Ocean (Photo credit: ouistitis)
I remember coming to these pages thinking the only voice that would make a difference is one that used an assertive tone, professing a victory achieved.
I remember scrambling around for courage to simply show up here.
I remember holding my heart and hugging my soul deeply and yearning for permission.
To be allowed to voice myself.
Only I wasn’t quite sure what I was allowed to voice.
I am reliving that recollection for this reason:
it seems a constant theme of my life this question:
what am I allowed to voice?
what do I have permission to do and be?
and these two questions touch every single aspect of my womanhood.
Ah.
Deep breath.
I’ve written it.
Okay.
Pause.
Deep breath.
Lemme share why I’m opening up and exposing so much.
Because I dont just sit still paralyzed in the question.
I roll up my sleeves and heal it.
Heal the source of the question.
Heal the why of the question.
Heal the how come of the question.
And most importantly: heal that this ‘I’ is my true me.
In short, every single hour is a battle to refute this question: what am I allowed and what do I have permission to be.
Here’s why: those questions eek out the Eve existence, of which is surely not my heritage or yours.
How do I know this: from a deep conviction that my origin is spiritual, not of the earth and surely not of the bone and sinew of a belief of mortal man.
Why am I so sure of that conviction: from 20+ years of practicing the ideas of Science of Mind healing first discovered and detailed by a woman too: Mary Baker Eddy back in 1866.
Ah I see you completely frustrated, lost, befuddled and about to click off the page.
That’s cool but lemme address what you’re opposing: how does a sense of my origin have squat to do with the walk I am living or better stated: how does one’s sense of origin have anything to do with the womanhood we are living.
That is a question who’s answer would require more than a single post.
But it’s one I’m rolling up sleeves and addressing.
It’s my deep conviction that the more we all gain a sense of what is the source of our every moment….our every breath….our every thought, will we be able to step out of the question ‘what am I allowed?’ or “do I have permission” and we will be able to walk in the moment:
I am being…..
I am able…
I have permission.
So this is me offering where I’m hoping to steer this blog for a while.
That and I’m in the midst of feeling out relocating…or minimally how to have a little nest in an area where I grew up in and in an arena that speaks to my heart deeply. So you can bet I’m healing this question: what am I allowed?
I would adore hearing how you deal with this question: what am I allowed, what do I have permission to do and be and live.
I would adore hearing your story of how you overcame a feeling of inability, no permission, not able….
We, to me, are walking a new frontier: that of owning our right to be and live with conviction that we are allowed….
to heed our inklings…no matter what, especially when they show up enveloped in the motive of doing good for others.
Alrighty then….
Til soon….hug that heart of yours and know that I’m standing right with you and nodding with you saying: we are allowed. period. exclamation dot!!! 🙂
Huggabugga,
Tre 🙂
