I might Not Be Stoned Enough (for this stuff)
I’m the woman who is happy playing with beeswax for eight hours of my day, five days a week.
It’s kind of strange, my life is so much simpler now and I am so much happier. I don’t put the same pressures on myself that I have done for so long. I don’t expect myself to be perfect, because I accept that I am perfect, as I am at all times. That is not ego or narcissism speaking…more just acceptance that creation, is perfect.
I am a creation, you have to give me that.
I’ve staggered and felt held (down) back on my path, but I never was tempted to leave it and run in a more immediately gratifying direction, just to be moving. Wouldn’t you know it? I woke up one day and that high, is back. I have not entered into that state of extacy (a friend calls it, Grace), but I can not stop weeping at beauty and love.
I want to hang onto this, and drink this in. I want to stay in the here and now with this, and I want to share it, and that is one of the hardest things to do. Even my New York daughter admitted to me when I first went crazy, that she too thought I had flipped my lid and finally gone over the edge into bat-shit nutty.
I process several hundred candles a day. It gives me a lot of time to think and listen to music. As I process my candles, I don’t allow myself to think negative thoughts. There is something about working with the beeswax, touching it, smelling it in it’s pure least processed form, that does something to me.
Some days. like today…it is hard to not sit there and weep as I process and listen to my music. The last three days I have been listening to Jason Mraz. I just tossed six of his discs onto my phone and I have been in love song heaven, reflecting on the last fourteen years of my life.
My reflections have not been the dwelling in the past type, but the recognition of how far from damaged I have come. I can look at my “failures, mistakes and flaws” with compassion, love and understanding of myself. This is something I was never able to do before.
In talking to him, whose name is sacred on my lips…I have seen so much of myself from back then in ways I just wasn’t able to see then. It has hurt my heart to comprehend that not only did I hurt the one person I have ever really been MADLY in love with, but he was MADLY in love with me when I did it. This makes me want to cry for us both, but we are talking again. I admitted I had two things on my bucket list. 1) getting published and 2) Making things right with him. He replied to me that things are right between us.
I have admitted that “part of me” never stopped loving him. It seemed like a “kinder blow” than telling him I have remained in love with him all these years and not a day has passed that I haven’t longed for him in some way. I admitted I am a little scared, but haven’t spilled the WHY I am scared. He came back and admitted that it took him a lot to get over us and move on (crushing blow to the belief he had fallen out of love with me already) and that he would be a “liar, liar pants on fire”, if he didn’t admit he is scared shitless.
So we both have feelings and I imagine if I am dealing with the love thing, he is at least contemplating the “what if” of it all.
And so I weep again because in my heart of hearts, I believe it to be true, that here we are, we played in the dirt, and I am hoping beyond hope that it will have been worth the wait.