They Say it's My Birthday

Upon awakening, the armour that has held steadfast against life’s myriad assaults now reveals a multitude of fractures. The time of life comes into focus by realizing my location squarely in the middle of the road shrouded in darkness – direction and destination completely unknown. How did I get here? My path previous, was so clear to me – granted it was circuitous, which resulted in its near terminally monotonous attributes, it was just the same, familiar. All that I had been, had been just enough to effectively deliver me to my present location – however I felt it was woefully inadequate for the journey that lay ahead. How was I to precede, perhaps a more pressing concern, how then to survive when I could see my previously relished defenses deteriorating? Perhaps they weren’t necessary for this leg of the journey? A recent foray into yoga (3 months into a daily practice) is in itself the “proverbial pictures worth a 1000 words.” Allow me to expand the metaphor – my movement through the various asanas reveals that in effect I’m moving through life with “functional rigor mortis.” This I’m suggesting is the physical embodiment of the afore mentioned armour (defense mechanisms) – “inflexibility” “rigidity” “immobility” (even “paralysis” would be apt and not overstating) in the form of un/conscious beliefs, attitudes, behaviours. Even who I thought I was - and the supporting story years in the making, with needless to say no end of supporting evidence in my life to demonstrate that it’s “true” – is proving to be mere fabrication. The cracks in the veneer have now become the conduit through which the light of truth ebbs and flows. An awakening of sorts has thereby been granted albeit one that has the bittersweet flavour of disillusionment as a necessary stepping-stone to authenticity. A personality was once formed – it walked through time orchestrating choices that had as their basis, values and beliefs that successfully kept me estranged from my heart – in fact it created a life that was built piece by piece with incongruence. I introduced myself as, and with it, I saw myself as it – I busied myself in a life created by it, so that none but its voice could be heard. Until one day – the winds of change did blow and the house of cards began to collapse and through the wreckage was heard the faint cry of a voice long since forgotten. Great lengths have been employed to extricate from the rubble the voice that refuses to be silenced. At times I grasp at the wispy remains – memories of that which were falsely believed to represent stability and security – inevitably this proves to be a self-indulgence that proceeds for varying lengths of time the arrival of surrender. As mentioned earlier the destination is unknown but it has become clear that the “still small voice” has about zero tolerance for the status quo on any imaginable level. There is a stranger in my midst – it would seem he has been waiting to assume the role of the hero of my life story, apparently I am to enter the love relationship of my lifetime with this fellow – no longer surrendering his voice, denying his gifts or standing in the way of what he’s here to do. Once again – how in God’s name did I get here? I’m reminded of my childhood and the immortal words of Bugs Bunny – “I must have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque!” Perhaps something more age appropriate would be – “ the only way forward is through.” So as I stand poised 4 days away from my 53rd birthday I consider the metaphor of “born again” and decide that doesn’t resonate for me I think I will instead, celebrate a “reunion”- here’s to my life, to me, from me with love!