I’m not convinced it was supposed to go down like this.

When we met, I felt like I was pulled into his orbit by a force that was bigger than both of us. I had to find out what that feeling was all about. This was back before I learned what it means to rest in the feminine and let things come to me. Still, once I’d set it in motion, he seemed just as intrigued as I was.

As we began to create space together, it felt like home. He said all the right things. I was fascinated by the way he looked at the world. There was something so charming and so old-fashioned about his approach to so many things. The age difference didn’t deter me. Not right then. I was sure we’d figure it all out.

Here are the lessons:

  1. It’s impossible to be sure about anything without time. 
  1. One should not confuse chemistry with cosmic purpose.
  1. In love, you will see early on the exact behaviours that will drive you apart. Most of us ignore these revelations. 
  1. No conclusions should be drawn about the capacity of a relationship until you’ve allowed yourself to sit in someone else’s darkness.

I couldn’t do that last part. I kept excusing it. I kept rationalizing it. I kept trying to heal it. I kept focusing on the way it pulled me into my own darkness, and how I’d suddenly fallen back into patterns that I thought I’d moved past.

Sit in someone’s darkness. How does it feel? How are they accountable for how their darkness affects you? How accountable are you for how you respond to the darkness? Love cannot only live in the light.

I wrote so much poetry. How could such beautiful words pour out of me if we were just going to stay trapped in toxic cycles? Where is the beautiful life we were going to create? Where are the mountains we were going to move?

When do we finally stop wondering if some little thing will change the course? When do we accept that this is exactly where we are, and truly allow ourselves to move forward?

There are moments, in the forest, when I am so aware of my wholeness. The cool, sweet decay of the carpet of leaves and the wet, alive fragrance of the ferns are the cycle to which I belong in a pure and untouchable way. In these moments my soul feels too big for even me to contain, and I realize with tenderness how difficult I must be to love. 

I feel so wild and yet so rooted in the domestic. So demanding of connection, and yet connected so deeply to myself that I cannot bear what I perceive to be a threat to the strange little girl who dwells inside me. I must learn to stop defending her to the death. I must learn that she is wise enough and pure enough to speak for herself.

She can rest in this messy place, and pluck out a few curious pieces to amuse herself with until what is meant for her steps forth from the strange and chaotic universe. I have to trust her, and let her lead. I’ve kept her behind my back for far too long.