Connection, that feeling of knowing I am here, intimately coupled to my essence and to the ever bending and twisting landscape around me, has always been my struggle.
As a child, a frozen child, bathed in rivers of fear, and shame, I learned well the art of disconnection, to separate, to live outside of myself, in an altered reality, but a reality that became my fortress, an oasis of safety, and a place far away from the human experience.
Connection is a necessary force of life, and for me it is life, because without it I slip slowly into the murky waters of my mind, and into those dark stories I tell myself. Those stories of pain and shame, stories that have shreds of truth, just enough for me to believe, and just enough to send me shame spiraling into endless hate for the being that is me.
Without connection, the defenders of my ego always raged, and the isolation from myself and the world around me was limitless. Alone and terrified, anxious and depressed, holding a sadness stretching to the ends of time, I walk this road, barely breathing, with a mind that aches to find a drop of light.
It has taken me a lifetime to learn to connect, because I didn’t know, and am just beginning to know. The gifts of knowing oneself must be monumental. I say, ‘must be’ because I don’t know, I am getting to know, and it seems remarkable. Knowing one’s place and limits must be empowering, having perspective and balance must be calming, and learning to listen to oneself and the world around must be life.
As I’ve learned to connect everything has changed. The world is clearer; intensely beautiful, both in its pleasures and its suffering. And I am no longer that lost boy, spinning in the wind, searching for that light to guide me home, wherever that may be. I suppose I still search for that place, that warm place of safety, but I know now that place is in me, it always has been, I just didn’t know.