"And for every useless reason I know, there's a reason not to care. If I hide myself wherever I go, am I ever really there?" (chorus lyrics from "For You" by The Barenaked Ladies)
What is wholeness for me? "If I hide myself wherever I go, am I ever really there?" I want to be real. Who am I? What do I want to say about myself? (as opposed to what I can say about myself.)
Don't you just hate it when you're crying and journaling and deep in your process and you turn the page to finish writing this important and vital point and you find a velociraptor sticker lodged in the crease of your journal from your son's collection -- and your point scurries out the window and evaporates skyward?
I had one. But now it's gone and I feel a strange mixture of lightness and sorrow.
Lightness because it was pretty silly to see the dinosaur peering out at me from the pages of my own journal -- like I'd caught him taking a shower.
And sorrow because it seems to always be this way. Just before I reach connection to Spirit or Muse and learn something vital to my personal growth -- I falter. Either from dinosaur stickers, or my son greeting me home before I even get out of the car because I was trying to steal a few minutes in the driveway to compose myself and journal after a counseling session, or just because I feel too drained to journal and watch a movie instead.
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