{peace.love.free}

These words were written four years ago, at the junction between the end of one life and the beginning of another.  They were my path to boldness when I felt like hiding, solace in the midst of pain, and a reminder to keep moving forward.  Since then they have traveled organically around the world on the mysterious waves of cyberspace – ending up on posters, and in books and even inked on the bodies of strangers.

For the very first time I am making Go Now and Live available as a fine art print in a brand new design.*  The print is currently available as a signed 12×12 print on Fine Art Linen paper.  Other sizes and products (including notecards) are in the works.

I feels good to do this at the start of a new year.  Sending my words out to all of you, with intention and trust and faith that these can lift and stir something in your spirit just as they did in mine.  And I will kiss every print and send it on it’s way on wings of wild, crazy and free,  dreaming beautiful dreams of all the travels these words will take before they are done.

Go Now and Live, sweet souls. This is your year. I can feel it.

Purchase your copy of Go Now and Live or to read more of the story behind the words.

*created by the delicious and delightful Amanda Farough of violetminded Designs.
{all words and design copyright 2012 Jeanette LeBlanc & Amanda Farough}

You say the more you think
You know what’s right
The less you do
What you feel inside
So I won’t pretend that I always know
I just follow my heart wherever it goes
And I may not always get it right
But at least I’m living coz I’ve only got this…

One life, one life, one life
I’ve got this one life

If I knew yesterday what I know today
Where would I be tomorrow
I won’t let my soul slide away
I’d do whatever it takes
Coz this time’s only borrowed

Come here.

Right here.  Get closer.  Real close.

Can you feel my breath on your cheek?  Yes?  Good.

Now take off your clothes.

You heard me.  All of them.  Right now.

Yup.  It’s time to get nekkid.

Everyone needs to strip down now and then, to get naked and let the wind breeze blow across bare skin so that every last nerve ending feels exquisitely alive.   We just rang in a brand new year and there’s no time like the present.

Feeling shy?  Of course you are.  Those clothes cover up a lot that you’re more comfortable hiding away.  They hide fear and shame and all your tender and achy parts.  Bumps and bruises and those spots where your skin got sheared clear away by that wipeout.   You’ve got not-good-enough moments tucked in your pockets and repeated pleas of i-couldn’t-possibly hidden under your hat.  Why, you’re even wearing sunglasses inside so I can’t see the depths of pain behind your eyes.    Sweet girl, let me hold those for you – you don’t need them here.

We’re so accustomed to tucking it all away, thinking it more polite or acceptable to keep it to ourselves – making snarky comments at those who feel free enough to parade it all for the world to see.  We’re constantly afraid that one of our layers might shift or be blown up in the breeze; exposing the parts we keep deeply hidden and fiercely guarded.

We laugh too little, and we don’t cry near enough.  We judge ourselves with harsh words and harsher actions; thinking we’ll beat the world to the punch by taking ourselves out first.  We silence our voices, limit our choices and hide our magic under layers and layers of protection.

This, my friends, takes a ton of energy.  This keeps you from the brilliance that only comes with being seeing and being seen and loving it all anyway.  You know what?  This year has too much in store for you for you to even consider continuing this way.  This year demands boldness, and physicality and sensuality and moxie like none has before.  There are times in life for playing small, for covering up and hiding away.  This, sweetness, is not one of those years.

This year is about claiming, about living fierce with reality, about celebrating your inherent holiness and getting down with your goddess self.  And it’s hard to shake your divine booty when it’s covered in layers and layers of stuff.  Lets take care of that right now.

It all starts with getting naked.  Shedding and peeling and tearing all that does not serve you.  Culling and paring down what holds you back.  Dismantling walls and protective layers and all that keeps you distanced from your one, magical life.

That cloak of self-deprecation?  Gone.
That skirt made of long-held shame?  Burn it.
Those too small shoes that you thought you needed to be beautiful?  Garbage.
The pockets stuffed full of unspoken dreams? Empty them now.
That big old ugly sweater knitted from every hateful word you’ve ever absorbed.? Fuck. That. Shit.

It’s time to take off those clothes, dammit.

