a name and define why they’re here. While this process can be painful, it is necessary for how can we truly let go of something that we refuse to identify? How can we move on to new experiences if we’re too overwhelmed by our insecurities to acknowledge what is disserving?
Death is to experience a change that cannot be reversed, and I have died a hundred thousand times throughout my life. Some were at the hands of others but more often than not, by my very own. There were many times could have been more fluid in these processes or could have chosen integrity over impulse. I could have done things so differently, but the simple fact is—I didn't. I simply didn’t have the means to do then what I can do now, thus birthed the shadow that hitched a ride upon my shoulders until I could.
Yet while the bridges to the originating experiences have been lost to emotions and time, new islands continue to surface around it over and over again until maybe, one day, I will finally get it right. Death in any form is a painful process, but we need it. Without it, we would be unchanging. Apologies would never be had; growth would never be ours to celebrate.
Death walks alongside us now, supporting our transition from Fear to acceptance. For many of you, there are bridges that still lead you back to your trauma-drama islands. If you are lucky enough to still have them, use them.
Witness the landscape.
See 'what is' and what no longer 'isn’t'.
For others, you may have ignited any bridges in your wake and that’s okay, too. They will always regrow in new ways, and we will never be without opportunity to correct these wrongs. We may have to look a little harder or dig a little deeper, but they're there.
Regardless of what you see before you, access is yours to be had and this week is going to be a powerful time of letting go. Whether you're ready or not, it's coming.
Fear < Flow.