[Molly Radio: Melt, Big Red Machine]
The best way I know to describe love is by recalling that moment when someone meets me in my darkness in equal measure to my light.
Until recently, I didn’t know it was even possible for another human to do that. I hadn’t experienced it. I hadn’t let it in. And it wasn’t until a particularly brave and wonderful soul celebrated me in my darkness, that I thought it was even possible. I saw darkness. They saw light.
After experiencing this kind of love - I believed that it came only from the outside. Time and again over the last few weeks, that belief was challenged - how could something like this be unidirectional? Love can’t possibly operate exclusively from the outside, in.
And so began the exploration of relentlessly honoring my own darkness. My own pain. My own fear. Honoring it. Celebrating it. Giving it space to throb and shine in all of it’s painful, dark, scary glory. And it was dark, painful, scary and glorious. I wrote in a previous post that there are things that I could do for myself, but didn’t have to do alone. This was one of those things.
On the other side, I was feeling quite proud of myself. I had found the key! Reached the top of the mountain. Until today - when my belief was challenged yet again (by another phenom of a human) to honor, not my darkness, but my light. It was painful, scary and glorious.
As hard as it was to dive into the dark places, sitting in the light feels even more bizarre. In a squirmy, face-scrunching kind of way. Here’s the thing I don’t want to type, so I’ll type it: I’m afraid of being too big.
Unsure of what do do next, I think I’ll just sit here - gloriously uncomfortable, afraid and completely sure that…
there’s always more.