I’ll put on some music.  Get you a stripper pole if you like.  By the soft light of a hundred candles or right in the center of the spotlight.   I’ll feed you chocolate dipped strawberries with whipped cream.   If you need me too, I can help.  Look you straight in the eyes, transmit universal love and unbutton the buttons.  Spiritual Seduction delivered exactly as needed.  We can do this long and drawn out and fast and dirty.  The end result is all the same.

There you’ll stand.  Without your armor.  Without talismans or amulets and everything you always wanted and thought for sure you needed to get by.  All of it.  Gone.

And there you are.  Just you.  Utterly, breathtakingly perfect.  You’ve let it all go now, and aren’t you the beauty?  Just as you are.  None of that stuff was necessary.  And yes, you want to run and hide.  You’re cowering in preparation for the judgment and the cold air and the wash of shame that is sure to come.

Except it doesn’t. The air is warm and the room is filled with nothing but love.  No judgment.  No harsh words.   We’re too awestruck by your beauty to even consider it.  We’re blown away by your courage and in awe of your strength.  There you are, doing the very thing we know we should do but can’t quite make ourselves commit to.

And with the removal of all that did not serve, there is space cleared to call home what is already yours.

Call it home, darling, call it home.

You can dance by yourself whenever the music moves you.  You can read your poem to 300 people even though your legs are shaking.  You can submit that novel that you poured your heart into to the best publishing house in the country.   You can learn to sky dive, go back to school, birth your baby on your own terms, end your marriage, fall in love, raise your voice, speak your mind, invite the consequences of living your truest life.  It’s all yours for the taking.

It’s all yours for the taking.

And when you’re ready to get dressed again you’ll find only the finest fabrics; sheer, light and beautiful.  In colors that make you shine from the inside out.   And although you could choose to cover yourself again, you wouldn’t dream of it.  You’ve witnessed the magic of transparency and seen how crazy beautiful the world looks with your light shinning on it.

Plus – you are on badass hot mama in your birthday suit. Don’t let anyone EVER tell you otherwise.

For you, and for the lifetimes you’ve lived in one short year:

For the endings, and the beginnings and all the spaces in between.

For last year’s words and this years voice and for everything that must remain unsaid.

For boldly speaking your truth and for all that you still hold inside.

For falling over and over and rising again and again.

For life lessons that left you in stunned disbelief and the gentle eyes of an unexpected teacher who lifted you up and carried you from the void.

For living the questions and for discovering the answers.

For losing your way and finding your tribe.

For being willing to break in order to become.

For lust and for trust and for the long twisty journey in between the two.

For head up and eyes wide open and for moments of faith when there is no light to be found.

For quiet resolve and for wailing confusion.

For eyes locked across a room for the first time and for the way your hands find each other in the middle of the night after years of sharing the same bed.

For the courage to strike off on your own and for the comfort of knowing you can always come back home.

For taking up arms against fears and demons and those intent on harm, and for laying down your weapons and walking away in peace.

For claiming what is rightfully yours and for releasing what can no longer be.

For loving what you don’t understand and questioning what you thought you knew for sure.

For letting go and holding on tight.

For losing it all in order to gain what matters.

For standing tall and learning your truth and for forgetting it all in order to start all over again.

For blind faith in something you cannot see, touch or feel and for knowing that all of life is at your fingertips.

For the beauty in contradiction, the bitterness in the compromise and the brilliance of the mystery.

For dancing with ache and longing, and for making peace with what you have.

For grasping tight and for releasing to the wind.

For the knowing and the unknowing and that sliver of space where both coexist.

For the buckets of salty tears and the kindness that dried them all.

For pleasure and for pain and for the ability to hold both in one body.

For simple pleasures and crazy imaginings.

For the releasing the wild spirit within and for holding yourself in quiet dignity.

For blazing seduction, for the wild rhythm of bodies and lips and teeth and skin and for tender reverence and holding hands and spooning in the dark.

For the ease found in comfort zones and for the fierce reality of smashing down walls.

For angry battles, and grudges held and for the sweet bliss of forgiveness.

For the desolation of the desert, for the pounding of the surf and for the forever green of the forest.

For boundaries crossed and limits held firm.

For the dishes and the laundry and the dust bunnies.  For keeping up with the Joneses and for leaving the mess to go out and play instead.

For building a house of cards and for burning it all to the ground.

For painstaking attention and determination and for wasting hours on beautifully impossible daydreams.

For red wine and dark chocolate and hot sex and all the earthly pleasures that ground you here.

For celebration and for mourning and for surrounding both in the ritual of spirit.

For believing and for questioning and for the unsteady ground that bridges the two.

For holding your breath till your lungs burn and for the sweet relief of the exhale.

For head-spinning kisses and mind-numbing loneliness.

For thinking you might never get what you want and for knowing you’ll always have what you need and for the bittersweet edge that this acceptance brings.

For companionship and for solitude and for the spaces you can have both at once.

For solo living room dance parties and for singing in the shower.

For hula hoops and crayons and roller skates.  For growing older in body and staying young in spirit.

For the times you thought you couldn’t go on, and the moment you realized that nothing could stop you.

For knowing that you are divinity personified, beautiful beyond comprehension and powerful beyond measure.

For all of this I honor you, the year you have lived and the one you are about to begin.

Happy New Year.

{for k}

You are still here

and I will remind
you of this
now
and again
and always
as long as you need
to remember.

you are still here.

you are still here
because of the echoing of heart
pounding blood
through veins made thin
by the force of want
and hurt
and need.

you are still here
because of breath
and lungs forced open
by icy cold
and air rattling
through chest
gasping from
the effort of moving
through this life.

you are still here
because of muscle
and sinew and bone
because of running for miles
because of wet clothes
and hot showers
and weary body holding safe
your gentle spirit.

you are still here
because of truth
flickering beyond the curtains
long drawn over your eyes.
because of secrets kept and pain witnessed
and stories nestled deep.

you are still here
because of encroaching
darkness
and the exhaustion
as deep and brittle
and ancient as bones
returned to earth.

You are still here
because of letting the pieces fall
and gathering them up again
because of the collapse to the earth
and the return to your center.
because of the silence inside of the primal and keening
moan that begins in the pit of  your stomach
and fills the universe with it’s lack of sound.
because of the endless need
and the eventual satisfaction.

and yes, you are still here
because of shame
because of the parts that are
broken and patched
and the deep ache
that drives you to your knees.
because even these things
require presence.

yes, you are still here
because the pain reminds you
that you are
but this is not the sum of all
that I will help you remember.

you are still here
because of childish laughter
and pillow fights during snow storms
and fortune cookie wisdom
and the flutter of eyelashes against cheek.

you are still here
because of kisses
with strangers on street corners
and windblown hair
and the perfect
chocolate croissant
not yet tasted.

you are still here
because of skyscrapers
and down duvets
and pounding surf
and burning fevers
and books with delicate pages
that smell like a reminder of faith.

you are still here
because of the collision
of souls
and the way toothpaste makes
your mouth feel alive
and pennies tucked in pockets
on the luckiest of days
and the way your soul pounds
when the beat finds your hips.

you are still here
because of anticipation
and longing
and trust and truth
and mystery
because of what burns deep within you
and what you sense just beyond the veil

you are still here
you are always here
you will always be here

and one day you will know all this
and more
but until then
just remember that
I am here

to remind

you.

you are still here.

“I wish I knew that I’m doing the right thing….”

There is no right thing, you know.  And no wrong thing, either.  There is just the thing that you do.

And so you do it.  You close your eyes and leap and you try to do it the best you can.  And given how fucked up and crazy and brilliant and lovely and impossible it all is; the best you can is no small thing.

It’s human nature, of course.  We agonize.  We worry.  Our gut clenches hot and tight imagining the potential implications of our choice.  But right and wrong are nothing more than external value judgments grasping for a foothold in an intensely personal life.

You don’t have to give them one.

And that thing that you do?  That thing that is neither right nor wrong?  You are already doing it. In grand leaps and bold gestures.  In the quiet stillness of your heart.  You are doing it, even if you don’t fully know it yet.

You have gone down to the depths and you kept your heart open and you listened to whispers traveling on hot winds and you didn’t stop moving; at least not for long.  And the spaces you inhabit are far too vast to settle themselves with a limiting little box labeled right or wrong.

All of this matters far more than the minute details of the thing itself.   The complexities of the decision, the tricky twists and turns of the path, the agony and ecstasy that live intertwined in the craziest spaces?  These are important – of course they are – but not as important as the doing.   Just that you did it, and you continue to do it.  This is what will deliver you from here to there.

