Its important to say from the start, this is not a feminist “I don’t need no mans to save me” something. Mostly because I’m not a feminist. But also, I don’t need no mans to save me. Or womans. Or even a priest or minister, although I am sure there are those who will beg to differ, but that ship sailed when I was 6 so, get over it already! Also this is not a “be your own hero” thing. I dig the vibe that is trying to put out, but, that’s not what this is about.
These words have been trying to come out for days, have been partially written for days, as I’ve again, still, been walking, or sometimes what has felt like crawling, through so much that I don’t understand. The things that make me feel crazy, which also make me feel not crazy, that I in some moments fight,then surrender to, when I’m not contemplating running, or crying; with gratitude, or because so much feels like SO MUCH!
I keep it mostly inside because as much as I am pretty flexible about certainty these days, I feel pretty certain that all of what I am being brought to, or that is being brought to me, is a solo journey, except not really, because that is inherently impossible. More its about rolling around in what my intuition says, and what my truth is, rather than seeking counsel from “experts” or friends, or some random dude. Which that one, the random dude one, would be not really about the counsel thing, but more about an attempt to forget the everything, and to fake take away the lonely that sometimes creeps in. For as much as it is a quasi-solo journey though, it couldn’t possibly be any less about me.
If ever you (whomever you are, reading this) aspire to feel like a crazy dumb ass, have a “spiritual awakening” or whatever name is appropriate based on your particular flavor of beliefs. Then try typing those words, about yourself and see if you either laugh at yourself, or think ‘what in the actual fuck is occurring, because I don’t say shit like that!’ Especially if you weren’t ever spiritually “closed” nor were you seeking any sort of opening thing. And also if you roll your eyes every time you read the words “spiritual awakening” because it sounds so cheesy/pretentious, when you think it relates to you, you’ll feel like a crazy dumb ass, who a little bit wants to punch themselves for sounding like an idiot.
Maybe part of my “mission” will be to come up with a less stupid sounding expression for what I’m feeling/doing/have happening to me/I am happening to. Ascension is another frequently used term, but I don’t vibe with that either. It reminds me of Jesus, or the Virgin Mary, and Bible stories. All I know is, some crazy (cool) somethung is going down inside me/around me/in every version of me, and has been since last November. Well, really long before then, as I can pinpoint other dates that parts of this journey started (continued) in this lifetime. But in November I had some sort of “quickening” like in Highlander. Except there can’t be only one, and while I often feel as if my head has fallen off, I’m pretty certain no hot Scottish dude is going to show up with his broadsword to chop it off anytime soon. I mean, hot British dude always welcome. Chopping off of head, not so much.
To quote (again, as I’ve used it in a previous blog) a brilliant line from Marianne Williamson “we are the ones that we have been waiting for” and in thinking of a story also recounted in another blog, told by Denise Linn, from the Elders of Native American tribes, those who sacrificed themselves lifetimes ago, for a moment in the future/some other time, in which they were needed, are returning because that moment is now. And no matter how nuts I feel sometimes, no matter that “this” and elements of it, triggers me, challenges me, causes me to dig so deeply into everything I think I know about myself, and my beliefs, in moments I feel raw, I’m all “game on” about this path.
If none of that blabber appears to have anything to do with the title, it really, actually does. So I’ll say it again; Thank You for Not Being My Hero.
Don’t get me wrong, there are many times where all I want is to be wrapped in arms I trust, and to just let gooooo. To not have to be in charge of anything, or worry about anything, or think about anything, for even just a minute. And this isn’t a “Jesus take the wheel” (haha) thing I’m saying, I mean literal arms. Man arms. Preferably attached to a man. I’d love to just melt into the someone I trust implicitly, who trusts me the same. Chick arms are cool too, for hugs, or cuddling sometimes, but just not the same. Still though, I don’t want to be saved. Or rescued.
I just FINALLY dipped out of the part of my life where “victim” was the brand I was “supposed” to wear. Victim is more itchy against my skin than cheap wool, uglier than polyester from the 70’s, and more constricting than Spanx. I don’t want to wear that ever again, even in the arms of one supposedly rescuing me from it. Bleh.
So to my not heroes I need to say, thank you for not trying to swoop in, scoop me up, and “oh poor you-ing” me, to the point I’d start to think “oh poor me” also. Thank you for instead of trying to make my boo boos all better, giving me your time, your moments, your humor, and your ear. Also, your voice, your opinions, your ideas, and thoughts, without insisting or even suggesting, that I make them mine, as they (my boo boos) healed on their own.
Thank you for not spouting platitudes that would have annoyed the fuck out of me, but instead, sharing photos, quotes, stories, poetry, or music, meant to comfort me, make me laugh, distract me, or bring me to a warm, and fuzzy place.
Thank you for being whole enough in and of yourself, that you see me as, in and of myself, whole enough to be able to navigate everything I needed to navigate, until I saw myself as that whole, too. And for patience, as I, like a Rottweiler puppy who has reached full size, am still a clumsy as hell, not having yet fully grown into myself, trip over my own feet while excitedly running through the world, and slip on the hardwood floor because I’m just too busy wagging my tail to notice anything else going on. But really, the growth spurt was fast, and my inside is still playing catch up with my “outside” so, thanks also for the patience when I jump on you because I’m just so happy to see you. I’ll grow out of it. Not the happy to see you thing, the having no chill thing.
Thank you for not trying to patch the holes of my insecurities you did not create, with whatever it would be that could fill them for a moment, but instead just BEING, as I remember I don’t need the insecurities. And for kissing my wounds, while not seeing them as disasters in my soul, but cracks in which to put your love (Paraphrased/bastardized from Emery Allen) while making no attempt to fix them, either.
Also thank you for knowing I want you but don’t “need” you. (Except sometimes. Shhh, don’t tell.) But also for not NEEDING me, but wanting me too. Thank you for being in your own ways, a brilliant shiny example to be followed, by me, by others, in our own way.
Thank you most of all for the trust. In its defying of explanation, it is probably the most clearly ‘exactly as it is supposed to be’ thing I’ve ever known.
If you think that this might in part be for or about you, it probably is, because there is more than one not hero. And not heroes aren’t just boys, which still isn’t feminism but is fact. There is also though, one SUPER not hero? Not SUPER hero? Whatever. One who has, by happenstance, which is more likely part of a “divine plan” not just held the mirror, but is the mirror, that has allowed me to see the possibility of all, to paraphrase myself.
To each of you, but most of all to YOU, I send my endless gratitude and love. You’re the most amazing not heros any girl could ever have! Thank you for not thinking me crazy. Or liking my flavor of crazy. Whichever works best for you. And at least one of you is going to one day, when I write a book, which will then be made into a movie, in which my not heros will be featured, end up wearing some skin tight something or other, irrespective of your not hero status, just because it will be fun.