Fall is cinnamon and spice and pumpkin and dancing leaves, and basking in the afterglow of summer when you stand before a cupboard of fresh bottles of beets, and peas, and carrots and dills, and relishes and pie-fillings. Fall is all about gratitude. Fall is all about the vulnerability of the Fall of life and the coming of hungry days of aging and the many storms to be faced. Yes, Fall is that! Are we here, at the precipice of winter, being real or being fake? Have we learned to be vulnerable to life?
Vulnerability and Risk is not an easy thing, not an easy feeling, not easy to do and be. We want trust and respect so badly and we have forgotten that we are perfectly perfect ourselves as we truly are. We have hidden so many of our talents, so much of who we truly are to try to fit in and to be respected, to be seen as brave and heroic. And sot times, we simply are not.
Being real is not a state of being, it is a process and we are always ‘becoming’. We are the things that trigger us. We are spontaneous joy at seeing something, someone, someplace. We are something of such great value and when we recognize that in ourselves; in the ideology that we are who we were meant to be and are becoming what might be. We are that moment of pure happiness that seems to be fleeting except in the memory of it. We are that moment of authenticity when we do not blame others for our circumstances; when we know our choices and the WHY of them, without excuses. When we know our flaws and polish our wounded selves up and be the best ‘broken’ we can be. We are real when we recognize the story of our lives holds great depth, wisdom, hope for others, hope for ourselves. We are authentic/real when we know that our story is no other person’s story. We may have forgotten that we are as unique as snowflakes; that absolutely not one other person is exactly who we are. We came with gifts to offer the world and we are real when we offer them out. We are authentic and real when we truly love ourselves in order to love others in such a deep way. We are compassion. Think of the compassionate you. Imagine; even in our woundedness we have reached out to help others. We are real when we know when to express our opinions, when and why to do so, and HOW we express them without causing chaos and division and bitterness or anger and judgement, etc. We are authentic when we cheerleader for others along this path of life. When we forsake our own wants and needs for a moment of another sister’s needs, there we are. Being Real. We are real when we are quiet and calm and introspective and connecting to our higher self. We have the very DNA of our most ancient Mother/Grandmother. When we honor that connection, we are being real.
Sounds really scary, doesn’t it? Have we surrendered to life and become simply who we are, caring not to be someone else in order to please others? How real can we be? Does our Ego/Evil Inner Witch/Lizard Brain keep us from, oh, my goddess, showing what a fake, failure, piece of crap that we are? Where on Mother Earth did the idea that we could be of little value? Did we sell out and become what others have said to us to bring us down? Have we been brought down? Of course not, we are still here and we are strong enough to be honest about how vulnerable we can be. Being real is tough. It takes guts to be our true selves.
“Hello! My name is Carol.
I have been broken.
I have mended myself a million million times in this lifetime.
I am old and told.
But, here I am. This is me!
I forgive myself.
I love myself
so I can love you!
©Carol Desjarlais 9.6.21
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