This is the space where lives change and journeys are launched and you laugh and cry and wail at the moon.

This is the space where remarkable and courageous live.

This is what will move you from beginning to ending to beginning again.

The audacity is in the living, not in the choosing.  You are fearless enough to keep breathing; in the face of loss and pain and humility and gratitude and gifts and brilliance and confusion.  This is the amazing thing.  Right or wrong can never be anything but small things in the face of your gigantic, intrepid spirit.

Every choice we make is holds inherent both reward and regret.  How those balance out we never know, at least not until long after the fact.

Give yourself the freedom of knowing this.  Freedom from the relentless pressure to do right.  Freedom from the anxiety fraught position of thinking that any one choice can make it all better forever or all wrong until the end of time.   It can’t.  Know this.  Know it deep in your bones.  You cannot know right or wrong – because there is no right or wrong, not really.

And eventually you’ll come out of it.  With all the things you thought you did right and every last thing you worried you’ve done wrong.  They’ll just be done and they’ll have worked their alchemy on your soul and you’ll be in a different place.

Trust me.  I know.

There is no clock in my room at the summer house, not even an electrical outlet. It’s one of those undetermined witching hours between midnight and dawn.  I am drowsy but not asleep, struggling with the wicked combination of jet lag and a brain that has the propensity to buzz at the most inconvenient times. Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, I’ve reached that hazy sweet spot where rest is inevitable.

The cry comes then.

And I am awake, in the immediate way of all mothers roused by a piercing cry from one of their babies.  I hear pain in her voice, or maybe fear. I stumble in the dark. She is just next door but there is a hallway to navigate and toys strewn across the bedroom floor.

I reach the ancient single cot she sleeps on and see immediately that she is crying and writhing and trembling a bit, but not truly awake.

Nightmare.

I slide between her sheets and mold my body around hers.  The tremors stop.  A few more whimpers escape and then those too are settled. Her breath returns to normal.  I am left wondering, as my heart flows out of me to surround her, how much longer will I be the magic balm that soothes all?

Motherhood bequeaths countless superpowers.  I can vanquish demons and chase away boogiemen and mend wounds and settle feuds and soothe fears and calm nightmares.  Just a touch or a hug or a whispered “hush wee girlie, mama’s here” in the middle of the night and equilibrium is restored.  It’s a magic bit of sorcery, born of the alchemy between parent and child.

But we are approaching tenuous years, she and I.  Just months away from ten, she rides these liminal spaces between childhood and adolescence, innocent of what is to come.  She is still far more little girl than the enigmatic teenager she will be in just a few short years. But already, lying here curled around her, my head is only slightly above hers and my feet reach only slightly below. I was taller than my mother by twelve. Will she be the same?

In the pale glow of the moon hanging low outside the bedroom window I can just make out the light dusting of freckles that covers her nose. She squirms a bit and settles in against me.  Her thumb makes its way to her mouth; a residual baby habit she just can’t shake at bedtime.

She smells like childhood country summers; salt water, sweat, fresh air, fertile earth, cut grass.  The scent arouses a cellular memory of my own summers here by the shore and I breathe it in, knowing that this time is finite and infinitely precious.

How many more summers will I be her magic balm?  How much longer will my touch or voice or kiss be all that she needs to settle her heart or her fears or her body?  How soon until her troubles get bigger and deeper than can be healed by climbing in her bed late at night and offering simple comfort?

My girlie and I have had a connection from the beginning.  A way of seeing each other that defies explanation.  Our hearts never fully disconnected from our time in shared space.  Even in my deepest anger or most fiery irritation I feel her with a depth unparalleled, and she feels me as well. It is our biggest challenge and our most profound gift.  Will it be enough to help us navigate the years to come?

I pull her closer to me, and lean in to kiss her temple, breathing her deep into my soul.

All I can do is hope.

Dust floats on rays of light dancing just above my head. Sheets are rumpled from sleep; covers long ago lost to the floor.  Long morning shadows slice across her back and my face; alternating diagonals of light and dark with no regard for boundaries. Shadows do not see the end of her and the beginning of me – we are just parts of a space moving toward illumination.

These tiny details mesmerize and imprint in that split second before my neck arches back on the pillow.  The forgetting happens just as quickly.  All that remains is the endless expanse of skin against skin.

