I sit amongst the carnage of my life as it was, witnessing the gasping, tearful last moments; I trip over the blood, guts and bones of broken dreams and wounded hearts as I walk through this old house, deciding what needs to go and what will stay with me.
My breathing is labored and I can feel that the end is near—rather than avert my eyes away from that which is dying, I stay fixated, my heart grounded in place, allowing myself to fall apart, over and over again, until it is time to drop into a dead sleep each night.
Each time death knocks at my door, my resistance to the darkness falls (a little); each time, I get stronger and I know (because of my practice) that if I can stay with my breath, in the hardest of moments, in the thickness of pain and sorrow, I will wake up to a new day, each day.
But the nights are long and there are wolves and fear rattles in my bones and pushes, pushes her way to the surface, trying to force love out of the way because fear is greedy and can be a bitch.
My mind scatters with her presence, and I feel like I am losing my marbles; days run into each other and hours, too. I lose time and I can’t think straight and I have to catch myself before I spiral into “what a failure” I am and the nightmares that follow.
Yet, the only thing I can be right now is alone, because I must hold space for what is unfolding (which is me; my heart and a whole string of heartbreak moments that need to rise up before they can die the true death).
I am afraid.
I am afraid to be alone.
I am afraid that I will be alone, forever.
And so alone I stay.
(I know that soon, one day, being alone will become a dance and something to embrace; I will unfurl my wings and let them spread wide in my new space, tattered and torn, yet stronger than ever before.)
I read words and thoughts and messages of love that come from near and far; I speak openly and honestly no matter how shameful or embarrassed I feel because I know there is freedom in truth and I know that everything must die in order to be born again.
And a message is whispered into my ear by the spirits (and wolves, for I am one, too) that surround me, reminding me that the only way is through —and that there is one thing to do when a heart breaks and it’s this:
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July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD. How My Sister’s Death Transformed my Self-Perception.