Sometimes loving yourself requires all the strength you have left, but it is always worth it because no one else can ever fill that void you’ve created through harsh criticism and self-hatred. As long as you fear being yourself and hide your scars, you will never allow your heart to dance and take the chance of living rather than existing in the shadows of your dreams and the left-over glory of everyone you put above yourself.
I saw her in my dreams today – her hair was curly and blond, her eyes blue with a touch of petrol green. She was only three and oh so beautiful. I saw my little daughter, felt her name so gentle on my lips, her laughter warm and comfortable in my heart.
I was having tea with my muse who is very real, of flesh and blood, and so alive her smile is bubbling over. In my dream, I visited her home, shared stories with her about our work, our lives, the faith that holds us both together. I listened to her as she told me about her family, of the many changes she has faced in her life. I felt like her grand-daughter for a moment, reminded of the last time I truly felt like coming home – before my grandma had died so many years ago.
I moved my hand over my belly, so round and firm, felt another life growing inside of me while my daughter was running around the coffee table, her laughter bubbly, like my muse’s, when I softly shouted her name.
I woke, moments later, full of hope, humbled, cushioned; my heart bursting over with love and trust. I closed my eyes and saw her again, my little girl, heard the echo of her voice as I chased after her in the backyard of a welcoming home. Too fast for me to catch, she stayed with me in my mind, lively and innocent in the presence of my muse. Together, they smiled at me and I felt whole, blessed to have that image, that afterglow of something real and fresh – it gave me faith again in what comes next.
For years, religion used to be that phantom pain of something she seemed to lack without knowing. An unknown factor, unconsciously covered by an odd interest in literature and superstition, a source of comfort that made her whole like nothing else. It was a wave of grief that triggered it all, a feeling of loss and depletion, draining her at the height of a busy life. A craving for completion and answers about family, love and the meaning of life.
What she didn’t expect was to find a home, for her heart and soul, a place of solace and gradual delight, expressed through words that give her hope in a world without rites. It isn’t easy to understand it all, the heritage and scriptures, the daily impact on her life. A discovery sparked by a side note in an article about a woman she already loved when she was young, she found insight and inspiration, feels humbled now and blessed. Inquisitiveness and education, creativity and kindness, her faith a continued journey to the lost wisdom of her childhood days.