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Friday, February 13, 2015

Cursing Louder Than a Northern Gale

I was directed to write a love letter to myself by my wildly loving friend, J Clement Wall. My initial thought was “how romantic, a love letter to Leah”. But then I felt the unction of resistance, that inner speed bump, which slows down forward motion, and I knew that I wouldn’t write the letter because it required a generous portion of bigness toward one’s self that I was pretty sure I didn’t possess. So I put off the assignment indefinitely.

As it turns out, I have a stack of untouched assignments issued by homespun sages, and as much as I admire these gentle troubadours, I sometimes feel a bit of intimidation by their bright-eyed bullet lists containing the secrets of life from the lates and the greats. I’m cynical of their pastel outlooks, such Monet hearts, and then there’s mine, mucked up and muddy from all my fall downs, tramping along with my broken toe cursing louder than a northern gale, measuring myself against all that isn’t me and feeling the small of it.

It’s the familiar cycle of self abandonment

that I move in and out of

and it hurts more than the toe, or the stretch and yawn into each long day, because I’m not really here. I’m not anywhere. I’m tucked away within the folds of forgetfulness, waiting for the courage to fly back to myself.

So, I’ve decided to go ahead and write that love letter because I could really use one right now, and with Valentine’s Day nearing I figured what a perfect set up for me-mance.

Yes, this is for me.

So here goes.

My Dearest Self,
First I’d like to say that I feel I owe you an enormous apology. I’m sorry for abandoning you when you were a little girl and that you've had to struggle with this self-abandonment issue your entire life. I underestimated the powerful connection between you and you--that big U within. I left you fluttering like a baby moth, banging into the low glow of this shabby world, and injuring your delicate wings. My looking away cost you your ability to fly, and forced you to walk barefoot across the dirty asphalt of your childhood. I wish I could have remembered who you were back then, but the pain was real, and the darkness of the journey unexpected.

You were a real hero (although you didn’t realize it). No matter how many times you got knocked down, you found a way to get back onto your feet. You faced the unlovely with an open heart, and even forgave the ones with weapons. You remained kind, which is the best type of miracle of all, offering what little you had to those who had less. If only you had offered the same generous love to yourself. I see now that it was your mother’s gift for alchemy that helped to cultivate your richness of soul. She was also a hero, but like you, she never learned to spread her wings.

You still are my hero.

I need to tell you how much I love you, and even though I sometimes pick on you, and underestimate your talents, I never doubt your ability to do great loving things.

Since you were a child you’ve desired a slow-dance intimacy with life, seeking a love powerful enough to lift you into the heavens where the stars sparkle with joy at the sight of you. My wish for you is the redemption of this divine romance--that you lose your cynicism, and look within, where you will discover that the one who steals your breath away with each kiss is always present…always you.

I wish for you to uncover the treasure of unconditioned authenticity; the putting away of the measuring stick, the better and worse, and see that every inch of you is the perfect “enough”.

I wish for you to step out of the tiny--that box, which was designed by your fears, and realize the dreams that have been nesting in your heart, those golden eggs you’ve been tending for years, are about ready to hatch.

And finally, I wish for you to never forget who you really are…
that you were created from stardust and love
believe the rumors of your greatness--and how much I absolutely adore you.

Happy Valentine’s Day,



Karen Wojcik Berner said...

I adore you, too, Leah. You are one of the most honest writers I know, which takes great courage. Hell, I don't know if I could even write a love letter to myself. All of the self-deprecation cloaked in sarcasm over the years built quite a big shell. And you have a gift for poetic prose that seems to fly from your tongue to the page. Like little Cosette, you continue to endure and inspire. You are limitless in your talent--please never forget that. Happy Valentine's Day.

Leah Griffith said...

Oh Sweet, Karen,
It was my hope that the letter to, Leah, could also be a letter to, Karen, with a few personal adjustments. We are sometimes so ruthless with ourselves. So stingy. It's a sad sad thing and it keeps us oh so small.
Thank you for posting your beautiful words. I'll add them to my love letter.
Happy Valentine's Day

Stephen Hayes said...

This is a powerful assertion of "self," and a firm reminder that we all deserve to be happy, yet many of us block the path to our own happiness. Happy Valentine's Day to you.

Leah Griffith said...

Well put, Stephen. Thank you so much, wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day too! Thank you for stopping by.

Debra said...

The child Leah you wrote that letter to is, ironically, the reason you have become the brilliant and bighearted soul you are. All that talent flows from the heart of the child who has awakened.

Happy Valentine’s Day, dear friend.


Martha Jane Orlando said...

Writing that letter to yourself took such gumption, honesty and candor, Leah. As always, your words weave a spell upon my heart with their grace and flow, revealing the presence of a most gifted writer. You inspire me, my friend! I'm so grateful to know you! Sending love on this Valentine's Day and always!

Leah Griffith said...

Debra, I believe you are right. I wouldn't change a thing.
Happy Valentine's Day to you my dear friend. I miss you so!

Leah Griffith said...

Thank you, Martha. Your words have given my heart wings on this beautiful Valentine's Day! Sending love in return.
Now and always,

Chris said...

I had to step away from this post, take a breather, then come back to my laptop to finish it.

I have been on a similar path of reminding myself that I am God's child, stardusty and ethereal and perfect. Only instead of building up the courage to fly back to myself, I have been flagellating: "You will fly back to yourself if it's the last thing I make you do!!!" I have been speaking to myself from outside myself. Looking under all the wrong covers and lids in all the wrong places. Failing at accepting the love which has been offered to me, waiting patiently outside my wall for that drawbridge to drop and invite it in.

Your writing is as gorgeous and powerful as ever. Thank you for this ton of love bricks :)

Leah Griffith said...

We migrate back to ourselves because of the long winter. We can't be denied. We can't.
Happy Valentine's Day, Chris.

Tameka Mullins said...

This letter breaks and warms my heart. Neither of you did anything wrong. Here's a hug for both of you!

Leah Griffith said...

Aw, Tameka, you know how I love your hugs. Thank you for visiting my corner of the web. Sending hugs back to you. <3

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