Facing my fear

I have been told that the only true fear is the fear of dying and that ultimately all fear boils down to a fear of dying. What nonsense! While I am happy enough to be alive, I am not afraid of dying. What I am afraid of is pain.

I do not like pain, so often it will seem that I am trying to preserve my life while I scramble around on a rather dizzy chicken mission of pain avoidance.

There are many different kinds of pain. Tattoo pain is strangely moreish and thus stands alone in my experience of pain. Toothache, broken bones, deep cuts, sprains, headaches, stomach cramps and dental visits are just a few of the physical onslaughts to the pain threshold. Emotional pain includes the pain of rejection (which really is just an ego thing and therefore not real), the pain of loss and separation, the pain of feeling less than, the pain of failure and the pain of indifference.

My most avoided pain has been the one that has resulted in me failing to try. I am going to face that fear by doing the hardest things first in the day. I am going to paint at least one painting a day for the next four days. I will post them as I go.

Watch me try!

Bright light, dark shadow

A few years ago, I was living in a beautiful house, overlooking an orchard and beyond it a valley. My bedroom was larger than most places I have lived in since then. The swimming pool was larger than all the places I've lived in since then.

At the time, I felt no gratitude for this well-appointed, spacious and light-filled home. The pool was just another hassle to keep clean and sort out, the management of the full-time maid and the gardener was so tiresome. It is just as well the windows were so big because there sure was no light coming from me at the time. Everything was grey, no contrast, no shadows, no reflections.

As I wander around my good friend's home, where I have been allowed to stay for the last three months, I review my good fortune. How amazing that I see the sun shine, that the shadows cast are deep and dark, that fear and love balance each other by their glaring contrast.

Watch me fly!

Crawling out of the chrysalis

I nolonger have anything familiar left in my tool box:

• The umbrella of wailing in self-pity when not able to cope: Gone
• The hammer of justifying being dependant on relationships for the sake of relationships: Tossed out
• The cat'o nine tails of pretending not to feel guilty about having the sex drive of a brick: Broken
• The microphone for telling myself stories regarding my health and state of mind: Quite quiet
• The tool of pleasure that is a part of the codependancy: Out of my reach

I now have a new, bright and shiny tool box. In the box I have a few tools that I'm still whittling to perfection and I few tools that I am using with ever-increasing success. Some actually cause pain to wield, others bring me closer to my objects of tranquility and personal acceptance.

• The balm of laughter. Powerful and slightly sobering. This is one of the tools that can hurt when I laugh and laugh and laugh.
• The headphones of listening to what I want.
• The tingle of presence
• The vehicle of love, carrying me wherever I need to be
• The wide open plateau of forgiveness.

The view from the false summit is just enough to encourage further climbing. The climb is hard, but pleasant. I feel as though I am dancing, creating the steps as I go along, finding the rythm of my being.

My head is out of the chrysalis, I await the sunrise and the spreading of the wings I have is moments away.

Watch me fly!