Invisible Cuffs that Bind Me

About two days ago I hit a core wound. I’ve never hit it so hard that the wound itself cracked open to expose the most tender and vulnerable parts of my soul.

I remember sitting at Max Brenner’s in NYC the first time it got hit. It bruised. I raised hell. I spewed lava all over the table and told my friend (in friendlier words) to fuck off. She didn’t. Because that’s what good friends are for.

About two days ago the topic came up again. Same friend. Same reaction. It’s not like I didn’t think about what she had said that fateful day in NYC. I am aware enough to know that every time I get hit in the manner that I become viscerally reactive there is something there for me to work on. And the more I protest, the more I know that what is about to come open and become unleashed is the most hurtful, fucked up, ancestral, injured part of my soul. Why the fuck would anyone want to reopen what has remained locked up for so long? Why would anyone willingly go back into the pain of a wound that has kept you alive all these years?

Good question.

My answer is:

*Because those are the chains that bind you like an enslaved creature that has been held captive with invisible handcuffs.

*Because being “alive” doesn’t necessarily mean you have been “living”.

*Because you no longer want to make decisions based on your limited view of what you have around you.

*Because you want to be free to roam and to grow.

*and so many other reasons…

After I spewed my lava all over the table once again, I started to cry. She stayed with me. I cried some more. I told her to fuck off. This time a lot softer as if under my breath. She didn’t. Because that’s what friends are for.

In the aftermath this is what I have learned:

I am the only one that bounds myself to invisible handcuffs and it is up to me to release them.

That no one hurts me when they allow me to open a wound. It is the opening itself that hurts because it has to be allowed to spew the pus of the torment and shame of that experience that has held me captive.

That I am in the process of expanding my edge and am going further out into a world that is completely at the mercy of my own perceptions.

That I am eternally grateful for having friends in my life that give such a fuck about me that they do not cower in the face of my rage, but rather love me for being a human that can emote so deeply that they feel blessed to witness my transformation.

I do not search for the light. I am in the light and perhaps most importantly, I am full of light.

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