Where the words will take me, riding on the back of a silent scream, and a hug the size of the Milky Way

Here is the difference: Before when my heart was aching, there was usually drama in accompaniment. There would be weeping and anger. I would call everyone I knew, telling them my tale of woe until they felt sorry for me. My internal dialog vacillated between anger, depression and sorrow. I was the victim.

Right now, my heart hurts again. I still feel the urge to call my daddy or to change my status on facebook to let everyone know just how hard this moment is.... but I'm trying just to breathe and to notice.

The quality of light in my living room is beautiful right now. I have food. I can take a bath.

My heart hurts.

Much of what is happening right now is not my drama. It is the drama of Daniel and the people in El Salvador. The drama that I have comes from my reaction and from my pattern of wanting to play the victim.

I hear myself worrying about his safety and then exhausted with the process and then angry at him for not spending 24 hours a day locked in his room. Then I move to worried about what types of friends he might make here and how exhausting it could be to have him here.

And there is a silent reminder that all of this feeds into me wanting to play the victim... and all of this doesn't really show true Love directed at him... and that nothing has really changed from a few hours ago when I was brushing the cat and watching a movie.

And I remind myself that, yes, I am exhausted... but only because I am trying to do it all. I am not letting Grace do it.

And I listen... and Grace quietly suggests a bath, meditation, some writing, maybe some yoga... but just one small thing at a time. One moment... One second... One instant at a time.

And this conversation continues as I type. There is a desire to wail and cry and give up... to sleep until a day arrives when nothing difficult will happen. And there is an awareness that I am connected to something much greater than this room and this tiny little bump in the road.

Part of me wants to yell and scream and say, "Fuck you world, I haven't even had a real hug for three months!" And part of me quietly and calmly knows that this is just another thought to garner pity and rob energy... that I can connect to the whole universe and be hugged by all the stars....

And this dizzying vertigo as I dance around the addictive drama of my ego and feel the connection to something impossible to lose, this reminds me of the way I used to feel when the desire to write would become so strong that I would stop along the side of the road and let whatever came to me pour upon the page.... and I never knew where I was going or what the words might say or who they might want to speak to... and I never stopped them... and I just let them pour out...

And I wanted to be Jack Kerouac, taping the pieces of paper together so that I would never have to be distracted by putting a new piece into the typewriter....

And I wanted to be brave just because I didn't censor... and I used to think that meant that I would tell everyone in the whole world every secret I ever had. I wanted to be bold and dashing. I thought that meant the courage to write like Poppy Z. Brite about homosexual cannabilistic serial killers, but without a pen name. I thought that I had to be willing to be something that might not be accepted... and at full volume... screaming my braveness from the highest mountain top.

I wanted to suffer and plead upon the rocks... as long as my pain could stop one heart from aching... oh dear... dear Emily Dickinson.... And then I realized that I was completely fucking wrong.. maybe.

Honesty doesn't mean offensive and abrasive. It doesn't mean saying things that break your mother's heart. It can be quiet and calm and happy..... Honesty can be content and useful....

And here I am screaming the cry of a deaf-mute out onto a digital page... giving it all I got and I don't even know if anyone will ever read it... And it might not even matter... because here I am... brave enough to love, brave enough to not be the victim and not be the prince in shining armor... brave enough to just let go... to not be scared.... and to not run away from fear.....

To be the one that hugs my ego... as I do the back stroke in this pool of love....

Yes, even though I want to cry and even though I don't know what is coming in the next 10 seconds, let alone the rest of the week, month, day, year....

I am here. I am okay. I am calm. I am open.

Thank you.