Morning mail

Good morning, artichoke! You fluffy devil, you. I love you. You’re God-infused. You remind me of yucca and the great unfolding desert Southwest. You give me an infinity symbol, help my muse come online, and give me reason to forgive: There will be succulence, you say. There will be the heart in the middle. It will drip with lemon butter and everything, everything will be fine.

I’m so fortunate to have breath. To write is to breathe.  I can live with it if this is all there is. Thank you. For this I offer my spleen, my milky curves. I lay it all on the alter, all my sons and daughters, so long as you’ll flow through me, Lord. I would be a beacon of light for all humanity, should you will it. Blah, blah, blah. The language of the supplicant wears on me. I hope it’s not humility I tire of. I hope rather that you fill me up and replenish me because, so long as you’re my source, my spring runs like liquid light over everything.

I wish to rise into my wholeness and my vast confidence while still surrendering my will to yours. This is the shift, from “I’m not worthy” to  “I’m willing to will thy will.” We will become big for our britches. We are supposed to morph from children of God into the people of God. We’re meant to feel our super powers and then, for those of us who choose to, align them with you.

We’re meant to stand like knights and bow to you rather than cowering like vermin. Doesn’t mean we don’t have vermin tendencies. But come on: Enough.

It’s “easier” to cower, to not take responsibility. I think of those who were brave back in history, standing in their light. A great many went to their deaths while the majority of us cowered in our collective lack of integrity. We have a bloody history. Many of us were put to death for being strong women, or revolutionaries, or artists, or just different. I don’t think I was—I’ll bet I was cowering somewhere—but we all go down to those deaths. We all learn their “lessons” and have to relearn courage in their face.

Yes, I get heavy before breakfast. It’s 4:43 a.m. Yet others  wake in war zones. Others do more to feed the poor. You gotta admit, there will always be greater and lesser and that’s just not the point.

The point is that everyone’s got to find it within him or herself to fully face everything eventually. I take a stand. I may shake—in fact I do, I do! I quiver in my mail. So what? Courage is both not that big a deal and everything. It’s all I am, all that’s left of me. I simply must now turn and fully face the light. I’ve exhausted all other roads and none of them offer anything but dust. I turn to thee, oh dear Goddess, divine Mother, holy Source. On my knees, arms reaching out toward either side of this vast canyon, I unfurl. I open my arms and my heart to you.