Dig deeply. Dig with the rustiest trowel, with the plastic shovel your nephew takes to the beach, or with the scissors you trim your hair with. It doesn’t matter. Dig into your soul. Down deep. Into your heart. Your liver, your toes. Go further. Dig until you find it. Somewhere, in a dark, unlit, maybe even stinky part of you, there is a something devoted to loving yourself.
Would you please promote this poor creature inside your heart?
This elemental demon, let’s look at it. It may be sickly, starving. I am willing to bet you have whipped it with guilt, shame and harsh, harsh expectations of yourself. Even now, under-nourished and dressed in rags, it stands a bit hunched over, but still so… glowing. It exists to give. This generous, fearless identical twin to what you consider your personality: it waits for you to just fucking hear…
You’re loved. You’re good to go. Let’s move on.
All the self-work? Kudos. Yoga, head stands, Crossfit, running four miles every morning – well done! You are an accomplished soul. Master’s degree, or working on it? Cool. Gave half your wages to the needy last year?
I’m here to say what you won’t hear your guts say: have a medal.
You did it. You are AMAZING.
Now, please, put on some sweatpants and give it a rest.
We, trapped in the clouds unable to do much but spur you enlightened Human Beans on, need to know.
What does it look like when a god or goddess… lets go?
We’re starting to wonder: it might be even better.