I am human, a fallen angel. The musings of my imagination create fantastical scenarios that are so pleasing but never arrive. The delights and pleasures I was expecting seem to elude me. I am sorely disappointed with this lifetime. I am the disappointment of a lifetime. I am a failure in my eyes. I am a failure in God’s. eyes. I never to measure up.
Throw expectations out the window, hopes, and dreams with them like the baby and bathwater. I’m not the apple of my eye. The satisfaction never to be fulfilled is disappointing, but that is what I have to make room for, the constant unrelenting, repetitive nature of disappointment that rears its pristine head around every corner as I take one tentative step in any direction and the results are mind-numbingly the same.
The desire for there to be more is delightful and consuming. The mystery that will never be revealed while served on a slice of bread and consumed to completion with satisfaction knowing that this is it. I am the form of woman and the formless of the unknown. I am the madwoman and the saint. I am the soother and the perpetrator. I am the lover and the destroyer. I am on fire.
I am expansive, electric, the glorious fullness of life that lights up every sensory nerve ending and brings this deliciously hateful experience of life into a vibrant fruition on technicolor sensations that dazzle the mind. I am it all. I’ll just keep my chin up and get ready to take on another day. All’s well that ends well. You can’t always get what you want, and there’s no point crying over spilt milk.
Loving and kind and hateful and poison. I am tangible and raw and bitter and sweet. I am the depth of experience. I am more than thought. I am you. I am here. Listen to me as I explain. I am real. I am blood. I am flesh. Don’t tell me I don’t count. Don’t tell me I’m making things up. I am free. I am alive. Don’t tell me I don’t exist.
There is the fountain pen that drops a thick syrup of wishes into the cracks of my brain that ripples and undulates with electricity. There is black. There is nothing. I am, and I don’t exist. I am part of the atmosphere. I am part of the earth. Love and life continue not because of me. The gift is never-ending not because I am immortal but because the finite scope of my life is irrelevant.
It allows me to groan. It allows me to weep. It allows me to flow and spread my legs wide. And spread my mind open. This ornament is passed through air and space and expands to the edges of the universe. An ornament shared with rivers that flow into the clouds and soars with the grace of an eyeball and the ease of rock shard.
The gift of love. The gift of communication. The gift of expression. Writing words that are unspoken. Writing my heart onto paper. Writing life like it is.
Rohini Ross is co-founder of “The Rewilders.” Listen to her podcast, with her partner Angus Ross, Rewilding Love. They believe too many good relationships fall apart because couples give up thinking their relationship problems can’t be solved. In this season of the Rewilding Love Podcast, Rohini and Angus help a couple on the brink of divorce due to conflict. Angus and Rohini also co-facilitate a private couples' intensives retreat program that rewild relationships back to their natural state of love. Rohini is also the author of the ebook Marriage, and she and Angus are co-founders of The 29-Day Rewilding Experience and The Rewilding Community. You can follow Rohini on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. To learn more about her work and subscribe to her blog visit: TheRewilders.org.