Gah! I'm shitting-my-pants scared. That's good, I think. It demonstrates that I have given this some serious, serious thought. This time, it's not some hypomanic pie-in-the-sky fantastical scheme. It's the painfully obvious truth. Painfully. Yes, I mourn endings, even and especially this ending. I mustn't give into despair. Still, for a time I feel as though I must despair, as a way to pay homage to the painful price someone dear has to pay for my honesty. I think of guilt as a punishment I receive for hurting others. How long a sentence do I serve? When does hope stop feeing forbidden?
This post ~ written Monday ~ seems a fitting answer to these questions which Jamie poses this week. I wish to live the story of authenticity, of love, of truth. Also, discipline, which I need, in order to commit to myself, to my creative spirit, to my relationships. I wish to let go of the stories of guilt and mourning. I wish to let go of the story of fear. Also anger. In it's place I wish to embrace acceptance, understanding and tolerance. I wish to live peace, patience, and courage ~ I will need these to weather the enormous changes on my horizon.