“And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
ANAÏS NIN
For as long as I can remember, I have been afraid to be truly seen and deeply known. And at the same time, for as long as I can remember, I have carried in my heart and in my bones—without consciously realizing it—a deep ache to be truly seen and deeply known. I am only beginning to understand, at age 44, just how devastating the impact of this unmet need has been on my life circumstances, my health, my very soul. I have a burgeoning, urgent awareness of the implications of the many choices I have made to suppress this vital imperative. And I am scratching the surface now between what is and what could be.
This surface lays (feels) thick and impenetrable, like a mantle of clay and rock covering the land of my conscious self. It obscures a secret, swelling, subterranean river of emotion, creativity, passion, desire, yearning, and life force. A magnificent source of untapped inspiration and potential churning and rushing with extraordinary force, dark and cold and lonely and fierce, just below the earth-encrusted borders of my perceived reality.
For years—decades—it has pressed upward against the surface, straining for an outlet, searching for cracks in the rock, longing to burst forth and to flow free. Forever (it feels) I have tamped it down, suppressing every urge and thwarting every opportunity to release its power. Fearful of what might happen if I let myself go. Fearful of who I might discover swimming in the depths. Fearful of the ripples my truth would make as they spread wide across my known world and lapped up against its people, places, and things. Fearful, for whatever reason, of myself.
In seeking to hide from myself and from others, I have erected a painstakingly elaborate dam for my beautiful river. Boulder by boulder, fortifying my defense against the perceived enemy: myself. I cut myself off from my very life Source, believing that I needed to drink from someone else’s stream to survive in this world. And in so doing, I poisoned the well-spring of my river with every ensuing thought, emotion, and action inauthentic to my own unique Source.
I have made myself sick by living in this way. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. And it comes as no surprise to me, this realization. It is not the first time I have known it. It is not the first time I have thought about it, deeply and seriously. It is not the first time I have made attempts to do something about it. I have been here before. But it is the first time I have known, consciously and with full clarity and conviction, what to do about it.
To free my river, I must express myself from that one true Source. My Source. That voice is uniquely mine, so only I can tap the well-spring. No one else can do this for me. And only I will know what is real. But it is not enough to know. I have come to realize that it is my destiny and my purpose (or one of them, at least) to express it to others. To give of myself—my self-expression—freely and joyfully for the benefit of whoever may find resonance or feel drawn to what I have to share.
I cannot explain how I know this or what it means, or certainly not what I imagine may come from it. I have no idea what I am meant to share or in what way or whether it will be any “good” or of any interest to one person or many (or even read in the first place by a single person beyond myself) or what kind of impact any of that may have if any at all.
I only know that I must write whatever I feel I must, and that I must then put it “out there.” And that if I do not do this, I will simply accept to speed the pace at which I die—a statement I make without a shred of hyperbole, and with full awareness of how dramatic it may sound. Literally and figuratively I will wither, inside and out, as I have played around the edges of doing these last many years already.
I will not slip quietly into that abyss. For many years I did not believe that I had a choice. But I know better now. I have been gifted that insight and I will not squander it. So I choose to speak my truth, in whatever way it urges to be expressed. Without judgment or censorship, as guided and compelled by my intuition. With every effort to avoid being precious with my words, or letting “perfect” stand in the way of “done.” With love and integrity and appropriate discretion, to the best of my ability; and fumble though I surely will on the way to finding my voice. Come what may, I choose to be heard, to be seen, and to be known. Till my river runs wild.
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Till My River Runs Wild 