I aim for even but I keep close a pair of boots for the shit holes of life. They shake up my structure, sometimes stretching me to what I am sure will be beyond my limits.
Not yet, obviously. I continue to muck through them.
I have learned there will always be shit holes. Whether or not I deepen them by giving them definition will not matter, ultimately. What does is that I muck them out, accepting that I will change as I rearrange what is within me. It is here I go deep.
For there is so much I do not know and never will but beyond that, there is so much more life yet to experience. I still have the same set of emotions, of experiences from which to draw, including those actions that serve me every day in both body and mind. Still, I need some shape shifting.
No shit hole mucking happens without examining my borders–all of them–like when I walk around a situation rather than finding my way forward. It’s not as if I clean out my kitchen cupboards or my refrigerator unless I have no other choice. Borders are weakest when left unchallenged.
They become boundaries of fear. They sag and then sink into shit holes of prevarication, where all I am not lies safely unprovoked. I am ashamed I have such privilege. I don’t know what to do so I avoid my shit holes until the world says, “front and center–now.”
It is not the first time the world has had to show me nor will it be the last. That much I have learned about shit holes. They will outlast me, it seems. Although with every shit hole I muck out, I am revealed. So, I pull on my boots to begin yet again.
It’s a heavy lift, as always, but I do have fewer borders these days–that’s a bit of light–still, it is a dark time, this mucking out. Painful in revelation but basic in task. If it is not good in me, it is not good in the world. And what is not in use, stagnates.
The energy of existence is fluid. No good is ever stagnant and only that which never serves seeks to stay.