Letter from Above.

Letter from Above.

Dear Alice, (or Cindy or Sarah or Melanie, or Woman),

I’m proud of you. You keep stepping forward in your life and toward your dreams.

Let’s take stock of the steps. You overcame your mother’s death.

You’ve fallen in love, moved, and travelled with men you meant to make it work with, and when those relationships deteriorated, you determined to grow forward.

You found your way out and onward without compromising your dignity or destroying those men.

You said goodbye when it was hard and hurt like hell.

You didn’t compromise on your soul. You took stock, acknowledged your role, and learned your lessons. Bravo, brave girl!

You became a woman. Your mother would be proud, for you’ve pursued something she didn’t have the courage to, not really. Not after round two.

Your mom died of a broken heart. You determined not to let loss kill you.

It’s not in the falling; it’s in the rising.

You sought sacred love long before you knew the term. You yearned for authentic communication, courageous emotional intimacy, and truth even while you were served the opposite.

You didn’t cave. Congratulations!

Then, one day, you let life surprise you. You let the Fire melt your walls and warm your heart. You embraced real love and connection, the kind you longed for your whole life.

What’s more, you gave love. You gave truth. You trusted. You accepted your own insecurities without allowing them to be your excuse for less than loving behavior or leaving.

You saw this man as he was–flawed and fabulous and you loved him in the way he wanted and needed. You wanted that, too.

You don’t just want to receive love. You want to be appreciated, understood and cherished and you want to understand, respect and admire the man you’re with. Well done, my dear.

You attracted that. You lived into it. You lost it–not because of something he did or you did, but because life sometimes delivers sh*t sandwiches.

Then, you did the most challenging thing: you allowed yourself to feel the pain. You  resisted society’s impulses: Get up! Get up! Get up!

You didn’t let your ego play a role in your healing. Honey, you had the courage to dive into the dark, sticky, gooey, messy, all-encompassing pain of grief.

Do you know how many people either can’t or refuse to go there?

Not you. You answered the call of your soul. You tended to your broken heart. That’s brave.

That’s always been your style–the phoenix rising. But first, the blaze burning what came before in order to transform you into more. Your life epitomizes the process of transformation.

This is what you were born for. Others don’t do it because they don’t have to, but it’s your path, your destiny. You’re a Scorpio.

How many steps have you taken in the name of transformation and education and becoming a better you? Numerous–and I’ve got news for you darling, news you’re finally ready to hear.

This pain, this loss, this rebuilding, it never stops. You can handle it. In fact, you chose this. You know that even when you want to throw it back.

You chose the challenge just as you raised your hand for the gifts. 

Haven’t you been lucky? Fortunate in love?

Not just love of men (although amen to that, sister!), but love of friends and family and the most fantastic sister, the same one you cussed out before your crossed the border to move to Mexico after your mom died.

There it is again: gifts, growth, transformation, love. It seems to be a theme in your life, wouldn’t you say? Isn’t the pattern as solid as the seasons?

You’ve learned along the way not to cuss winter for being cold, but to curl up with a hot cup of cocoa, build a fire, and find the lovely in the falling snow.

In your youth, you could be shivering (emotionally) and deny winter was going to be wicked.

No more. Not only have you allowed for the depth of pain, you’ve welcomed compassion–not the rhetoric of it, but the person-to-person, face-to-face understanding that we all go through something hard. We all deserve a hand.

We each deserve love–because we’re human. We all came into this world as little girls and boys, happy babies long before we got on our knees and backs on yoga mats, long before the world saddled us with society’s baggage or our own personal sh*t storms.

So, now my dear, now that you understand, you remember. You remember the joy and how life can surprise you, like when you went to Champaign, IL for a summer job and some redhead dude climbed down from his roof. Soon you said to your mom, “I want to share my greatest accomplishment and my deepest disappointments with him.” And you did.

Until you didn’t. Because you weren’t meant to stay, but you’re meant to remember life surprises us with joy.

A friend you’ve known for decades can embody something bigger than you ever dreamed–both in life and in death.

Love lives on. Love returns. Love surprises. Love arrives. You don’t have to do a damn thing. In fact, you can’t. You can’t prepare or predict.

You can only live and love: your sister and the club for two she’s created, your dog dancing as your true companion, green trees swaying against blue skies, learning to cook healthy, and a tribe of women who help you heal scars you forgot you had. And these women allow you to nurture them, hold space, and encourage them to seek their center.

Again, surprises–delivered by life and the rising.

You, my lady, you’re doing just fine. In fact, you’re divine.

Don’t forget it. Own it.





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