Tag: compass

A New Language

Alice Lundy2 Comments

Speak to me, entities
Beyond the clouds and trees,
Those who live in the other
Room and alternate realm.
I yearn to learn
Your language.
Whisper secrets
Into my soul.
Shout truth beyond
The human struggle.
Help me dance my
Days on earth, and
Be of benefit
Where I can.
Show me color
In darkness,
Life in death,
Humor in seriousness.
Overcome me. Overwhelm me.
Rearrange me. Introduce me.
To light. Sway me like
The ocean waves. Take me
Under. Throw me into new
Waters. Tumble my yesterdays
Into something that shimmers.
Let me see anew.
Limitations be gone.
Expectations expire.
Hope renews.
Mind ignites.
Body moves with grace.
Gratitude seeps from
My very being.
I am here. I am there.
I am aware and willing,
Open, steady, rocking my
Way into something more.
No plan. No demand.
Soaring like an eagle.
Unquestioning.
Prevailing.

 

How to Open After Breaking.

I want to know: who flung those arrows into your heart, how did you escape the pain, and what have you learned about walking in this world?

Alice Lundy4 Comments

I wish to rip off your mask and talk deep with ease.

If you wish to know me, see me. If you wish to see me, look beyond the maintained by the manmade.

If you wish to make your way into my heart, open yours. I’ll look past your label, your name, and my subconscious assumptions I’d rather deny.

Please don’t put me on a pedestal unless your destination is disappointment.

I won’t dismiss you—today, but don’t book your expectations on me. I offer you no promises and tell you I’ve broken plenty in the past.

I promised forever and failed—twice.

I’ve also lived in the moment and given full-on, exercised-in-delight love.

I’ve changed men. Some woke up and others shattered.

With men, I’ve both expanded and become completely undone.

I’m the phoenix. I fly into the fire and come out transformed.

That’s why I leaped off a 50-foot telephone pole and walked across 40-feet of hot burning coals. Metamorphosis is what I do.

It’s my chosen path even when I attempt to avoid it, which I do less and less as I age. I welcome change because it’s coming.

I’d like to invite you with me, but I don’t know how long your destiny is meant to intertwine with mine.

Some main characters of yesterday are no longer on the page.

This isn’t a novel. I’m the author of this true story.

I have a say, but how many actors and factors come into play in a life? Prediction seems preposterous.

I’m a risk taker, but today I cling to certainties.

You’re on my path. That’s all I know.

I want to know more. I want to know: who flung those arrows into your heart, how did you escape the pain, and what have you learned about walking in this world? How did you learn to sing and what drives you to get up in the morning?

I want to know the answers below the answers. I yearn for soul connection.

It starts with the eyes. Yet, sometimes I turn away from yours. It’s the intimacy I crave colliding with my protection mechanisms.

I want to ask, why are you still here? And, thank God you’re still here.

Yet, I look away. I look away? Forgive me.

I’m afraid of the unknown, disappointing one more man, and death—yours—even though I don’t know you that well yet.

Only beyond words. From that other lifetime where we meant something to each other that’s been carried over here—in coincidences, synchronicities, habits, and conversational patterns.

So, lean in and tell me what you see in my eyes.

Maybe I need to go to the mirror before I can meet you where you are.

I wish to know you, to see you. I wish to rip off your mask, talk deep with ease, and listen like life is speaking.

How to Awaken Your True Self When She’s Gone Quiet

Alice LundyLeave a comment

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How do we give birth to our own authenticity when we’ve gone unconscious under society’s rules and our chosen roles? When our true selves have gone quiet under our desire to serve others? How do we lift the blanket of pleasing others when it’s covering our true essence?

First step—we resist this one—admit to ourselves that maybe we’ve gone too far down wrong roads. Hey, we were enjoying the scenery. Maybe we missed a turn back there. Or several. It’s time to admit we’re not where we want to be, ought to be, or once determined to be. Then, we honor our good intentions and forgive our fears that landed us here.

No matter. No guilt. No regret. There’s no turning back or unriding roads ridden. You must start where you are.

Often, when I realize the choices I made took me to someplace I don’t want to be, I first blame others. I wasn’t even driving! But, I went along for the ride and didn’t speak up, at least not enough to be heard. Mostly, I told myself everything was beautiful, took a little nap, and awoke to say, “Where the hell are we?!”

Then comes the deciding where I want to go from here. I want to go someplace that’s going to make me feel good, allow me I to be myself, and welcome me to connect and grow. When that’s a foreign feeling, we begin small.

There was a time when all I knew was that I wanted to write. But, I felt angry and trapped in situations I put myself into and commitments I made that now felt fake. I needed a compass.

I asked myself two questions: 1) Is it good for my writer self? 2) Does it make my soul sing? Believe it or not, these two questions led me moment by moment to my authentic self. Suddenly, I was seduced into soulful days and blissing out on the basics—like sunshine, fresh air, and autumn leaves. And I was writing!

Returning to oneself when you you’ve betrayed her is like climbing a brick wall. There’s a door called acceptance. We all take roads that lead us to where we didn’t want to be—because we can’t see the future! We’re human! We can’t imagine all that comes with our determined manifestations.

That’s ok. Pretending otherwise is pushing away the lesson and gift of our evolving experiences. Stagnation is the sin. When we reset our internal GPS to head for joy, we run across our own authentic selves. Then, we reawaken.