Not all runs are pretty. Not every day is a beautiful day. The cycles of healing pull us up and then down into the shamanic descent that's required of us to squeeze the poisons from our spiritual tissues, and cleanse our souls for survival and growth in the 7 planes.....Not every corner gives us respite.....And today I find myself carrying my own dead weight right along every mile of 8, resurrecting as I go the last little bit of hope and inspiration tucked away for this moment when needed.....not all healing is healthy, sometimes it feels like a bag of crap.....and the run just like a washing machine cranking down the road.
I ran today to push through the trauma, betrayal, disbelief and sadness....I ran with my heart heavy like my feet, my legs burning from punishment. I kept the pace despite wanting to quit quit quit every mile, to give it all up, to sit down at a corner and put my head in my arms. I stayed on the road past exhaustion and prayed to the Mother to take my pain and make me understand, and by the last few miles I began to shake off the hunger in me to fall apart. There was my last loop, the stretch before Park Road where I let my legs loosen up and my stride open....I put my whole heart into that last half mile to see what junk would fly out....what tears, fears, broken dreams would scatter in my wake. The winds whooshed by me as I took the turn back by the park, to home. My heart was racing in my chest....and everything seemed to ache inside.
The healing that demands that I keep running this lonely road will one day break open to a World of Light...and not just in dark places, but in colors and parties and welcomes. One day.
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