I really have no idea exactly when it happened, this new truth, this sense, of knowing, of freedom from longing for it since high school, this completion. I was reminded of this though, last night and again this morning, of a shift that has taken place.

That one, you know, the one. The Richard Bach ONE, of names intermingling, of new perspectives, new ideas, that person to fill this empty void that I thought I couldn’t fill by myself. A purpose, a sense of happiness that everyone longs for, and that few really achieve.

There was a time when just saying certain words, negating my desire for this oneness, would have been a lie – bold right to your face lie. Lying, if I had said that I didn’t want, I mean, I wanted it to be true, sure, but it wasn’t true, not in my heart of hearts. I knew I would be lying if I said being with just myself for the rest of this life would be ok, ok if I never loved again.

why do you stay in prison, when the door is so wide open?

Rumi

Its been maybe a year and a half, or so, since I thought the thoughts, distracted walking down the sidewalk from work, thinking about at random times, angry at the universe for its pittance, bits and pieces, and all left somewhere back along the road, gone, another lifetime ago kind of people, of those lost, those loves, done with them or them me.

So I finally stumbled upon that new song by Lady Gaga, as a family friend posted it on FB, and I took the bait, and there I was listening to that song, of never loving again.

That’s the thing, there was a time not so long ago that thought seemed something I would never say, could never say, for me, to say that and mean that and be ok with it meant failure.

So I listened, and what I actually thought surprised me, you know, that I could say that if I do never love again, I was good with that.

I don’t mean anything by that, and I am not ruling anything out by a very long stretch, far from, the significance is a recognition of a place I have arrived at, this place of peace of mind and maybe it’s just a gift of menopause, the gift that keeps on giving, those hormones that dip and dive were just the kick I needed.

And not for the lyrics reasons, not for pain, or hurt, or betrayal, not for giving up, because I have felt those things, sure, felt them again and again, over and over, and still tried again, but they are not the reason.

The reasons are not of lack, not of needing, or wanting some kind of ‘more’ I thought I was promised.

Instead, it was that something shifted, moved inside, looked around, fluffed the nest and settled in and while I was watching that music video I was surprised that I don’t require, don’t need someone coming in and altering a thing, not a piece of furniture, not a hair, not a breath, nada. I have arrived at this place and it has taken work, death, and losing things I never planned to lose, but so it goes.

Sacrificed to the gods.

Well, course, I wasn’t exactly destitute with a rucksack and my wit, I mean I had lots of things, like Fred the Ficus. I had a giant Hoosier cabinet, and a Great Grandma dresser, and lots of stuff – I just didn’t have a home for it, a job to pay the bills, you know, the basic stuff was missing. Took a bit to acquire all that back, but I did, and five and a half years later I have learned a thing or three, and that two is not as reliable as one.

I’ve over time learned how death and endings can be fuel, that they can take me to new places, places that are more difficult to get to, to find, as they are in unlikely directions. Learned over time how to allow mistakes can be stepping stones, not portals to some abyss I have to be rescued from.

The path was not easy, I got lost, I fell, broke things, got lost down dead-end streets and dark paths lit only by la luna. And still, I wished and dreamed of a time when happiness would be like an endless supply of ice cream I could just have when I so desired, and suffering would end.

Perhaps it was this trial by fire, a cleansing, but I had held tightly to stories that made me small, ideas of who I was and what I needed, limiting, all based not on me, on my acquiring something, like a partner, a place, a being, a particular way to be. That this achievement, of finding, cherishing and keeping a partner was the be all and end all to who I was. That without that partner I was somehow flawed, or unfinished. Deep inside I believed it.

It’s more cliche now than ever, but truly, I had never been to me. That just never seemed enough, never measured up. But why? Why wasn’t I enough?

For years I felt meagre and self-doubt crept inside, in those darkest and loneliest times I longed for this partnering and bought into this idea that it would just make my life easier, I would be complete, and that it was the only way or the best way, the tried and true way.

Yet, it never had, so why did I think it ever would? I mean, fine for others, but is it not the very definition of stupidity to keep doing the same things expecting different results? Just because everyone else is doing it, does it mean I have to as well?

Then my hormones went all wacky, and life took a sharp turn, and all the background noise that had convinced me, you are not good enough alone, it just went silent. I don’t know when, or how, exactly, not to a day, minute, millisecond, but after long wishing for it, after so long seeking that peace, it all synced, like a quiet epiphany.

I carried these ideas of my own inadequacy around for so long that they seemed almost a part of me, defining who I was and what I could be, what I was not, or should be. That anything less would be a compromise.

Friggin’ hogwash.

Basic physics says…

“When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

Albert Einstein

I believed various reasons at various times what I lacked, why I lacked or lost, I couldn’t have this precious thing I had sought like I was fat, too much, too little, not enough, not this or that. But I never thought that it was the idea itself that was wrong, that it was never me, it was my point of view, my perspective, my concept of what really would make me happy that was off. My focus was skewed.

I never thought about it, never thought to question it, until I began looking back at the times I was happy and what was I doing? What made ME happy? Exactly what were the details, what was I doing, who was there? I mean, was it the person, or was it something else? It’s then that I began to understand the truth, the great delusion I had bought, but it took a bit for it to sink in, and then to adjust to, and go forward with.

Because, what did this mean? Concretely, day to day, and more so, what future did I foresee with this new sense of me?

And so that is why I can sit for hours entertaining myself, like when I was young before the whispered promises of my teens took root, and woe is to those who do not aspire towards this goal, that blinkered thinking, or so I had once believed with my whole heart, that somehow I wasn’t enough.

Thing is though, I know I will love again. I know it because I always have, and I’ll love more, and deeper and with something more attached to it than new love, or a man, or a partner.

That sense of wholeness as you watch the sunrise over the horizon at the lakeside as you sip your warm coffee in the bliss of ONEness, maybe that day the snow is crisp and even, highlighting all the world around you, enchanting everything it touches, and your heart swells, and you almost hear the angels sing, and it is not just enough, it is E V E R Y T H I N G.

It sits inside me now, it is always there and grows day after day. Its that awe at the magic, the beauty of things, the way shadows play on glistening frosty cool whip snow on a cold sunny morning at the end of winter, inspiring me to go another way, and it fills me up. No distractions, no more, no less.

And no one can take it from me. It won’t get lost, it doesn’t die, and I won’t forget it.

“I am my own experiment. I am my own work of art.”

Madonna

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[ ABOUT THIS POST: seeded from experience, and in part inspired by a TedTalk I came upon – Do You See the Signs of the Universe? | Ulla Suokko ]