Lessons In Living (From a Dead Woman)


Sometimes the death of who you are is not dramatic. There is no impact of twisting metal, or fist to your flesh. It may not be a heroic effort gone wrong, or a fistful of pills. It may not be due to an unforgivable drive by shooting, a robbery gone wrong or a slash too deep in your wrists. Sometimes you just watch yourself die; bloodlessly, silently, without a single tear.

And yet you’re still breathing.

You didn’t fight the quicksand as it sucked you down in the fine and infinite grains of sand-made of becoming less-one moment at a time. You let it swallow you as a frog lets itself boil to death degree by numbing degree, unaware of it’s impending demise until it’s too late to hop to freedom.

And you’re still boiling.

You lie with your life, with your words, with your smile, as your soul rests at the very bottom of that pit of quicksand. The dreams you had, along with any genuine laughter are lying right there with you, waiting to rot by your side. You fight the feelings of anger that flare with any false thoughts of freedom or happiness that try to stick to you as they pass by.

And you’re raging still.

You went silently into that good night. You didn’t realize you needed to fight, or set boundaries, or keep balance, or let your voice be heard. You just kept looking good, and sounding good, and making good impressions, and doing good for others, without giving a good goddamn shit that you were suffocating in the pretense you didn’t know to call out by name.

And you’re suffocating still.

This is the moment. This has the future of who you are NOT-hanging in the balance. You are lying, paralyzed, at the bottom of this pit of despair, and you have the power to rise. But to do so, you have to give a damn. You have to be willing to sit up, get to  your feet, raise your hands high, spit the sand out of your mouth and say “No. More.”.

You have to fucking mean it.

Go ahead and practice once or twice before you give the Rebel Yell. Before the world hears the Howl of the Wolf that has been hibernating inside of you for WAY TOO LONG.

You give yourself to Life the same way you died. You walk away from that relationship you walked into, you reject the job you deemed acceptable back in the day, you do what your heart says instead of the dumb ass unacceptable shit you thought you were “supposed to do”. You learn to Tango, to speak Italian as well as your mind. You listen to your feelings as you would listen to a beloved child.

You listen. You act. You live.

And you show others the Way.

Advertisements

The Last Interview of Prince Charming-Finding Mr. Right


She stood as he did, and they faced each other across the interview table. She offered her hand politely, and as Princes are wont to do, he lifted it to his lips and brushed them across her knuckles, smiling quite charmingly before he took his leave. She huffed a dejected sigh and sat back down on her throne. It suited her perfectly. When she had taken her place as Queen, she had, after all, built it herself with her own blood, bone, heartbreak, and indomitable will. Every time she came here, and took her place, her power replenished itself with the reminders of each victory, every triumph, every goddamn time she stood back up when knocked to the ground in battle.

Although she knew she could withstand any uprising, and the power over her world was in her hands alone, she still searched for the One who would be King. She interviewed endless Princes from various kingdoms, but they all ended with her standing and offering her hand, their charming smile, and a mix of dejection and relief when they left the Throne Room. It was really getting to be too much of a bother, and there was plenty in life she could experience and enjoy if she decided to just let the search die off here.

She knew that many thought her efforts foolish, that she was wasting her time better spent doing normal kingdom things. She heard the whispers as she passed by of those who had not yet found their soul; the ones who said she asked too much, dreamed too big, burned too brightly. She heard them, and she laughed to herself, because absolutely NEVER would she minimize herself to another’s standards again. Never. Again.

She slumped a little on her throne of bones and heartbreak and tapped a finger against her lips as she pondered her Queenly list of Kingly requirements. She wanted a King who was a man first. A warrior, a poet, a lover, a wolf. She wanted him to be her kingdom, her fortress, her laughter, her light. He would be willing to stand in front of her and protect her with his life, with the greater courage of living for her each day. In return, she would give him all of this and more.

She could almost imagine the look of him, the strength, the feel and sound of him. Sometimes she missed this King; this man she’d yet to see. Sometimes she thought she felt him out there, breathing, fighting, waiting, searching for her just as she searched for him. Then again, maybe she’d taken one too many cracks upside the head from the sword of Life, who can say?

She remained lost in her thoughts until the sound of heavy boots striding towards her caught her attention. She turned her head to watch the man who strode across the room to stop directly in front of her, his head lifting slightly to acknowledge her, instead of bowing.

Complete and utter joy rendered her immobile. She saw the armor of a Lion Hearted man, a strong face, his eyes burning with the determination that only comes when you’ve learned to rescue yourself. There was no doubt, she recognized the look that she saw in the mirror every day. Everything in her came to life as never before and she was electrified by the magic arcing between them in the silence.

His lips curled in a half-smile as he extended his hand to her and left it there, letting her decide her future.

She stood to face him, eyes locked, and put her hand in his, along with her heart. Then they smiled at each other in recognition of all the other times they had found each other and loved.

Victorious.