At best, I thought I’d get back on my feet. I'll make some new friends and put one foot in front of the other. It's what I do. What I was never ready for, and still can't quite comprehend, let alone process....is that anyone, even one person (Not a friend trying to encourage me!) would be touched or inspired. If I were contrived, or creating pretty words, and stories I can deal with that. I can accept the praise for that and feel secure in knowing I made something by creating it.
This is entirely different. To soul-bare, to throw all of it at the screen or paper or ether because I'm fearless now is an act of self-sustaining. It's almost a rebellion against all notions of "what should be" vs "what I am." To have that, this, my true feelings resonate and compel people to send beautiful letters, and stories and love, that I am, and maybe I never will be, ready for. I didn't make this. I just am.
I didn't act in bravery. In fact, I was selfish,lost, bargaining with grief, self-esteem and loss, but I lied....to myself, to everyone, but then I stopped. I also stood in it, maybe I even took more than I should have, but at this level of effacement, what are degrees of shame or blame? I am. These words, are not my best work, they are not even "work. " They fall out like my hair in such stress.
They just are. And I am reeling in the beauty and fear of knowing that all criticisms and judgments usually come from the owner and I, the catalyst, brought it out to surface. So to be fair, Shouldn’t this be my belief with praise? I'm more touched to see so many people find permission and acceptance to let their own strength, truth and self-love bubble up. It is not mine that touches them; it is their own souls feeling heard in my story. It's overwhelming, and I am beyond gratitude, I am compelled to find a better more revered word to encapsulate how blessed I feel.
I'm still nobody to most. I'm not changing the world, I just made a movie and posted some blogs. Trust me, I know how fleeting all things are, so I pause to push myself to just be in it. It will most likely be gone tomorrow. But today I am inspired. Charles Bukowski was raw, off-putting, lowbrow and in your face. I used to loathe his work. Now, I see his genius is in owning himself. Owning all of it. I hope to stay that honest. To not get beat down by the discomfort of others and to never stop trying. Truth makes me want to be better, kinder, and more flexible. If I never hear another positive word of encouragement, this past week has filled me up. It's pure and it is petrifying, but I'm going to return it's power back out to universe, or die trying.
Oh, and lastly take this grammar gods. Some times, not often, but sometimes content outshines the rules.
"An Almost Made Up Poem."
by Charles Bukowski
"Shimmer with a smile. Life is hard, bloom anyway."