The Brightest, Fiercest Light

When I look in the mirror, I no longer see crippling ugliness.

I no longer feel pain rooted in fear, sprouted from shame. I no longer stare at myself as I project and predict other people's reactions to me. I'm most afraid of being judged by people who are attracted to me. Second, by strangers and those who respect me. Third, by the ones I love and who love me the most. The people I am most comfortable around. I am not afraid because they don't judge me, never have, and never will. That doesn't mean they haven't made fun of me. But it is never with malicious intent. I never see their eyes as stun rays ready to ignite a fiery rage in my heart.

I am so used to looking at my own face and seeing reflected only the flaws. I am so used to skipping over my eyes, where all of the paradoxical wonder, the mystery and openness of my soul resides.

When I look into a mirror, I am no longer horrified at what I have considered the most despicable parts of me since I first learned how to judge. My worst critic was myself, is myself, will always be myself. I have been unforgiving and stone cold for so many years. My eyes hold secrets that I am unaware of, guilt so deep I need more than my thoughts to reach down and grasp and pull and gently, listen….and yank and pull and yank and pull and….

I will not unveil any answers to myself if this is how I go about it. I cannot go deep if I am causing a ruckus on the surface of my soul. I will not give anything away to anyone who is demanding. Even if I do this consciously, my subconscious will not allow it. Even when I do it consciously, my subconscious is screaming… reminding me that I am degrading myself by accepting disrespect. I make…. made an exception when it was myself.

I know now that I need to approach myself gently, stay open and wait… wait for what I need to drift up to the surface. Only then will I be able to completely accept myself. This deepest understanding can only come from a silent mind and a clairvoyant spirit.

When I looked into the mirror, I saw imperfection. But now, upon observing it, I acknowledge its existence, because denial is suppression and suppression leads back to the infinite loop of shame. Judgement is no longer invited, but complete acceptance still does not reign the enchanted mystic, cryptic vault and boundless garden that is my mind. My imperfections are humanizing, and humans are beautiful.

Like a Russian nesting doll, we have layers of complexities, existing in a universe that we will never be able to cognitively process. The release of control and the compulsion to understand, to comprehend, is beautiful. We live within and contain organized chaos. We live in an environment that shelters our bodies from obliteration, our bodies protect our cells from obliteration, these cells shelter tinier specks of stardust that are the result of complete obliteration, the manifestation of the universe.

My imagination is simultaneously the bane of my existence and the brightest, fiercest light in my life.