T R U S T
My word for a beautiful and enriching weekend experience.
A word that fills me with trepidation and a thorny, trouble-hinting sensation that fills my head with word smack!
T R U S T
Addictive. Alluring. Familiar. Available.
Self T R U S T
I found the place – the great big, brilliantly lit ballroom full of what pulls me away from what is possible. It is in this room that I lose my body to all but a thrumming. All I can hear is the fear, doubt and excuses screaming across the surround sound that is my personal theatre.
I can carefully place my feet where I am sure they will not wobble. Nor will they grow stronger.
Safe and Sound and Small.
The demons can scream themselves hoarse. They’re only words. Merely images birthed by the past. Walk through them – they fall away. They are only as real as I invite and allow them to be. Most of them don’t even belong to me; someone else’s baggage. And now mine – how sweet and generous.
Wait a minute.
ONLY mine if I agree and accept.
I don’t think I want to do that anymore.
I will trust myself…
to get it right
to get it right-ish
to get it wrong
to get it flaming, I-can’t-apologize-or-dig-my-way-out-of-this-one wrong
to have moments of brilliance
and moments of
Yes, yes and moments of less brilliance.
Thank you Julie F for working the click out of me and thank you Jill for guiding me to empty.
There’s a Part Two coming…