Walking

I keep going back to the story I preached about: Jesus healing the paralytic. What this really feels like, though, is much more primal. It’s like a baby learning to walk. I can walk, now—but I haven’t fully realized that I can. I keep looking around in total amazement, thinking, “Wow. I’m standing up!”

The event that triggered this work-time is only that event. In retrospect, I’m honestly thankful for it. (The others involved were completely forgiving; I think they’d be okay with me admitting that.) The issues resolving are so much deeper than that particular anxiety. I wrote that I don’t know how to be solid. I don’t have to know it. I can feel it. I’m me—but I don’t think of myself as broken. This new reality is more embodied all the time.

I used to think, reflexively, “I’m not good enough.” I don’t remember before I thought that way, and I think I stopped last week. Now, I can barely remember what that felt like. I don’t feel superhuman, and though this reads really self-absorbed, it’s not an ego trip. I feel as capable as anybody else. I’m showing it, also: I’m on top of the personal stuff, and looking my teachers in the eye. If you know me, you know how huge all of these things are.

My friend laughed at/with me for bouncing. I couldn’t stop laughing, talking on the phone, but I didn’t and don’t feel particularly bouncy. I feel grounded. And becoming more so, all the time.

A teacher I worked with three years ago used to tell me he could see my wings. (He was a cross between Obi-Wan Kenobi and Buddha, and was just that way.)* I couldn’t, then, but I appreciated his vision. Now, what I know I have is legs. I can feel the strength in them. I’ll get to flying, when and if that’s my experience. For now, this strong, stretching body is more than enough.

Yay and alleluia, yet again.

*I gave him this link. He wrote back, "Yoda, always, I wanted to be." Okay, P., Yoda, you are. The least I can do, it is. :-)
You, I owe much to.