Roar...

Have you ever gotten really tired of yourself?  When I say 'yourself' I'm talking about that self or face you present to the world each day which may not truthfully reflect you - the inside you, the real you, the you you want to be.  Have you ever gotten really tired of that self, when you feel your life as weight, burden, a weary load you'd like to lay down by the riverside?

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,

The poet David Whyte talks of developing a sort of allergic reaction to that self, that false persona, that facade.  This is not clean and easy, something you might accomplish in a weekend seminar or via seven steps. And it is almost always challenged by those around you, those closest to you.

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice - 

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.
"Mend my life!
each voice cried...
their melancholy
was terrible.

Yes, their melancholy can be terrible, so much so that we doubt the whispers of our own voice, recant, and take our place once again in the herd of quiet desperation.  Shaming accusations of 'you don't love me!' or 'that's not orthodox!' can put the proverbial fear of god in you.  I intentionally used a lower case 'g'...false gods are legion, many of our own creation, most not worthy of the capital.  But if you can determine and endure, if you can gradually stand against the maddening crowd, and human history indicates you can, that it is possible to daily pray 'the hell with it', then there may just be something or someone waiting for you...possibly yourself.

But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do - 
determined to save
the only life you could save.  


The italicized words are from the poem 'The Journey' by Mary Oliver.  This poem and these thoughts have been haunting as of late, chasing, hounding.  I am trying to slow and stop and heed...and practice a roar.