For years this part of me has been Infuriated and moved by the lack of awareness around me. It feels like a complete injustice, how could others not get it, not step up and make their surroundings a better place to be? In reaction, I have no time for this nonsense, no compassion, only heat, fire and a call to action. It is all that I can see is needed. The fire is so powerful, a blessing and a curse. I draw my sword, hear the blade sing as it pulls against it’s holster and I roar, pulling my broad shoulders back, jaw unhinged, long matted haired laying down my back. I am a strong brute of a viking, the vibration of my bellow intends to wake others from their selfish slumbers. With hope and rage, I wonder for the millionth time if a team of others will gather to help, to make change!
I am raging and yelling and doing but now, years later, having accomplished so much, I still face the same story, and I am not really sure what it is I have accomplished that matters?! To always be the workhorse. Is this even the truth? It is certainly a reality I have created. But I am moving out of this, into a space where I am seen. I must prepare to be seen. I am excited and nervous. I have so much to share, like a well that never empties. I no longer want to spend time with dull lights but there is fear that I will not shine if not surrounded by dull. I honor this intensely strong Viking and I honor this deep sadness that I feel under all the brutish exterior. I have been this Viking for ever, as though I have been carrying it around through lifetimes, and I am tired and weary trying to convince others to the fight. I have leather worn skin and sadness in my eyes, all I really want is to be held, to feel soft and safe to know the tender touch of love and to receive it. I have been carrying the pressure, the weight on my shoulders and on my heart. I feel toughened, hard, old and unloveable even though I desire love so. I see now that no one can see the powerful song of my heart because I have covered it over with so much metaphorical and physical armor. The armor of a martyr, who’s true gifts have become malformed due to misappropriation.
I forgive and love this Viking, I hold them in my arms and stroke the leathery skin. I put my hand on it’s heart, and thank them, for they have served me in so many ways. I will call on it’s wisdom, and I will find a way to remold the passion and fire into helpful tools. Just as this very Viking’s quest was to wake others up to the fight, I will become awake to myself. I was just as they were, just as asleep, projecting my blindness onto others, not seeing the mirror. In this recognition, I will find compassion for those I have felt anger and injustice towards, I will recognize their sleep as deep and impenetrable, this may be most challenging without an inner softening. I hope to surrender and turn over the weight, to rest knowing that the earth supports my body and that the love in my heart is returned to me in a million different ways.