The word "healing" has come up for me three times in the last two days. Two times would be enough, but coming across the third time this morning made me sigh deeply, settling into this unexpected perk of my weekend. The Healing (yes, I have personified it with a capitalized name because I think better in personifications) is directly related to who I am at my core. The Healing is showing up as a way to say, "Yep, you're right. You ARE this, so GO, go be it. You know you wanna."
So naturally, I got in my car and went. I felt some semblance of a physical, reciprocal action on my part towards The Healing was necessary. I wanted it to know I'm glad it showed up, and I wanted it to know I'm graciously accepting it. If this is a hug, I'm hugging back.
For as much self-awareness as I have cultivated, there is always more. I am the sort of person who gets giddy over the "always more." More to discover. More to learn. More to practice. More to live. The reason I want to be an artist is because an artist uses the raw materials around them to create whatever it is they want (and the exciting part is that the wants are always shifting). I want a world where all of me fits. So when I see an opportunity, like this revelatory appearance by The Healing, I grab the new key, click it in place and crank it back and forth like my middle school orthodontic mouth expander. When you need more room, you need more room.
Driving in the car today with my husband and daughter we heard this song where the female artist sang:
Even if we can't find heaven, I'll walk through Hell with you
"I can always find heaven," I said.
What I am finding is that I really can always find or make a way towards my own paradise. And though I don't want to get into the particulars (in this post) of The Healing I am currently encountering, I can tell you that by its very nature it has asked me (this weekend) to drag a very particular buried cardboard box across the attic floor. To dig through the dusty contents, sneezing as I go, and find this certain treasured part of my DNA flattened between two high school yearbooks. To put it through the wash, clip it to my laundry line and let it air out before I slip back into this custom fit skin.
You can run from yourself, but you can't hide, and if you're like me, you consider this a deeply sighed, "THANK GAWD!" I love every inch of becoming stronger and stronger in MY kind. If I can get a little "Magic School-ish" on you, The Healing may just be the equivalent of Wendy stitching Pan's shadow back to his heels. Reunited and it feels so good.