Love Always Finds its Way Back to You

I haven’t touched my draft writing since July. The last thing I wrote was, “Nothing is ever lost, love always finds its way back to you”. Each time I’ve attempted to write I find myself stopping, to be so present in my life I end up melding between the seams of my own chapters. In anything or everything in better terms I’ve experienced since July, it seems to always come back to love. Out of everything I could write about, I focus myself on love. To be fair, I think my lack of writing comes from the fact I was in constant realization of how much my mind controlled me. I am sitting here wondering what words fit best, I have allowed so much to pour from my heart, and now it’s time my writing follows suit once again. 

I really am not sure what to write. Life continues, we grow, and learn again. Ram Dass states that love and acceptance run a close line. Ram Dass, you clearly had a point. It took me a while to accept life and its extremity in line with its simplicity. That’s where acceptance comes in. If we can accept extremity when it arises, we can embrace simplicity that much more. I think it can be a lot harder to view the extremity of life in a lens of acceptance. We claim we crave peace, yet react the most to chaos. To embrace both with open arms is to step into the unknown; I have found this the most rewarding in life thus far.

I’m choosing to keep those two first paragraphs; when I wrote them I thought my writing was no longer with me, that it no longer lives inside me. But she lives inside me, around me, and I hope to be a branch off of her tree. But, knowing who I once was, she would want me to grow into a tree that demolishes her own. Or perhaps she’d like to be neighbors. I know she would sit across from me, and tell me to remember just how much I’ve done.

I’m writing again in July of 2024. There are many things that are different this July. I made it a goal of mine in June to write in my journal everyday, the way I used to. I haven’t touched my camera since I filled my SD card. I watched one of my videos today; I said something that lit a fire in my gut, “Write to me, I won’t write back but write to me”. In the time I recorded that I was unshackling myself from the many versions that have lived inside me, I also said, “I hope you can just let me go when the time comes, that’s what I’m trying to do right now”.

As I watched the most odd feeling washed over me, I craved her so badly. I wanted her to sit at the foot of my bed so I could tell her how abnormal I have always felt, and the worry I may always feel such; on random warm days in the beginning of July or in the absence of warmth in the dead of winter. That it won’t matter whether the flowers are bloomed or wilted, the feeling may remain. I knew she would understand me. She always has. She is me. How strange is it to crave the comfort of a version of ourselves. How extraordinary that we can admire a stage of self. I craved her strength in that moment she spoke, her groundedness. It is like seeing yourself from a different pair of eyes and acknowledging every quality that you denied yourself for so long. I have always wanted to be that person for myself.

So I did write to her. I wrote that I know she would be overjoyed and honored to receive my letter. At the same time I wrote, I felt the surge of excitement and emotion I can only imagine that version of myself would have felt. If only the crossing of time would allow that to happen. She deserves a letter for all she swam through that led me to the pouring love life has gifted me. The entire month of June I wondered where my writing had gone. Most of my pages were cut short. But, I also accepted the change. I, of course, once said, “that may have been more your thing than mine”. It’s a crashing yet blossoming feeling to witness the rising change in womanhood, and the raw act of being human. Truthfully, I always kind of resented the stages of how I became. I’m always changing and I cannot hate aspects of myself into change. But god did I love myself to admit the need for change whilst simultaneously holding my hand in the darkest corners of my body and mind. Today was a milestone, and today blossomed something within me. The surge of deep love rooted into my feet up into my heart. I craved wisdom and warmth today, and the only thing I wanted to sit across from was that version of myself.

I had no intention to write today but I came across something that read, “you have to resurrect the deep pain within you and give it a place to live that’s not within your body”. I realize that while I have not written, that act of what writing was to me was not lost. I have found a way to transform my pain from the deepest parts of my body into those I have the honor to work with. People who trust me with the sacredness of health. I have resurrected that pain into the most merciful love. I dreamed of a green pasture full of flowers, sun, someone to hold my hand and people to laugh with. I don’t need to hold my own hand anymore. Yet, I’m sure I always will. To be seen is to be awoken. 

Love always finds its way back to you.