An Ode to my Dwindling Armor

Who is this flower above me?
And what is the work of this god?
I would know myself in all my parts.
~Feri Flower Prayer, traditional, Victor Anderson


God is self and self is God and God is a person like myself.
~Victor Anderson

I’m actively working on being more open to letting people see the person I actually am, instead of just the edited, monitored mock-up I’m used to displaying.

It sucks is kicking my ass.

I recently had a dream involving my tiny Yorkshire Terrier being catapulted into a wall. Without going into the details of the dream (because as a general rule, a dream described is way less interesting than a dream experienced) its meaning was pretty clear to me:  I’m afraid that my vulnerability is going to be ill-used…and, even more deep in meaning, I’m going to have to use that same vulnerability to break down some of my defensive walls (catapults, after all, are war machines used for just that purpose).

So, I’ve been spending more time being vulnerable with those I trust the most. It is damn hard work, maybe the hardest work I’ve ever done.  I feel totally exposed and often, outright ridiculous, as what I want to hide the most is this:  the people I care about affect me in ways that embarrass me. I don’t want to be the girl that gets hurt by other people’s careless words and actions.  I want to be unflappable, remarkable in my ability to transcend that bullshit.  I want to be an island, both more and less than human.  What I end up becoming is this angry little gut-monster living in a false and serene shell, rattling around and doing damage to my own innards.

So instead, I’m practicing being real, and human, and sometimes ridiculous.  I’m practicing being touched by others and by life and not apologizing for that connection.  It’s the crack that lets the compassion in, the place where Bodhichitta can simultaneously latch on and receive light.  If I can’t see myself, how can I ever hope to see you?  And so on and so forth.

I peek around the edges of my dwindling armor…I arm the war machine with that which I love most of all- the warmest, softest parts of myself…and slowly, I’m going to become a freedom fighter, armed with love and softness and my own truth.

Eventually, puppies win.

5 thoughts on “An Ode to my Dwindling Armor

Comments are closed.

Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: