Acceptance is not a place we arrive

Acceptance

is not a place we arrive.

Not a firm, unmoving bank to rest our weary bones,

but more like the sea itself.

Fluid, endless, ever-changing

of which only the surface we can gaze

but rarely cast our awareness

into its unfathomable depths.

Acceptance

is not a destination.

Not a place we go that makes us whole,

but rather a trialing process

of remembering how to love

all of our parts

soft and sharp

all of our parts

curled up in dark corners

tucked away beneath the pain of vulnerability.

Those sweet, broken bits

acceptance is remembering

how to love them

back to wholeness once again.

Acceptance

is not complacency

or becoming fixed

or ridding ourselves

of the pain that hunts us

like hungry owls at dusk

silent and stalking….

no.

It is the bridge

over the waters of grief

that grants us the opportunity

to make contact

with the vast assemblage

of all the parts we have exiled

and illuminates the darknesses

cast out by our holy heart

with the light of ancestral fire

so we may truly see

our entirety.

Acceptance

is a harping of angels

that may come in the shape of

fleeting moments of okay-ness

or courage to get through this

or even in ephemeral smiles

that slither into the corners of our mouth

as we make contact with bliss.

Acceptance is

the hands of Spirit

that hold us

and remind us

everything we’ve been working so hard

to accept

is shaping us

inviting us

ushering us

into the heart

of becoming.

And what if

just maybe

the chaos and affliction

is somehow faultless?

What if,

somehow,

it’s everything we need

to know the depth of those seas

and to participate

in the grand descent

back to the birthplace

of our inherent worthiness.

“Acceptance” Sharpie on cardboard