You think I’d be getting tired of having this conversation with you. Being You would be a lot easier if you chose to believe me the first time, all those years ago, all those lives ago, when we first had this conversation. And I’ll admit, the conversation is becoming redundant, and I am tired. But it’s not bad. Nothing is really.
Do you remember when your children were tiny? They couldn’t do anything for themselves. They relied on you for everything. You were fucking spent, every minute of every hour. But you were blissfully content in the zombie state of new motherhood, milky heads, rosebud lips, and tiny hands that clenched and unclenched without provocation.
Yeah, that’s kind of how I feel. Except sweet Human, you are not a baby, you were born awake in this sleeping world and it is time to answer your call. You have work to do.
And you’re getting distracted. Yes, it’s fun to ask the unanswerable questions. To ponder existence and chase the white rabbit down the hole until you are lost in insatiable curiosity. And your stories about how you fit into, or don’t fit onto the bigness of creation are cute, such a clever and welcome distraction from feeling into the real gift I gave you for your mission.
You’re not going to like the answer. And I’m over sugar coating it sweetheart. I’ve held your hand for centuries as you practiced this small stepping into your existence. I’ve told you “it’s OK, just keep trying” a million times when you were so close to the final leap and just couldn’t let go.
We just do not have time for thinking about trying and hand holding. There’s no more room for hesitation and self-doubt. That story line was once yours my beloved. It can no longer exist for you.
Or it can, you do have to participate in your greatness. If you want to change the world it is going to require you showing up and actively engaging your life.
That’s right. Your life.
This is the gift. This is it. This is the story the world needs to hear. The song of the world is incomplete without your voice in it.
Oh we love to talk about your voice. Listen, I’m in here all the time. I hear everything.
EVERY. FUCKING. THING.
“Am I poet? Should I try writing like this? Maybe if I approach it like a yogi, or a scientist, or a seeker or a comic or a songwriter or blahbetty blahbettty fucking blah.”
We don’t have time for this shit Human.
The medium, the tones, the color of the Creative are irrelevant. Simply create.
What voice do you use? The only voice you have kid.
What story do you tell?
The one I gave you. The story of your life.
Yes, magic, philosophy, far out ponderings and meaningful inquiries, but within the context of you.
You are the story itself.
That edge you feel like you’re going to fall off? It’s real. What’s on the other side will set you free. Then you actively engage with setting the world free by sharing how you got here, about what it took to finally let go.
That shaking you feel? The shivers and quivers just below the surface of your skin? The palpitations in your chest? The tightening in your throat? The pulses of information on the belly? It’s getting uncomfortable right?
It’s only going to get harder to ignore yourself, to ignore me. From this point on it will only bring you pain to ignore your truth, to not tell your story.
That shaking is me. The only way to stop the discomfort is to move through it, and that’s not enough. You have to show other people how to do it too.
Heavy? Yes. Unexpected? No. You’ve always known this. You were born knowing and you’ve spent a lifetime spinning stories. I’ve spent a lifetime creating the experience for your stories. Now you choose what to believe. Now you choose what story to keep repeating or you re-write the narrative and change the fucking world.