The air holds our awareness of the passage of limited moments, but there will be no rushing today.

The spaces between abject disillusionment and fierce connection dissolve.  Breath mingles and awareness travels across length and breadth.   There are days when knowing expands and you grasp fully that love is both mirror and magnifying glass.  What are strength and weakness but the same really, in the end?

Our bodies fit; a puzzle of infinite possibility.  Light kisses golden along collarbone and shoulder and I follow it– nimble lips along unyielding bone.  My back presses against soft white sheets; my heart against hers.  Our legs wind serpentine, this dance a sacrament of touch.  Inhale matches exhale until breath catches on words that need not be spoken.  Our hands tell all the stories that need telling now.

We have been offering ourselves as sacrifice to gods we do not yet understand or know if we should believe in. Today we offer ourselves only to each other; gods be dammed.

We have cracked ourselves open, pushed hard against unbending convention and screamed a defiant yes to the rush of fear that followed.  Secrets content to hide in the shadows have been ushered into the light and welcomed home.  Passion and possession loop and twist, a roller coaster where all seemed lost and then found again.  We have confessed and cried and torn at each other with words and hands and bitter silence.  Expansion and contraction, it seems, are never entirely without cost.

Hearts are raw, eyes unveiled.  We see all, but do not turn away.  But it’s all softness now, yielding flesh and lithe curves and the rightness of coming home. Hearts mirror hands and lips and sounds released from deep inside.  Moments pass measured only by quickening beat and rapid breath.  The light climbs and shadows shift until the room is a reflection of renewal.

Yes, time is measured now, but still we do not hurry. Bodies stake fierce claim, even in lingering uncertainty, that this is ours to have and to keep.  Now all the rush and butterflies of the initial free fall are balanced by depth and aching tenderness of two souls who have lived and loved a lifetime in a few short years.

And we live and love a lifetime in this brief moment.  Bodies weave spells and tongues speak incantations against skin as soft and salty as the ocean that calls me home.  Waves crash now and we are worn down and broken and shifted in the wake of their withdrawal.  Shifted and broken yes, unrecognizable perhaps, but always at the root of things exactly the same as we began.

Life calls to be awake to sacred moments. This is hallowed ground here; we are hallowed ground.  I am turned toward her now. Only her. Body, soul, mind, and broken and beating hearts.   Nothing will be sacrificed today; no spirit of martyrdom welcome in the offering of ourselves to one another.

She is mine, this girl, and I hers.  All questions can be measured against this moment. Measured against geometry of light and shadow, against slow slide of time on the bedside clock, against trail of fingertips across stomach.  Against ragged breath and locked gaze and grasp of interlaced fingers as we find our way home. Again, and again we find our way home.

Head falls back against pillow.  Her weight is heavy on mine; her head nestled against the curve of my neck.  Breath returns to normal.  The world refocuses.  I open my eyes and see the dust still floating in the rays above my head, as if nothing has changed.  I twist and twirl my hands upward, languid, wanting to be a part of their lazy path.

It is miraculous, I think, how something so ordinary can sparkle like magic in the right light.

I run several times a week along the country roads that have known me since babyhood.  I can read them with my eyes closed.  I know where I have to dip my head to bypass low hanging branches and where I can count on a breeze from the incoming tide.    I have not been a regular runner for years, and it feels good to be back.

Running teaches me, clears way for thoughts that needed a space to be born.  There is an education to be had along this path, and I am reminded daily that the lessons of running and the lessons of life are one and the same.

1. Don’t give up too soon.
It takes a while to find your groove.  Don’t quit too quickly, even if it feels like misery, even if you hate every step along the way.  Stop too early and you’ll miss all the magic.   Give it some time to ripen, wait for the ease to find you.   And it will.  If you give it enough space and you are on the right path, the ease will always find you.

When effortlessness hits you’ll smile in spite of your burning muscles and throw your arms wide to catch the breeze.  That’s the sweet spot, right there, where things get juicy and delicious.

2. Breathe.
Don’t forget to breathe.  There is nothing in life not made easier by breath.  Those cycles of inhale and exhale are more important than we think and not near as automatic as we sometimes believe.  There will be times when every breath is an effort, or where you’ll be so caught up with your struggle that you’ll forget to take the air all the way in.

Find your way back to your breath.  No matter where you are in life, your breath is your center.  Honor it.

