It’s as if I’ve awakened, after a long hibernation.
Or perhaps, I truly was born again, born anew, on the bus to Sjöbo, listening to Arvo Pärt giving a commencement speech?
There is more energy.
More drive. More guts.
More more more…
Not in a sense of needing more; that Sisyphus-like struggle to push the rock up the hill, only to have it roll down to the bottom again. Endlessly striving, struggling. A hopeless mission of trying to fill a void, impossible to fill.
Not that type of more.
Rather, the type where it is simply more because I’ve released yet another layer of limits. Of boundaries that no longer serve me. Of protective coverings, put in place at a time when I was served by them. Kept in place, year upon year, decade upon decade, if nothing else but for the fact that other layers of protection were added on top. Layer upon layer.
Slowly. Throughout these past twenty years, one by one, I’ve dismantled them. Torn at them. Ripping them apart. Tossing them to the side. Letting yet older layers be exposed to light, making me ask: How does this particular layer serve me?
And when the answer is It doesn’t. Not anymore, I’ve learned to thank it. Filled with reverence for what it has done for me. Because at one time or another, this particular layer has done me a service. But the time has come to shed yet another layer, and when time’s up, time’s up.
With grace and gratitude, I bid that which is no longer needed to keep me safe, strong and sheltered, fare-thee-well.
With curiosity and care, I turn to the next layer, ready to ask that very same question, starting all over again.
All the while, I rejoice in letting my light shine just a tad brighter than before.