A Goodbye Letter
I bless you!
I blossomed into a fully matured self assured woman of the world through your lyrics and music.
What more could I possibly want than this?
What more could you possibly want from me?
It is enough. It is finished. How amazing we are!
In my nagging dreams you came; busting through the door, walking fast as you always do. All awake in your own world as to my identity in consciousness level one. My human world.
"What about me??!!" You said, while I stared in wonder at your angry deportment. Ah, so very unromantic. "How do you feel about ME!??" You asked forcefully as if I was quite amiss about something.
Out of me arose an answering anger to be treated unkindly. I sensed no fond greeting, no joy in that we should meet again this way. My human snapped back in retort ALL RIGHT! Sit down, I'll tell you exactly how I feel about you.
Over in the corner you were like a wounded beast; surly, only half listening to the song I was about to sing to you. Me, the great amateur, you the great professional.
Your own lyrics, your own song come to life through me. An old tune that explained better than me how my human felt about you.
I picked up my guitar and I sang out you're on my mind. I memorized each line. I did my best. When I was finished I looked to see if you approved of my rendition of your song. Limpid eyes returned my gaze but no compliment came forth. Instead you gestured at me. You made hand movements.
What is this I wondered. Was I getting the c'mon? The hands jerked upward. I never figured it out. I thought you would be pleased with my singing your own creation, which I thought explained how much I enjoyed your musical creations.
I forgot the whole world was singing your songs. Well, not the whole world, just part of the whole world. Why should I expect to be appreciated for my rendition?
Whenever you showed up in my dreams, it could be like being slapped around in the shock value until one day I stopped trying to figure it out. Enough of this I thought. If I am the creator of these dreams, I had better get back to my drawing board quickly. Foiled again by the dreamwalker.
You must forgive my human one day as you sit and ponder what you think is desertion. It could be simply desirelessness. detachment posing as a desire to be accepted as I am, not as I shall become. I'm sure you try to understand with your own labels for me. It is quite beyond us to understand at the present.
Your unrest is my secret burden. You have not read Kahlil Gibran to understand love. This burden I must lay down. I have insulted you enough unintentionally.
It was, after all, a matter of my own survival, that I rest now, and lay my burden at my Lord's feet.
More, for you. I extend this: you helped me to see it in a certain light. Then I took the ball and I RAN! And I ran and ran across the finish line with no obstacles in my way..but this is metaphorical. This took much study and many years. Blood, sweat and tears really. I had need of kind friends who could read between the lines. I received them graciously, like finding water in the desert. One and all.
I thought I would never come down off each high in my life. But I did with the secret burden of your unrest. Still my work had given me another secret: a glad heart. A glad heart can be shared, but not completely, it can be pointed out, that there is water to be drank, but the horse must drink of it's own free will.
You want to know only about you. I will tell you. Your work pointed the way, but it was my feet that walked there. And so we are one, yet opposites. I finally laid the burden down, disturbed that I had to, but knowing it was the only thing to do. I knew what you were asking was not my job.
I viewed my life book as things happening on schedule, like destiny unfolding, yet things never turning out as my human would have liked it. People never said what I'd like them to say; they never did what I wanted them to do, partially because I never asked for anything.
Then there came a surprising day that I had everything I ever wanted because I'd learned to love myself just the way I was. By so doing it was much easier to love others as I loved myself.
The inner child grew up and stopped apologizing for imperfections. If I were to worry over you, to become your caretaker, it would be an insult. Sympathy is an insult. Empathy is preferable. Empathy has truth to offer. Sympathy is hollow words. Although I walk away a proud, strong woman partially because of you, I remain as obsessed with you in the going as I was in the coming.
The only thing which made me free and you a prisoner, is knowing if I leave you will suffer far less, then if I stayed.
And I include myself in this equation. I will suffer less also in the leaving.
yet I smile in the dead of night now when I think of you and your poetry which belongs to the world, but not to me solely.
I think of human nature. Ah, the sacrifices we make, to love, and to be loved in return. It's all worth it. Then I gather my memories around me as treasures in the attic and hold tight and I begin to praise God for giving me this life where I have gained so much happiness.
I suppose we are a bit like Romeo and Juliet, creating the tragedy just to experience that. I wonder if they were real people?
I wonder if we are real too. But that's part of the burden I laid down back there. Be well. Hope you get this. Walk in love and Light. LR
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