Love Lives Here: Becoming REAL

11 Jun

“The responsibility that the difficult work of love demands of our evolvement overwhelms us; it is larger than life. We, as yet beginners, are not equal to it. If we persevere after all, and take this love upon us, accepting it as a burden and a time of training, instead of losing ourselves to the frivolous and careless game behind which people have hidden themselves, not will to face the most serious question of their being – then perhaps shall a small bit of progress be perceptible as well as some relief for those to come after us. That would be a great deal” – Rainer Maria Rilke


If I lower my strong face that I show to the stream of people within my life and on the outskirts of my small existence, there lies a face of weary bewilderment. I have been single for the majority of my life but paradoxically the quest and question of love has been ever-present and sometimes all consuming. When did I first begin to believe in “Big Love” and under what context did my eyes first view it from? What did I attach to it? I question these things, flipping over memories like a smooth stone between my fingertips in search of bumps I need to wear down. I ask aloud, to no one and to the all that is everything “is love like the saying, when the student is ready than the teacher presents itself?”

I am in this burdened filled process, a labour of love if you will, and like most people I want instant gratification. I cannot say that I feel ready at this moment for the kind of big love that I had always imagined. The Big Love where the external world becomes blurry, the chatter becomes less important, yet everything is seen with a newfound clarity. The kind of love that forever fills up my cup as I continually fill their cup. The love without the NEED to have our cups filled but to have them filled purely for the enjoyment of having a cup filled damn it. The kind of love that magnifies the beauty of every day experiences and overtime helps reinforce the makeshift shelter I have created for protection from the shit storms. The kind of love that is curious of the others underbelly, and wants to know the stories behind the creaky joints and old wounds, all the while bent on hope and future.

I am not without error. I can admit this, not as penance nor as an excuse, but as an acceptance of my own, sometimes pitiful, being. I am learning how to become real and not how to transcend heartbreak or repeated dashed hopes but to live THROUGH them. To lean in to these realities and explore them so that I may know myself. I may curse like a sailor and can be a little neurotic but… fuck if I am going to let that stop me.

I take these experiences and run-ins with men who want me to shape shift into their molds, or shape shift to fit into how I live my life…and I take them to be training and preparation. I think I will know Big love when I know it, because I have learned to detect when someone has decided that I am their answer without seeing that I am but a question mark myself. I have learned of my fear to experience loneliness and have pacified it with the truth that we (I) will live through this. I have just now, realized that a part of building connection requires creativity and establishing these quick withering relationships, was an outlet for that creativity that should be better spent on pages. Fill my own cup. I can admit that my cup isn’t all that full, but rather like the moon it waxes and it wanes. I know I need to be kinder to myself and honest with myself about where I am at in my healing and accept some current limitations… knowing they are only current and will pass by soon enough.

I am here to feel.

To lean in.

To become real.


Helen K


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