Step Inside

It is said that the first step is usually the most difficult. This alludes to birthing a project, starting a challenging circumstance or taking on new opportunities we are faced with. Once we take the step, we find the anticipatory angst melts into a shrug. No biggie.

To say that I am in a doorway would illustrate visually where I feel like I am currently standing.

In between.

Am I going in or coming out?

Both.

I am coming out of a fog.

I am stepping into the light.

I regularly have doorway incedences, as much of my life is comprised of processes of experiences strung together in overlapping strands or woven nets encapsulating me, but not so much so that I can never see out of the perimeters or stretch past limitations. At times the weave is tight, other times I could walk through the holes. 99% of the time it is my perception of the size of those holes which shrinks or grows.

I created this space for myself to openly express the path of transformation I feel I am constantly on. Yet I have not yet openly shared. I have written daily, yet kept it to myself.

Why?

I could say that the only thing holding me (or anyone) back is fear. Fear of not being perceived in “the right” or intended way, fear of not being smart or well-spoken enough, fear of not being good enough, fear of not this, not that, not not not...

Fear all the same.

Simultaneously, as I have been tracking transformation in my present life, I have been re-visiting past instances which have transformed me into the woman I am today. Specifically, I am referring to my artistic passions and creations. My human core.

In this re-visiting (which I initially have taken on for prosperous and {furthering my} career reasons) I am faced with the fact that I have abandoned passions which used to give me great pleasure, yet viewing them from this present standpoint gives me great pain.

Hmm.

How do I transform this uncomfortable situation into a functional jumping-off point? 

It is too early on to see the value or lesson in it.

I must just plow through it, breathing as I go, hoping that meaning and perspective will rear it's head in due time. 

I can live honestly, more honestly than I already do, yet this time I must be as honest with myself as I am with others; Admitting when I am happy, admitting when I am not, admitting (aloud at times) that I have been in hiding for most of my life. 

As a youth, hiding the painfull truths was necessity.

 As an adult, it is a dangerous habit.

I have a story to tell. 

It is my story and it is epic. 

It mill make you think, make you laugh, it will make you cry. 

As it has done for me.

Why have I held back from telling this story- openly and honestly?

You guessed it:

Fear.

Big, looming, ugly, scarey, stupid 'ol fear. I was afraid to expose too much of myself. Afraid I would end up even more disconnected from others than I already felt. Afraid that I would be rejected from those whom I loved and wanted to keep close. Afraid I would shock or repulse people who had a certain image of this particular type of woman I am. 

Smoke projected onto fog.

All illusion.

We preoccupy ourselves with fascinating illusions

Also in this revisiting I discovered that I spent X amount of years searching for a voice I had all along. Yet I had chosen to continue looking for it when the naysayers told me who and what they think I am. 

More projections, but this time from the outside looking in... 

or is it?

Some say that what is in is also out. That when we meet someone with whom we easilly harmonize with that it is a reflection of ourselves. Conversely, when we meet someone with whom we have conflicts with, that it is an aspect within us we are seeing and meeting with adversity. I have found this to be quite true. 

When I flow in peace, peace flows to me. When I am angry, I am met with anger. 

Homeopathy of the Soul. Like attracts like. Like heals like as well.

And what I am in the buisness of is is not really art or expression, it is healing. I used to be in the business of healing others, or so I thought. Now I am in the business of healing me. If I am not healing, I cannot heal anyone else. 

Hence the honesty policy I am taking out on myself. 

Not like life insurance, but death assurance.

As in:

When I die, I want to be sure I did everything I could to live it the most loving, passionate and honest way possible.

No time like the present, huh?

So here I am, typing to no-one, flashing a tiny particle of my soul, baring it with a nervous twinge, keeping my word- to myself. 

I will share transformation as I transform. 

I will evolve.

It will be a revolution of evolution.

Yes!

Today, a dear friend told me that we, as artists, must be openly honest with what we are doing and sharing and why.

That those details are the things heal the world. 

That people need us to be that way as we create art. 

I know I need us to. 

He also said that in the holding back of stories that transform through art, I am doing a disservice to myself and others.

“But the stories are so hard to tell.” I whispered to myself.

They must be the type of stories that really need to be told then. The biggest pills to swallow. And it is my job to chop those stories up into bite-sized morsels and feed them to those who are starving for them. 

Like I am to tell them. 

Like I am to ingest a dose of my own medicine.

Another friend- half my life ago- once said to me (as I was teary-eyed post-sharing a horrific tale of my youth) this:

"It's okay to tell these horrific stories. 

~You must tell them.~

 It is in the telling of these awful things that you went through that make them just that: 

Stories."

She gave me a gift that day.

It reminds me of the best songs ever. Most are relaying epic pain. 

And the artist sings them for years. 

Does it hurt the same the 44^th time? 

I wouldn't know.

I was afraid to sing.

I may not be able to step through this doorway at this exact moment, but I can see both in and out, 

breathe in the air and poise myself for the right moment- 

which always presents itself perfectly... 

in time.