for my angels on my birthday 

in spiritual truth, i’ve lost nothing


They linked arms and surrounded me. Naive in their belief that they could go unnoticed to others in the house.

The light was blinding. The warmth was more than I’d known in years.

In this way I experienced God again, naive in my belief that light could only come from outside, and only be cold.

I guess I didn’t understand the text. The ancient language half-forgotten as something I had mumbled to myself to keep myself company during a long, dry walk.

When others pilgrimage they do it with, they do it for, there is a beginning and an end that has been clearly set down by many who have come before.

In this way, I’ve been alone for a very long time. And I can’t lie anymore. It’s been hell. Absolute hell.

But up in that room, I was reconnected to God (not that we were ever truly disconnected, just that on this physical plane we forget) and it tripped a lever inside of me.

It’s time. It’s time. It’s time.

I began to sing. Loudly. Without shame. I began to hold myself the way that Maya Angelou had taught me to hold myself.

I cried without fear in that circle. Much unlike the way I cried in the very first circle into which I was plunged so many years before.

That first circle, on the floor, my eyesight in line with feet. Big meaty feet, slender soft feet, dainty feet, hairy bony feet. And several in between.

There I cried like a snivelling brat. In that circle my tears were halted. And told, “That’s enough.”

Irony is when the words that your guardian angels want you to speak come out through the mouth of another.

The first person I French kissed was Jody.

And every person since then has been leading me forward in a way that only made sense to that terrified young girl.

The same girl who spent a lifetime walking behind me on my pilgrimages.

And even when that lever within was pressed in the only way it could have been, the nativity of those who set it off was such that God had been confused with higher self.

They believed they had seen my best self, that they had somehow unlocked me from my cell.

But they did not believe they had unlocked anything within themselves when they reflected the smallest bit of my best self.

In this way I wasn’t naive. In this way I had lost my faith.

Reflecting emptiness for years has a way of convincing you that you are empty and that only emptiness exists in the world.

But that was the loop. The trick. The well played long con drawn out over periods of time and experience I wasn’t able to stay with.

My light was never broken. I had been swallowed.

And in this way, I walked toward them after being freed.

They had no way of knowing that I couldn’t walk. They had no way of knowing how long I’d been imprisoned or how or by whom or how many and from how long ago.

In my sudden freedom, gulping air like I didn’t care if the pressure would burst my lungs, I followed them.

I chased them, mistaking them for angels. They laugh. But to me, they were.

Because up until that point no person had been able to get through and stand up for me in that way, to even show me that freedom was possible.

Because up until that point, no person had tried in a way that I could recognize or understand or believe.

Many have walked me through my mind without realizing that my monsters sat in the chair beside me or understanding how that affected me. Or how to help me through. 

Others have sent off rounds on the front lines. Still fewer have held my hand as I learned to walk. One has held me as I cried.

But giving humans angelic qualities can confuse a girl like me. One who has spent too much time in constructed rooms with light that filters without appearing man made.

And I felt lonely after experiencing the great gulf close only to go back.

And I felt like maybe it was their fault in the same way that I knew it was someone’s fault. In the way fault was out there trying to close in on someone without ever being allowed to get too cosy.

Today, for my birthday, I saw a woman being taken care of in a way that made me smile. She had a broken foot. Her friend gave her a piggyback from the cafe to the car to keep her cast free of slush.

I smiled like wow that’s amazing, and then I cried in the bathroom.

because in my life, even when I did share a house with a man I once loved, when my arm was broken and I couldn’t do up my bra, I had to beg him for help. And some days begging made it worse.

I smile at other’s joy because this is God telling me that it exists. It is real. And this is where I’m heading.

I smile because God is telling me that I’m on the right path. And I’m learning to believe, the way that they are learning to believe, that life is more magical and beautiful than we, in our human egos, can imagine.

Even a girl like me, who some days gets strength from the words, “Even broken crayons can color,” has a right to hope that one day a mirror will walk toward me.

One day the right mirror will reflect not only my best self, but also set a lever off in my atoms as our molecules spin faster.

One day, “It’s time, it’s time, it’s time” won’t be a practice drill.

And despite the hells I’ve walked through since I found my legs, I have not lost my faith. I have not succumbed to the cynical belief that humans are inherently inept and incapable of love, no matter what my past wishes I would believe.

Despite what would make it easier for my past, I will sit quietly in sometimes reticent rebellion against that fear-serving belief. But rebellion just the same.

I know that I deserve love. Real love. And I know, based on the laws of metaphysics, that if I believe it, it is already true, and therefore only a matter of time before manifesting in the physical plane.

In spiritual truth, I am loved by all. And for now, in this way, I am not lonely.

Author: tendrilwise

Hi, I have a diploma in Journalism, I've published a novel, and I am currently studying psychology. My odd way of viewing the world either gets me kicked out of parties or invited to them. Jenn McKay

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