By Amaya Gayle Gregory
Sedona, AZ — Rather than spending time discussing whose version is right and whose is wrong, I think I’ll spend the rest of my life with everyday people, those who are simply living, loving, doing their best with the life they’ve been given, and let them show me their secrets.
I’d like to know people better, to see what’s important to each one, to give back some of what I’ve been given, not in the sense of spiritual know-it-all platitudes and subtle corrections to their thinking, but in genuine interest, authentic caring, in unconditional friendship.
I’ve spent most of this precious life trying to figure it out, attempting to unlock ego’s grip, hoping to change the dialog in my head … and yes, to feel better about myself. I wasn’t what I’d now call a good friend. I was consumed by the journey and let no one and nothing stand in the way.
It’s kind of laughable now, to set off on the grand and glorious spiritual path only to end up back where I started, in the land of ordinary everyday life.
It’s not exactly the same though, because I’m finally okay with being me.
I’m filled with compassion for whatever the path and wherever you find yourself on your journey. At last, I have the ability and willingness to be real, to sit with you in silence and listen, to laugh with you … and cry with you. There’s no need for you to be the same as me, or for me to fit into your version of life. I find that interesting fascinating fun.
That wasn’t the case when this journey began in earnest. I wasn’t okay.
Maybe that’s why the journey consumed me. Perhaps the ability to be a well-worn well-loved friend comes naturally to you, but it didn’t for me. The idea of being real, of being seen for who I am, of being seen at all, wasn’t even a blip on my radar screen. Real, genuine, raw, vulnerable were simply words to me, words that I could pretend to be, but that was the end of it, or at least I hoped it was.
So yeah, I’m back where I started, but it’s a lot different now.
I thought I was going somewhere, but I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things. I think that’s what the journey is all about, or at least mine was, to return home renewed, undefended, naked, a fit receptacle for your love.
Image: The Return Home, Julia Blattman
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