Life is frustrating.
No. We are frustrating.
We know what to do. We read the self help books, we express with broken logic our thoughts and have attempted to put together various rambling explanations of what the heck our feelings are.
Oh the limbic brain. All the feelings and no verbal way to communicate them, to accurately explain.
That's the best we can do.
We are at a place where we just know… We can fucking feel it. An expansion in our spirits creating an an explosive sensation that alters, shifts and undeniably emits change. It is happening. It's happening right now, inside of us.
Like a balloon about to pop. Our skin and organs swell, stretching open the fibres of our human body, beyond its perceived capacity. Small tears forming in our flesh rip open with a piercing force allowing the flow of change to seep through the stinging cracks.
We can feel it happening.
And we are frustrated. Frustrated because it feels so good, like an itch that is finally scratched. The purge that has taken days to well to the surface. A release of discomfort priming our new phase cleansing out the black tar of old habits, dried residue of words never spoken to truth.
The pain. It. Feels. So .good.
Yet, we slow the process down. Our pulsing brains release a rush of doubt. A false safety mechanism. We were ready, wanting, needing to face the pain. Feel it fully. But we stop it. Subconsciously. We fall victim to ourselves.
We play safe. We get scared. Fear comes in, thinking it's doing us a favour applying the bandaids, covering up our torn flesh. Not able to shed and heal with new armourbut to remain old and lifeless.
Fear masks our deepest truth. Preventing our voices to be heard, vulnerability to shine and authenticity to radiate.
Carefully with its hands, fear attempts to mend us. Back to who we were. Who we no longer are. Denying our morphing stage.
And we allow it to happen.
And we are frustrated.