Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Tending to the wild.

Dearest One,

This is a love letter, a sirens call, to that part of you that needs it most. 
 Bring me your worst, your darkest, your maelstrom, show me your shadows, your fear, those places where you feel not enough, where you fear to feel. The places where you feel scarcity, jealousy, anger, rage, the keening grief of loss and abandonment. The place where you lose your temper and rage like a blinded injured animal. I love you. 
That place where he pushed you away, because you were gone too much, working to create a life for the two of you, and exhausted when you finally did come home and he lost track of where the love was and turned to someone else. Mmhhmm. I love you. 

Where he stopped touching you, stopped loving you, the place where the affection stopped, the sex died off and became a painful chore- three minutes every two months with that dead look in his eyes as he forced himself to allow you to fuck him. Because, you know, he only wants sex if he is in love with you, and he is not in love with you any more. But don’t leave or anything, cause he doesn’t want to be alone either. I love you. 

That place where he stopped sending you delightful playful messages, stopped responding to you, but you later discovered that he is in constant flirty contact with the neighbor, who has started to make sappy mixed cd’s that are suddenly popping up around the house. But, there’s nothing wrong with it, they are just friends, and you know, she’s married, so get over it. That place where he deprived you, but gave that connection you craved to another, which is my only definition of cheating. I love you. 

That place where you keep repeating the pattern, in one way or another, reopening the old scars until they bleed again, wondering why it hurts so much, until you hear a song, and trace the memories back to the mixed cd’s, and suddenly, it all makes sense. I love you. 

That place where you are kept a secret lover, for any number of legitimate socially political reasons, all of which translate to your hurt heart that you are not worthy of being loved out loud. I love you. 

That place inside you that cracked, opened, and bled and bled and bled until you felt like, goddamn, when is the fucking surgeon gonna come clamp this vein off, because Immabout to bleed out. That place where you lost hope and decided you were not enough. That somehow you don’t deserve the love and connection you crave, that it’s safer to shutter your heart and build a protective barrier than to ever feel that devastation again. I love you. 

That place, inside your heart where your little girl sits, and her head is bent to her knees, and there is nothing but grey, and the howling of hungry winds, buffeting her every which way, and the bog of hopelessness that sucks her under as the fog of being unloveable settles all around her til she can see, nothing. That place where you feel not worthy of love. I love you. 

That place where you are so hungry for love, honest connection, for drop down real, unafraid intimacy, sex magick, where the connection isn't dropped when you aren't face to face. I love you. 

Yeah. That. Give me all of that so I can love it with every breath in my body. I want to wrap you up and love you fiercely, bravely, fully. Especially those bits. I want to share with you how amazing you are, bring that little one into the light and shower her  in the cool blessed waters of unconditional love, unbridled affection, and vulnerable, open, flow of heart to heart connection. And not just sometimes when it's convenient or you are being good, love, Allllll the time love. I want to love you until you drop that outdated story line and begin to love yourself complete the way only you can, paving the way for others to love you the same way. I want to love you out loud. 

Take my hand, love. Shall we?