Tag: loving ourselves

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To the ‘One’ whistling in the dark

To the ‘One’ whistling in the dark

By James Anthony Curtis

It’s hard to accept the arrangement of some fears, they strike with such precision, and depth, it feels as though our heart will stop. “Not being good enough,” along with the torment of “unworthiness, abandonment, and rejection,” can often leave us feeling bruised, bullied, alone…cowering in some dark corner.

But as we learn about bullies, we find that most of their lives they themselves have been bullied, and receiving little to no acknowledgement, only desiring to be heard, seen, shown the attention they lacked, come knocking at our door. Frequently they arrive with expressions of anger, hatred, and accusations of the ground we stand on, taunting us until we fold inward, sinking deeper into depression.

Some days “the fear of not being good enough” lashes out with such ferocity, that it seems as though the whole world has joined with them as a gang of torment, to all of which we feel overwhelmed, bottoming out, and with no room left to recoil, we turn towards our demons. As we face our captors, we willingly succumb, opening the door, inviting the end to be near, showing them in for as long as they wish to stay, abiding with them in the innocence of our heart.

“Come in,” we say, “I will not abandon me, nor resist you,” and feeling their presence, the deep ache, the pain gripping at our soul, they are heard.

Soon, many more of their friends arrive, ‘self-pity, poverty, cruelty, and ugliness,’ a hard looking bunch, from many years of living on the fringe of existence. They lounge wherever they please, mostly choosing to sprawl across the heart as it opens to receive them. But as they do, we do the opposite of our earthly nature, divining a way less seen, and we continue to sit, holding our heart in the midst of their chattering. Tears gently fall upon the cheeks, gravity guiding them down well-worn paths, as the ruin of our guests touches us.

‘Abandonment, rejection, and unworthiness’ complete the crowd now gathered, a full house, yet still we hold true to love, the practice of being with strong energy, and holding the heart, as each of them comes forth to be felt, listened to, seen as no one else can.

Breath by breath, we feel intimately those that are here for acknowledgement, that healing may occur as needed, with each truth of our pain.

We continue by setting aside judgements and opinions about the circumstances of each arising, simply feeling, allowing passage for cellular debris to manifest, releasing as they will; just as a sliver works its way out of the body, so to the creation serves love even in the most difficult of circumstances.

Gently bowing, each of one of our guests depart, moving on as we stand in truth, holding space for them, while loving the heart, tenderly, as gently as we can.

The sun comes forth, shining, broadening our inner chambers, and the room feels lighter, the breath easier, our healing process deeper.

The room is now empty, but somehow we fill more of it, larger, for as we have come know those parts, so to we have come to know ourselves, the one coming forth, the love that we are, for the benefit of all beings.

May it be so, and so it is.????

– From my next book: “Honoring the One Coming Forth”

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“The value in our ache”

“The value in our ache”

By James Anthony Curtis

It’s 5:59 in the morning, flashes of light streak across the bedroom window, as rain begins to fall gently on the trees outside. It’s still warm enough in early October to keep the window open, fresh air wafting in natures breath, and in the distance, thunder rolls somewhere in the far hills, moving closer, the morning approaching but not here yet. Now and then a crackling lightning can barely be heard, static building, reminding me of places within, feelings from long ago.

Memories come, water welling up in the corner of my eye, of various precious moments, gone now, ironically as I blink, the tear rolls down across my face.

In years past, there was an old thread of doubt, a sad story that would come upon me, moving me in this theater of remembrance, more of a captor to some sad story. But this morning I Am moved with awe in these places, viewing each haunting, with thankfulness in the heart of compassion. I’m beginning to realize the depth of loss, the fulfillment in its gifts, where joy and sorrow meet, with each utterance of branding grace, and what makes this experience so special, is not the intensity, or the surround of its venue, but the high place from which I sit, looking upon its rarity.

Abandonment, rejection, poverty, and aloneness, are but messengers of greater friendship, the connection to our future self, observing the rules we have laid down, for our liberation of life’s treasure. It wont make sense, its not supposed to; just as the fiddle player moves in rhythm to bandy dance, our ancestors come forth from another time, bringing their melody, through the strings of well played paths. The mind will never figure it out, and will struggle to understand, but this way is for those few, who dying to live, gasp their final grasp, releasing to the nether.

Like monks in some forgotten monastery, we chant our koan in anticipation of letting go, only to come into the fullness of embracing. Prophets will affirm, with each listening as we draw closer, to the one we honor, hold, and acknowledge, when ready we will move forward; finding no solace in our temporary condition, upon this road all things meet, and will converge in harmonic oscillation, until we see the truth of it, played out as one line infinite in form. Yes there is joy in sorrow, blood in the deepest hue of blue sky, if we give way to our eternal life, awakening to point Reyes, in the midst of waves crashing upon our shoals.

So the rains drizzle this morning, reminding me of old, each memory has a place, a divine insight, some just to be expressed. Mother, father, sister, brother, the depressed, yet loved me with such passion, until in a blink regressed. But I know who they are, what they wanted me to see, so in each affliction, rests sweet melody, its not a time for mourning, unless it is, lets begin, with what we digest. For the benefit of all, loss comes, may it be so, so it is, for in our reign, nothing does not exist.

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