The main catalyst for this cycle of growth would have to be that I am tired, ragged, exhausted of running away from myself.
I have always had a streak in me that comes up largely unexpectedly, a surging of passion and fighting spirit that goes almost entirely unacknowledged in my waking life. By many that encounter me in the day to day, I usually come across as a mediator, peace-maker, on down to people-pleaser, push-over. But in special cases that I am beginning to attempt stringing together, there is a confidence, a towering fury that makes itself known in deep, deep rumblings. It is fed by a sense of the just defender of the law and not of the rules (to borrow some phrasing from a post I recently read by Gordon on Rune Soup).
I ran from it, ran and ran and ran. I am afraid of the destruction I may wreak, even knowing that many situations are in dire need of elemental destruction. My fear rules me, keeps me quiet, keeps me sick, keeps me stuck. It feels safe in my self-imposed cage in spite of the barbs digging ever deeper into my vitals.
The capacity for peace-making I possess is valuable to me, make no mistake of that. I take pleasure and even pride in some of the ways I find to guide fragments into a new whole. Too long, though, has the destroyer been drugged, bound, gagged, and chained in the windowless dungeon of my Shadow. I realize in this moment that it is essential to my Vital Recognition that I bring these two forces back in tension. This need for bringing into balance of the anabolic and catabolic within me is reflected without; our societal anabolic obsession, ‘infinite growth’, is being equally and necessarily subverted by the repressed catabolic element, as observed in the hazily-grasped deterioration of the current ’empire of the West’ from our collective Shadow.
This individuating process, this expansion of awareness, is not the glowing, joyous transcendence into the New Age. It holds the wracking pains of birthing and of a last breath. This sounds like a lamentation, but really it is our restrictions that provide the container for future transformation, the ‘dead’ soil from which new life will grow.
To abruptly conclude these impassioned wanderings: honor becomes hollow without sacrifice. I need to see the beauty in my passion as well as in my stillness. Only I can declare myself whole.