The Making Of A Brave Soul

Why is it that The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013) is one of my favorite movies? 

I appreciate the cinematography.  I love the soundtrack. But I adore the soul.  The core element of the transformation of this man inspires me and gives me courage to make my dreams reality.

And I love the writing.  I never can admit it, but I think I am a writer, at least at heart, at least I have a writer's heart. I don't know if this makes any sense, but all I know is, writing heals me.  When I write I feel better.  When I write, I feel alive.

And, I will admit that I am an artist. Am I great? It doesn't matter.  Creating art feeds my soul. It is my meditation.  It is my medicine.  Art is the connection to my heart.

After my last post (The Shadow and the Sun), and two days of tears, I felt so incredibly relieved.  I felt drained, but clean. Purged. Purified. Empty, but free.  And in the strangest way, I felt so alive.

Death.  I stared at it.  I tempted it.  I allowed it to happen to my soul.  I ached.  I did not resist the pain.  I surrendered, willingly, to my life and my disease and my misery.  I let it take me down.  To hell? Maybe. It burned me alive and it was excruciating... until it wasn't.  

Death doesn't hurt.  Dying hurts. Resisting death is a painful, tortuous affair.  I had been living with so much resistance.  And so much noise.  A cacophony of so much negative.  It's what happens when Pollyanna gets sad.  It's bad.  It's really, really bad, and I had to die so I wouldn't be tempted to kill myself (although in truth, I know I never would, I have too much to live for dear reader, so please don't be afraid for me). 

So, I did, die, to something that day, and writing helped me do it. 

I used to keep a journal for many, many years.  This is, this blog is, my form of journaling for now, and I think it's better for me. Better than regurgitating all my complaints, which is usually the main thing I ended up journaling about for all those years.  

Writing this blog makes me think, more than vomiting word salads in my journal ever did. Although, that's probably not true. I did think via the process of my journaling. And think. And think.  And overthink everything.

And maybe I end up over sharing here, and maybe it's a huge cultural faux pas to do so. But maybe it's ok.  It's where I can be 100 percent authentic, without fear of punishment.  Without retaliation.  I presume that I am taken here, with only a grain of salt.  That makes me feel safe.

And that's ok.  It's all ok.  I'm ok.  I'm going to be ok. And I can have all my emotions and not hurt anyone else and I can come through the darkness ok.  I'm safe. I'm sound. I'm ok. I'm strong. I'm courageous. I'm brave.

WAKE UP.... and listen or sing along and enjoy some of my favorite Mitty Memes.

Write a mystery clues backwards 

The volcano shark combo 

A kick ass been there 

Ghost cat... never lets itself be seen 

Beautiful things don't ask for attention 

Did not respond to a single wink... that's a choosey lady

You don't have to be such a dick... put that on a plaque and hang it at your next job 

I would love too, Grease in a weird church, are you kidding?  Rizzo, She was just real, I guess 

I just didn't want to seem uncool and get one right away.

Stay alive Jose Gonzalez 

Engines won't turn and the train won't leave 

We'll do whatever just to stay alive 

The way I think is the way I write 

Q

I recommend you watch the movie if you get the chance... and if you are able, allow yourself to dream.

I am learning to live in reality, and I know that sadness will come again to me someday, maybe even soon, but I'm hoping that this whole monumental episode was just the pinnacle of my second Saturn Return. (Or something like that.)

Second Saturn Return (Ages 56–60): The peak exact age is usually around 58 to 59. This acts as a midlife review, focusing on wisdom, legacy, and long-term life structure.

It's been a long year and a sobering start to my 59th year of life in July.  Like scuba diving, the deeper and deeper I went into my dark chasms, the greater and more intense the pressure became.  I broke protocol and instead of returning to the surface slowly, I sprung to like the diver out of air and when I did, something inside of me popped and I got a bad case of the bends.  

But that's over now and because of whatever popped, I feel less pressure to figure out every last detail of my long-term life structure immediately and to a tee. I feel more freedom to follow the path that seems to be naturally unfolding before me, in Art and NeuroArt.  I feel a quiet center expanding within me, holding space for peace, now that the noise has been cried out.

Strangely, I don't want to forget the pain I felt, but I already do. The whole thing was otherworldly in a way, like Saturn, I suppose. Time now to focus on wisdom and building my legacy, slowly, day by day, because as much as I was unable to believe it three days ago, I do have time. Plenty.

And in wisdom I know that central to my legacy is love and family and following my heart. It's more open now, my heart, and ready to receive.  It's ready to give and to live. It is ready to be brave. 

Long live my Soul...and yours