Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

Let me start right off by fully owning that what I am about to write is not fair. I know this. In fact, let me just step into my Petulant Whiny Little Girl persona, okay? Because that is where I am right now.

I hate you. I am angry at you. I wish I was never born, never had to go through all the shit that my life has been about. But you know what I am most angry at? That I can’t seem to step through the fog in front of my face in order to get to where the good stuff is.

Because I believe there is good stuff. I think it’s right here, beside me, waiting. And I can’t see it. And I am so angry that I am too blind to see what it is or how to get there.

I am angry that I have a soulmate and I think too much about how much it would hurt to lose him and his love, rather than resting in how beautiful and goddess-y I feel when I am with him.

I am angry that I keep wallowing in the pain of everything-that-has-come-before instead of opening to the beauty of what-is-yet-to-be, or even more beautiful, what-is-now.

I am angry that I feel pain.

I am angry that I am angry.

I am angry that I am not perfect.

I am angry that I want to be perfect.

I am angry at my self judgments.

I am angry that I am not kinder.

I am angry that I have a lifetime of knowing and no one knows about it but me. I have done this. I have hidden myself.

I am angry that people don’t like me.

I am angry that I care whether people like me.

For a long time now, I have believed in a Magic Bullet. One thing, one process, one shamanic journey that would Change My Life Forever and release me from all the fucking pain I seem to be so fucking fond of (otherwise why would I hold onto it?).

I am angry that I believe in a Magic Bullet. And that I am waiting to find it.

I still believe I just have to get through the fog that I feel covering me. And on the other side is all the Good Things I ever dreamed of or imagine. On the other side is my strong self, the one that walks confidently into a room, enjoying it rather than wondering what people think of me. On the other side is my goddess-y self, the one who isn’t afraid. The one who wears her sexuality like a comfortable, soft, revealing kimono. The one who loves her soulmate with her open heart. The one who sees her own gifts and shares them freely.

I am angry that my belief in the Magic Bullet might be keeping me from enjoying all that I have.

I am afraid that all that I have isn’t real, that I have dreamed everything up and that it might disappear. I am afraid that the good stuff I imagine is in my Someday will never happen. I am afraid that there is no Magic Bullet. I am afraid that I will always hurt. I am afraid that I will always be afraid.

I bring this to you, Universe, because it hurts too much to blame myself. Even though I suspect I made all this happen, and like a finger-snap could just as easily make it un-happen.

I bring this to you, Universe, because it feels comforting to believe that there is something out there greater than myself, something benign and loving, even, that could lift this fog from my eyes and help walk me into what I hope lies on the other side.

I bring this to you, Universe, because it feels like a beginning and an ending. Something might be closing today. Something else might be opening.