Sunday night after breath work session. I am looking at the ocean and it is divided. In the far distance it is calm, like glass. In the foreground it is raging and treacherous. There is a dock, dividing the two sides. I have been on planes and trains and shuttles to get to this guide, who has been waiting patiently on the dock. I feel apologetic and frantic, but the guide is warm and welcoming and makes me feel at ease. He is beautiful, strong and capable and I trust him to lead me from here.
He says that another boat will be along soon and that others are completing their journey. I am waiting what seems to be forever to start this journey. It feels like I have waited my whole life to find my way on this ocean and I am becoming increasingly impatient with those who are taking so long to bring the boat back to the dock.
In my impatience, I wade out into the stormy waters. I know the undertow is strong, but feel like, if I am careful, I won’t get pulled under. A young girl calls to me from behind and says that I have her story in my hands. I think she is being foolish, but then, looking at my right hand, I see I am carrying a piece of tattered notebook paper. On it is a handwriting that I do not recognize and I am embarrassed to have taken something that was not mine. Sheepishly, I give the girl the page and she is gone.
Finally the boat comes back and I am eager to get in. I see that the rivets are loose and have some ambivalence, but I have waited too long, and ignoring the potential for danger, I set out to find myself.
Some of this is easy to understand. The waters always look calmer on the other side. I have always taken care of and waited on others and spending all of my energy this way has delayed my own needs. Currently I am waiting for Peter to get his act together and leave before I can feel fully alone. I feel the need to deal with this fear and over come it if I am to ever find true peace.
The life I am carrying that belongs to someone else is puzzling. Perhaps, I am the young girl, asking for my life back. I am not sure why I am so embarrassed at having taken her life. Remorse I could understand, but not embarrassment. Perhaps it is because the inner otter, who gets the whole cosmic joke, has chided me for being so caught up in the illusions I create that didn’t see what I was doing.
I've been writing my story since I was able to write, but when the media goes to share it, they only choose the parts that fit their idea of what will generate views. If I'm going to share my story, it should be the whole story. The titles are the dates things happened. If you have any interest in who I really am please start at the beginning of this playlist: http://savethecats.org/
I know there will be people who take things out of context and try to use them to validate their own misconception, but you have access to the whole story. My hope is that others will recognize themselves in my words and have the strength to do what is right for themselves and our shared planet.
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Music (if any) from Epidemic Sound (http://www.epidemicsound.com) This video is for entertainment purposes only and is my opinion.