“You cannot unroll that snowball which is you; there is no ‘you’ except your life — lived.”~ Jane Ellen Harrison – 1850-1928. British Classicist and Linguist.
On the heels of the last post (‘Poems‘) and following a theme of one’s life story being the truest gift to make-aware-and-share with Self, and hopefully to another, I found Harrison’s comment to be both in-my-face true (Yup, yup. Can’t rewrite history) and equally frustrating (a snowball down hill that had become an avalanche from time to time.)
One of the facets of that gift when one reflects on their history, the life lived, is the courage it takes to look honestly at that history, at those life events, at choices made, AND THE ‘WHY.‘ Only you know the ‘why.’ Others may guess at it, make assumptions, or project their own ‘stuff,’ yet you are the true keeper of the Why.
The ‘why’ has to do with Feelings: usually fears. Peer- or familial-pressures, societal expectations, religious ‘shoulds,’ among a few. Yet remember, the ‘why’ feelings can also have to do with joy and empowerment, love and connectedness.
I had a conversation with a dear friend the other day, and she shared that one of the reasons she doesn’t attend a house of worship anymore is because most every time she does, she cries. At first I wondered if it was due to old-time shaming religion (I knew and remembered her mom), or ….. well, what ever projecting and assumptions I was thinking …. yet….. as I listened….
She shared with me that the tears were not in reaction to the message-being-preached. The rote-verses being said by the congregants. The passages being read from scriptures. No. Not at all. The tears, time and time again, were an overflow of the awe and majesty she felt, deep deep inside, as she listened, and resonated, with the beauty of …. the music.
It overpowered her (in a blessed manner): her senses, her heart, her being.
I would have never known the real reason if she hadn’t openly shared this truth with me. Shared a portion of her Poem. Her life lived.
My assumptions and projections melted in the face of her story. Her snowball.
Thank you, Marty. I am deeply, truly, honored to know even more of the wonder of you. Namaste’ my friend. Namaste’