My favorite book of all time, Women Who Run With the Wolves. I have read it so many times, cover to cover. I am on my third copy as I carry it with me and it inevitably gets torn to shreds. And I can open it to any page and be nourished by the words Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes shares. Last night, I NEEDED to read these words…AGAIN. Amongst many of the dreams for my life, I dream of a Divine Partner. I hold out for it and love myself until then, tending to my own wounds and shoveling shit out as fast as I can making my soul fertile for the cultivation of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. And, yes, it might sound pie-in-the-sky romantic but I still believe it. Life is magic and miracles. I know. I have both witnessed them and lived them. And a partner that is healed and creates is willing to create with me creates, even MORE, magic and life in the world.
The cycle of love has many births and deaths within it. That’s how it is needed to sustain itself and LIVE. If something stayed the same at a single rhythm it would become stagnant. Life is always about life/death/life. There are seasons for everything. And the sooner we hold this within us, the faster we can get to the business of healing ourselves and allowing it to ripple out. Imagine a world filled with HEALED people. People that live from their wound with no intention of attending to it create putrid festering wounds for others. That’s destruction that has no rebirth.
I share all of this because in my life this is where I AM and I know that I am connected to others that are experiencing the same. As I sat and read Chapter 5 in Women Who Run With the Wolves last night I wept. I wept because I fell in love with a partner who wants nothing to do with healing his wounds. When we met we both had gaping holes for wounds and we loved the sanctuary we created with one another to begin the healing. I still have wounds that need attending to; ones I find with each layer I peel back. But as is so often the case, when you meet someone you “accidentally” fall in love with, it can flip the world you thought you had so carefully put together. Then what? What do you do? Run? Stay? Fight? Cry?
Clarissa’s words last night helped to tend to my aching heart; a heart still very much in love and learning to let go. I have learned that I am enough. I always have been. But when another lives from their wound no one will ever be enough. But if one looks inside and LOVES Self fully they can find a partner to create, love, and build a life with. A woman...”She teaches the man to make new life. She shows him that creation is a series of births and deaths. She teaches that protectionism creates nothing, selfishness creates nothing, holding on and screaming effects nothing. Only letting go, giving heart, the great drum, the great instrument of the wild nature, only this creates. That is how love relationship is meant to work, each partner transforming the other. The strength and power of each is untangled, shared. He gives her the heart drum. She gives him knowledge of the most complicated rhythms and emotions imaginable. Who knows what they will hunt together? We only know that they will be nourished to the end of their days.”
Love. It is all there is. Love is a frequency, not a feeling or an emotion. Fierce. Present. Unwavering. Shared. Love isn’t weak in any way. Love is real. Love shows up and decides to create roots. About ten years ago I discovered the words of Oriah in her letter The Invitation and for me it described love best.
“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, YES.
It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company in the empty moments.”