Life In The Middle Of Madness

It is precious, it is a blessing to be capable of loving another human being outside of yourself.  To be able to experience that in life.  It means that you’ve opened up to love within yourself, despite the world.  To love, to be loved at this point in time is a fight that is well won.

We are all currently carrying the burden of our ancestors’ collective choices, both good and bad.  It is becoming increasingly rare for an adult to stay in a place of love for any significant length of time.  Why we continue to choose to see a person who has lost the ability to love as something evil or despicable is beyond me, when it’s quite simply become our reality.  Seeing it with such closed and hateful eyes only serves to make it harder for us to see where we are standing so that we can walk to higher ground.  And truthfully, it’s really hard to feel anything without also feeling the bombardment of madness exploding globally.

But it does feel shameful, doesn’t it?  I mean, who wants to admit that they are numb or frozen to feeling something that is such a necessity to existence and what we associate with what it means to be a good person?  Quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.  To say, “I don’t or can’t feel love.” feels like a death sentence, doesn’t it?  People start imagining serial killers and rapists.  God, who wants to be thrown in with that lot?  Amiright?

So good people who start to fall more and more out of love and more and more into fear, convince themselves that they do still feel love, even if it’s just memories of having felt it because there’s just no way they’re going to admit otherwise.  They’re feeling like holy hell inside, but can convince even themselves that they’re right as rain.  Denial is a slippery slope my friends, and fear is it’s lover.

When you are running from something inside of you and you’re scared to the point that it’s become a full time occupation, you aren’t in a place of love, plain and simple.  When fear has taken you over, when it has become your belief system and your reality, it rules you.  It lies to you.  It makes you think and believe things that are absolutely not true.

It is painful to see a loved one go through that fight, believing that they aren’t (or shouldn’t be) loved and the endless ways in which that can be expressed.  It can be so painful, that if you don’t watch yourself, you will start to lose your own belief in love.

It will slowly bleed out of you in your effort to convince your loved one that they are loved (no, but wait, I can prove it to you) and the endless ways in which that can be expressed.

I’ve been through this fight many, many times.  After every setback, rallying myself back together and determined to not lose the fight.  I love you.  I still love you.  I will always love you.  I will not let fear win.

But for a time . . . it did.

I have known no worse suffering in my existence, than in the times in which I forgot that love is real.

I’ve returned from there.  I do know and feel love again.  I fought with every cell in my body and beyond to come back to that place of love, to be once again capable of giving and receiving it.  I’m in the process of learning how to protect that precious feeling inside of me in relation to others.  How to not let it get drained away like it did before by trying to give it endlessly to those who have decided for themselves that they don’t deserve it, but at the same time not feeling like that means that I’m condemned to live a loveless existence myself.

I will say it again, it is a blessing . . . a gift to be able to give and receive love despite the world today.  I had no idea how rare it was until I lost it.  So now that I have it back, you can bet that I’m going to fight like a coked-up Lioness for the right to keep that part of me.

If a loved one has decided to believe more in their falseness than in their truth, that is their right.  Maybe to test themselves, like one of life’s many rites of passages.  Sometimes you need to be dropped into hot water to know what you’re really made of, so that you don’t live a limited and less than full expression of self in life.  If we don’t get pushed off of the ledge every so often, how else will we remember that we have wings?  (If you think you don’t have wings, then you are probably past due for a ledge shove.)

For me, when a loved one of mine has gone into that place, I’ve become committed to let them go on their own and away from me because it is something that only they can choose to return from just as I had to choose for myself.  I would much rather use that time to grow in my strength and in my love, than to fall into the hole with them and we both become stuck.  In doing this, choosing to stay in myself and in love, I can be standing strong still should they choose to return to the land of the living and need a desperate reminder of what love looks and feels like.

I’m coming to see it as my job and responsibility to not let the expression of love die or be forgotten in my life.  I take my job very seriously.  It’s the city of tough love and I’m the baddest bitch in town.  (<– My gansta rapper persona)

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