Buying Back the Slave: Living Free


I know I will live forever, that I have always existed. I know it, just as you must know it for yourself, at certain times when the light in my heart cracks through the debris I bury it under to protect it from harm.  Those instances where everything unimportant  (which is everything) is swept aside by the white flame heat of joyous clarity that can happen only more frequently as I  reclaim pieces of my true self. Pieces of me bartered, traded and sold out for an artificial sense of belonging.  You and I sell ourselves to the unreal, and now have to earn ourselves back from an identity that has no real value anyway. I make progress, and I am invincible. I stumble, and I lie in the dust of sorrow a little less time before leaping off the edge of wonder and flying victorious for a little while longer.

I must own myself, and I will. I must not “find” myself. That is not what I want. I must BE myself, now, and in every other moment on my path to whisper to those who walk on this earth with me “stand up! you are wonderful, powerful, and real”, whispering this to each of them, each of you, and myself.

I say this: we have in our hearts, all the gold we need to buy ourselves back. We only think ourselves poor. ❤

 

Someone put
You on a slave block
And the unreal bought
You.

Now I keep coming to your owner
Saying
“This one is mine.”

You often overhear us talking
And this can make your heart leap
With excitement.

Don’t worry,
I will not let sadness
Possess you.

I will gladly borrow all the gold
I need

To get you
Back.

-Hafiz

The Truth


I think that I might be an angel in disguise

A quick-change artist mingling with the unaware

So convincing, even I don’t recognize

The truth beneath the many scars I bear.

I’ve worn them proudly, thinking I’ve survived it all

Reality is “victim” stamped upon my brow;

Sometimes they can look the same, too close to call,

But I know, and the truth is what I offer now.

I think I might be strong beneath the weak facade,

In truth I could be other than I am

If I had chosen other than the path I trod,

If I had chosen once to give a damn.

I think I might be beautiful beneath the wreck

That I have built so carelessly around my soul.

My choices, hanging heavy now around my neck

Will be the catalysts that make me whole.

I think I am a woman of integrity,

Although it took the longest road to get me here.

I am not the coward that I used to be~

The most courageous hearts are born from fear.

~Shelly~