Art Journalling 3. Bonefire

This comes on the back of surgery.

And fire is appropriate.

I need fire in my belly. My solar plexus. My guts.
Despite it being cut and prodded.

And I need the stregth to burn the skeletons I’ve been holding onto.

I haven’t got the strength to keep carrying this heaviness, nor the desire to.

And I’m scared.

The big changes have all been unwanted, undesired, unsafe, uneasy but so god-damn essential! And completely, utterly perfect.

“Change happens when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of change” – Tony Robbins.

And that’s what everything has been about. A point of surrender. When no more fucks are given. When there is nothing left. When the pain has become too big to not move forward. And mostly through complete and utter resistance!

Is there enough pain now?

Is there enough momentum now?

What change am I waiting for?

What change am I wanting to invite in?

What are the bones I need to be burning?

Help me, friend. I am scared!

Scared that there is no fertile soil on the other side.
Scared that maybe there will be a seed, but I will just burn through that fucker.
Scared that I am inherently wrong or bad or weak or unintelligent/unenlightened/ungifted.
Scared that I am some shamble of pass-ability, and if I just keep up the pretense, I’ll pass as pass-able… and maybe no-one will notice that I’m not. Am I ‘not’? I feel ‘not’.

I’m scared that this fire will consume me.
There is so much rage. So much anger.

And maybe I am scared that there is no fire.
There is nothingness. Weakness.

With the heat of today, the anguish, the confusion, the unknowns…and the pain in my belly, and the heaviness in my heart, and the lump in my throat, burn… burn… burn.


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