3. Keep your eyes on the middle distance.
Look too far ahead and you get caught up the difficulty of upcoming terrain.  Keep your eyes too close to your feet and you miss important things ahead.  In the immortal words of Ani Difranco, “When I look down, I just miss all the good stuff.   When I look up, I just trip over things”.

The middle distance is best; far enough ahead to keep your eyes open for potholes and oncoming cars, but not so far that you get intimidated by the hill on the horizon.  Don’t get so far ahead of yourself that you miss what is right in front of you, and don’t get so caught up in right-now that you’re not prepared for what’s coming.   

4. You won’t be climbing forever.
There will always be hills to climb.  They will seem to last forever.  They don’t.  Your legs will scream and your heart will be pumping like mad and you’ll want to collapse in a defeated puddle on the side of the road. You’ll think you can’t make it.  But you will.  Those killer hills will be followed by gentle valleys, or straightaways that give you space to run full tilt.

When you’re on a hill you can’t see what is on the other side.  Don’t even try.  Just know you won’t be climbing forever. 

5. Appearances can be deceiving.
Never put too much stock in what you think you see.  That huge hill may be a gentle climb that won’t even stress you.  That gentle slope might be a bitch of an ascent that will kick your ass.  Sometimes the horizon hides the biggest challenge of your life.  Just when you think you’ve got it figured out, life will throw you a curveball.

Rely less on your eyes and more on your heart.  Whatever is coming and however it looks from a distance, you already have what it takes.  Don’t worry too much about what you have not yet reached; it’s probably not going to be what you think anyway.

6. It’s all a mind game, baby.
You think this is all about your body?  The strength of your quads?  Your cardiovascular health?  How much protein you ate for breakfast? Your body is the easy part of the equation.  It’s really all a mind game, darling.  Let this sink in for a moment and you’ll really start to move.   You think your burning leg muscles are your biggest challenge?  It’s really the power of mind, spirit and heart that will power you through the rough spots.

You want to sprint that hill you think you can’t sprint?  Change your mind.  You want to change your relationship?  Your job?  Your eating habits?  Change your mind.   You want to change your life?  Change your mind.

7. Lead with your heart.
Proper running posture is important.  Head up, shoulders back, chest high, arms pumping front to back to propel you forward.  What this really means is leading with your heart.

Your heart will lead you into things, and if you pay close attention it is your heart that will lead you out.  When your legs give out, and your mind is tired, when you feel like you were crazy to ever begin it is your heart –  your perfect courageous heart –  that will carry you home.

8. Do it in the rain.
Last week I was already running when the rain began in earnest.  It was the last hill of the last mile of my run.   Big fat drops hit the pavement and bounced back up against my legs.  Mist rose off the road and swirled around my legs.  And even though my heart was pounding and my legs burned, a grin spread across my face.  I swear my heart cracked wide open in that one, perfect moment.

There’s a whole lot you should experience in the rain.  Singing. Dancing.  Making Love.  The rain brings life.  Wakes us up.  Quenches our thirst.  We spend a whole lot of time and money trying to keep from getting wet.  Sometimes we need to just get over it and let the rain drench us until we realize what a miracle we are living.

9. Be your own motivation
There will come a day when you are running up hill.  Against the wind.  Your iPod will run out of juice.  A car will drive by and drench you from head to toe with dirty water from a giant puddle.  You’ll get a big ole’ stitch in your side.  It will appear the world is working against you.   There will be nothing on the outside that you can pull from to power you through this.  The only thing you have is you.  You’ll have to stoke your inner fire from gut to heart until you feel your intensity build from within.

There will always be moments where external motivation dries up.   Know that everything you need to cross the finish line is already inside of you.

10. Know when you have something to prove.
Sometimes in life you’re chasing the burn, other times you’re aiming for ease.   On Monday you may be sprinting for first place and on Tuesday praying just to finish. Do you run through that painful stitch in your side or stop and lean into it until it eases?  Do you push yourself to go faster, longer, harder – or do you just satisfy yourself with moving the way your body wants to move?  Do you keep fighting the fight, or just curl up with your tears and some hot tea?

Sometimes you have something to prove, sometimes you don’t.   It is helpful, before you begin, to know which space you’re in.

