The Burning of a Phoenix

Posted: February 18, 2011 in New Attitude

The Burning of a Phoenix

The definition of me.  …I’ve been spin-cycling the depths of that phrase lately.  The world’s view, your perception, my aspiration delusion opinion…  I describe “addiction” not how one uses/abuses a thing — but rather how one behaves when DENIED that thing — and I think the same holds true for self-identity.  How do I see me when you don’t see me the same?  What/who am I really,… when stripped of all the notions that I formerly identified myself with?  If everyone in my life is my mirror, holyfrell somefreakingtimes I do not want that reflection staring back at me.  At others, I take pride that the company I am keeping must be what I’m ready to become, because I am surrounded and enveloped by fathomless love and truth.

I happen to have a personality glitch — I do not act as you expect, I act as I am.  This has contributed greatly to instances when I have not fit in. I wince when I face this, but I have never blended easily.  So ironic when I’ve dealt with a pervading theme in my development,… the tendency to make myself invisible.  I grew up needing to be the good-girl.  Be quiet, don’t call attention to yourself.  Don’t rock the boat, don’t feel your emotions, don’t lose control, don’t don’t don’t.  For those who know me — I can be in a group of people, not say a word, and be the loudest person in the room.  The energy and passion and power of me is something that the universe has determined, I will be unable to throw a cloak over no matter how hard I try.  This is a righteous albeit troubling thing since I have yet to amalgamate the identity I think I’m supposed to have, with the one I DO.  But I’m getting there,… I’m learning.  I’m lining up my intuition with reality and whether I want to or not, I am learning.

Growing up means letting go of who I thought I was and becoming who I am meant to be.  Sometimes this is a natural organically-occurring process and sometimes it is a cauterizing forced amputation.   The issues of self-esteem and self-worth are duct-taped together with screaming-demon cassette recordings, while whispering wispy angels try to unravel them with the gift of life-lessons.  The death of old ideas comes with the price of stages of mourning.  The “world” comes along and burns you to the ground.  And what you get to do is build yourself back up, proper.  Right the foundation, receive the enlightenment, cry over spilt milk, deal with the reality-check, slough off the bullshit… wake up, WAKE UP.  Being true to yourself means,… actually knowing who yourself IS.  And integrity isn’t being true to you, it’s being true to ME.  I have met myself many times and often, I wouldn’t have wanted me as a friend.  I have seen myself through others’ eyes and poignantly, I didn’t want to be seen.  So each beta version evolved.  And IMHO, improved.  I started to appreciate and like the me I was trying to be — until I loved the me I am.  The good, the bad, the ugly — the strange, the unique, the glorious.  The loveliness of my constantly growing up, is that God has decided I am special and don’t need to waste time with a sparkler igniting my genesis.  No,… He’s determined that I’ll get this shit niiiice & quick, so there’s no pussy-footing around, I get a fucking SUPERNOVA to clear away the refuse in one fell swoop — then I get to rise from the ashes,… a new me.  A REAL and authentic me.  Me.

It’s a good thing I’m fire-retardant.


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