Pretty pretty please….

I’ve prayed for help.  I’ve asked God to make me strong, asked my spirit guides to show me the way.  I’ve beseeched the Universe to open her heart to me – to see me, and make me whole.  I’ve stood under countless full moons begging for guidance and release.
There’s not another human being on the planet more open to change and healing than me.

And yet – there never seems to be a reply.

Reminds me of this joke I heard years ago.

John, who was in financial difficulty, walked into a church and started to pray. ”Listen God,” John said. ”I know I haven’t been perfect but I really need to win the lottery. I don’t have a lot of money. Please help me out.” He left the church, a week went by, and he hadn’t won the lottery, so he walked into a synagogue. ”Come on, God,” he said. ”I really need this money. My mom needs surgery and I have bills to pay. Please let me win the lottery.” He left the synagogue, a week went by, and he didn’t win the lottery. So, he went to a mosque and started to pray again. ”You’re starting to disappoint me, God,” he said. ”I’ve prayed and prayed. If you just let me win the lottery, I’ll be a better person. I don’t have to win the jackpot, just enough to get me out of debt. I’ll give some to charity, even. Just let me win the lottery.” John thought this did it, so he got up and walked outside.
The clouds opened up and a booming voice said, ”John, buy a f*cking lottery ticket.”

You have to be willing to do the work.

I have to be willing to do the work, that’s what I’ve learnt.

I can ask for all the help in the galaxy.  I can ask someone else to show me the way, but the truth of the matter – the bare bones reality, is that the help I need is already here.

I have everything I need.

Right here.

I’m perfect.

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Existential bullshit.

My life has always been fraught, stretched thin – me holding on for dear life.  Often I sense I am squeezing all the joy out of every tiny moment, so fixated on being one with myself and the Universe.  Sometimes I can’t get out of my own way.  I want so desperately to live a full and content life.

I beg the Universe for guidance.  I follow the phases of the moon, read my horoscope, diagnose my own personality disorders.  All with the hope of understanding and bettering who I am.
Someone once describe me as being tightly coiled like a spring – like one day I might finally snap.  I don’t feel like someone who might go on a shooting rampage.  But then the older I get the less I feel I know about myself.
I try to be chill.  But even when I’m listening to music (which I’ve only recently given myself permission to do again) or reading a book, I worry that I’m just escaping, disappearing so I don’t have to face the reality of my reality.
I’m stuck between eternal navel gazing and tapping out of my own life.
I can’t seem to find a balance.
As a child I learnt that feelings and expressing them were an inconvenience.  They made other people uncomfortable.
So instead I turned my discomfort into actions.
I became a human doing.