11. Be your own DJ.
I always exercised to music with an edge.  White Zombie.  Nine Inch Nails.  Eminem.  This summer I made my customary soundtrack and hooked up my headphones, ready to rumble.  But something was missing, the music was not connecting me to the experience.  So I switched it up, entirely.   Twangy country mixed with Coldplay?  Vintage Shakira following Tegan and Sara?  Whatever, it works. Everything in life needs a soundtrack.  Your monotonous desk job.  Your workout.  That crazy clusterfuck of love triangle in which you’ve entangled yourself. The right soundtrack makes everything flow – it clears your mind, energizes your body, heals your broken heart.

Don’t be afraid to edit your soundtrack (read: friendships, lovers, office space, the voices in your head) as needed.   Life does not always call for the exact same beat. 

12. One foot in front of the other.
Running, love affairs, building a business, healing a heart, shattering expectations, climbing mountains, getting your groove on, surrendering with grace.   First place finish or slow and steady – the process is the same.  In the end it’s always a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, until you reach your home.

Ultimately it always comes down to this: it’s just one foot in front of the other, baby, all the way home. 

We sit on the bed; crossed legs and open hearts. It has been a long night and an even longer morning.  I curl myself around you as you weep.  Shoulders heave and cleansing tears fall.  A truth too long held is released.

Confession.  Omission.  Anxiety.  Fear.  Agony.  Comfort.  Compassion. Love.   These all live in the small spaces between us.

Comprehension crystalizes mysteries that had surrounded us in undercurrent.   One fact arched over a span of years and a lifetime of hurt and delivered right here; to this bed, in this room, on this tender morning.

Despite the rest, there is always hope in the truth.

~~~

Oh, sweet baby, you are not broken. Not in the way that you think.

Yes, it’s true.  Your heart is cracked in a million jagged pieces.  You have carried memories of dark nights and trust betrayed. Your body has tenderly sheltered a lifetime of shame.   You have buried your wounds beneath scars and your scars behind words unsaid and pain unseen.

And you feel broken.  Oh love, of course you do.  Your soul is patched – holes stuffed with unmet hope and despair and desperation.   You have being viewing your reflection in a mirror broken over and over again by pain and shame.  You consider all of this your due.  Your secret.  Only yours to bear.

That ends now.  It must end now.

Because yes, you are broken.  And yes, you are perfect.   And you are never, ever alone.

~~~

We are in this together.  None of us truly walk in isolation, even when we cannot sense the presence of another for miles upon miles.  Even in the worst of our desolation.  Even during our coldest 3am breakdown.  Even when we shut out the world and spin in circles until we collapse.

Even then the light still gets in.   Even then the heart still opens and reaches, tendrils of hope curling and bending toward slivers of light.   Upward, outward, in all directions – seeking light at all cost.

One way or another, we all grow toward the light.

We are resilient like that.  Our hearts are stubborn like that.  Our spirits – even under the heaviest of burdens – ultimately wild and free. And eventually, when we least expect it, the light finds its way in.  It always does.

And then everything is illuminated.  And all of our aching pieces, all the shattered bits, all the places we think we must tuck away from the world are bathed in radiance.  And only then does something become clear….

The closer you get to broken, the more it begins to look like whole.  Like beauty.  Like breathtaking truth.

And the truth is that we are all beautiful.  And we are all broken.  And even when you consider all of our hopelessly fractured pieces, all of us inherently whole.

Life cracks us into unrecognizable shards of former incarnations.  Slivers of our hurt, and our pain and our shame nestle next to fragments of our truth, our divinity, our fierce reclamation of power.

It is this very brokenness that allows us to knit together, kaleidoscope style.  And we spin and shift and turn to the light until we appear brilliant, lit from within.  Suddenly we are revealed; unexpected beauty born directly from brokenness.

We have to be willing to break in order to become.

~~~

Your sobs have quieted.  I hold you in my arms and radiate as much peace as I am able, hoping that some of it transmits directly to the center of your aching heart.

I cannot heal you.  I cannot fix this.  But I can help you gather the scattered and broken parts and hold them to the light.  I want you to catch a glimpse of what I see, a kaleidoscope configuration composed of color and geometry and all of your broken pieces arranged in imperfectly perfect symmetry.

You are broken.
You are whole.
You are beautiful.

I honor you.