This year. Of being broken and broken. Over and over. Again and again until what remained, who remains, looks nothing like who began and I can’t find the shreds I was holding so tightly to only 365 days ago. What were those things I couldn’t live without?
I don’t remember.
This year. Being remade and remade and remade until hand-me-down patches of identity have grown to encompass the whole, not quite covering, the rips and scars, and shredding of all I thought I had to have. The piles of Must Have whittled down to the brightest sharpest edges capable of piercing through stone and sculpting through the scrap-work me to find…
Who ever it is that remains.
This year. Wrestling and fighting and persevering when there were mountains to climb, oceans to cross, love to lose, love to gain. Giving up a thousand times, crying out that I could not bear it one moment longer. Yet, still moving forward. Keeping my feet, my eyes, my hands, moving and engaged while my heart thudded along, numbed and crushed. Dried to powder. Dirt devils whipping and twirling in a Spirit Wind that dances across the soul’s landscape.
This year. When words failed and hands fell, quiet. When prose and method trickled off into a vacant stare. When the million things that bounced around in my head beat themselves silent on the closely guarded gates of my insufficiency. When the music couldn’t find rhythm and the lyrics didn’t rhyme.
This year. Friends found and friends left. Holding close and letting go. Finding a niche that fit and fitting into a niche that didn’t. Falling in love. Falling apart. Falling down. Falling…
This year. Voices raised in song and whispers in the dark. Triumph and failure. Weakness and strength. Hope shining at the very bottom of the darkest pit.
This year I didn’t ask for. This year I thought I figured it out. This year I lost.
This year I won, but lost anyway.
This year of setting aside sparkles, waiting for the light pollution to fade. Find the gold that doesn’t glitter. Setting aside things that softened the onward march of years while I search for who really lurks beneath. Learning to really look at the crows feet and cellulite of my soul’s excesses bravely and not shrink away. Seeking life’s reality without cosmetic enhancement to mask the fight or flight battle raging within.
This year I mistook the promise of transformation for the myth of being reborn into an image recognizable or to be coveted.
When the Creator saw all that was and loved me anyway.