This morning I am lending my space to my newly discovered Minister and church. A blessing on Orthodox Palm Sunday. I have long broken off the hypocritical and greedy Orthodox Church but Easter still holds a special place in my heart as the quintessential celebration of resurrection and hope against all odds.
The mantra I am repeating in order to unlearn what I know is “my value lies in my competence not in my exhaustion”. And the road is curvy and uphill and many are the times when I take two steps back to maybe half one ahead.
Reading it, breathlessly many times, I felt this book took me back through a tunnel of time, to moments of gut wrenching angst, deep questioning or immense joy, to crossroads where a force larger than what I can explain pushed me in the direction or progress and good and left me feeling, in my bones, the two words that have now become such a feminist statement: #metoo.
Before we know it … a day turned into a week, a month and one day we remember we had started something good way back in the day but fell off the wagon. This is when, ashamed and unenergised, we reach the crossroads between the trap of magic thinking and the power of one step.
My ritual of tuning out joy started when I was very young, probably quite oblivious to what I was actually doing. Like a magic formula, I made myself shut the door in its face each time joy came knocking, foolishly believing that if I pretended I did not hear anyone at the door, the panic in its wake will disappear too.
I find real connection with fellow beings to be wonderful and exciting and I look for it in every person I interact with. It is both my strength and my Achille’s heel. I don’t understand the meaning of our lives on this planet if we aren’t going to function as what we actually are: one. Connected.