Redemption

To be seen.

I have been granted a test, a run of experiences that have pointed me again and again to this need, this desire to be seen for who and what I am. To be understood. In all my imperfection and incompletion, but out of reach of any coloured or warped lens. What a gift it would be to finally, or once again, feel visible.

Our external transparency is so fleeting and clouded by perception; the ubiquitous blindness of human beings. Sometimes we are illuminated in moments of flow, when both the seer and the seen are loosened temporarily from the boundaries of our own inhibitions. In the stop-motion capture of a grin, or a playful movement across snow or water or rock, we are most truly ourselves. Sometimes we are found in passages of writing, art, music or dance.

It is perhaps that our parents and guardians could not fully see us, too consumed in their own lives to notice. The bright soul-lights of children are too often stifled and dumbed down. As a kid I knew myself as brazen, fiery and wild-hearted, but learned ways of muting that powerful energy for public consumption. The duties of school, expectations and complexities of family dynamics, and the adult world of convention grind us down. Uniqueness is shaped into uniformity, our impervious light-armour gets dented and dulled by comparison and fear. Shame is methodically applied in response to public expressions of strong emotion. No wonder we grow up buttoned down, dulling ourselves to the pain of these spiritual losses.

As a kid I could perceive the brightness and depth of my own inner source. I knew I was made of magic and the iridescent dust of stars. I spoke to animals and trees, saw sprites and forest fairies, trusted that all would be well. My imagination was a rampant thing, finding belonging and wonder in every corner. And somewhere in there, I'm not sure exactly when, I began to understand that I had no language to express what was within me. The wild optimism and brilliant trust I had in the world. I was made of magic, as we all are. Ultimately I could not find a way to fully reconcile the outer world of the mundane with the richness of my inner landscape.

I have certainly been seen, perhaps fully at times. But I am coming to know that while this is a gift, to be seen by another it can also be fleeting and unreliable. It can become addictive; one can develop a dependency if not careful. So recently I have decided to become visible to myself once again. To dampen the noise and listen in. I am recovering some of what has been muted and misunderstood for a time, not so much by others as by me. Uncovering what has lain buried in the dust of the sorrows and disappointments of life. An arm here, a leg there, the old bridle from the pegasus I used to ride across my dreamscapes.
I can see that it has been my own fight to remain in integrity, with it's pendulum-like swings, that has led me to this point. And so it a good place to start.

I understand that first it is me that needs to do the seeing. My job is to remind myself of myself. Because at some point I will wake up and notice what is already here. Redemption and healing arriving from within.