And then the Angel Came.
{source}
By Jessica Rosslee.
A refugee is someone who is seeking a safe place.
A place that can be a vessel for something valuable, and that something valuable is the vulnerable humanness, including the venerable heart and the inquisitive nature. A place to be completely and utterly free, untethered.
I have now realized, with dispassionate conviction, that I am a refugee.
Not bound in a camp after fleeing my homeland, not chased from the whispers of my birthplace, but simply and metaphorically seeking a safe place to be.
And I have realized yet another thing: we are all, in some fucked up way, a refugee.
From whence do we come?
There are millions of possibilities — all of which are true yet none of which are the solitary answer.
Where are we going?
Nowhere, nowhere except into the roundhouse of our selves. It is within this circus tent that we run, and it is here where I met the angel, the archetype that got me up off my ass.
Prior to this meeting, I had been in a sludge of incoherent feelings, truths and nothingness. While this is a powerful place to be, it is also detrimental — a smear on the respect of self.
A once bright fire of creativity had dissolved into a whimpering pile of pathetic weeds, cast out and shriveling beneath the glare of the sun. I found myself in a body of self-loathing and self-pity, unable to meet my own eyes.
Disgusted and forsaken, this is when the angel came to me, as I stood butt naked in the bathroom with thoughts of diving into the deep ocean and swimming, swimming until the last gasp of breath left my being and, in its place, the Atlantic ocean water filled my lungs.
I envisioned myself sinking deeper and deeper into the blue waters — forgetting the troubadour of my soul as songs of mournful silence echoed through my veins.
And then I met the angel. And this is how the communion went:
Standing on the cusp of 20-something, I look back — for the hundredth time — at the wisdom of my teen years. Quiet, unassuming and the guru of my peers. Now I have become the spokesperson for emotional babble.
How did I arrive here?
It feels strange to even entertain the thought that I have become the dribbling mass of feminine short circuits that I now see in the mirror.
Fuck. I think of how I have completely messed up my life, mistakes had been made that kept me trapped in a trampling of my self-respect like an elephant cow on a rampage in the Knysna forest.
I twist the tired rag that constitutes my face into a shadow of my once luminous smile.
Fuck. I feel like a contortionist as I attempt to make it genuine.
I stand like this, squinting at my lopsided smile through half-hearted eyes, for approximately eight minutes.
Self-defeated, I let up, allowing the corners of my pout to sag like a used condom. Not that I really recall what that looks like — it has been a while…
“No wonder,” said the voice. “Look at you, all dressed up in self-pity like it’s the funeral of the world. Take some cold water, splash it on your face.”
I obey.
The water is a cold contrast against the hot stream of half-dried tears. My eyes are burning and swollen, like two marshmallows burnt on a stick by some overzealous kid.
“Now stand up.”
“I am standing,” I reply, as if I can outwit an angel.
“No, you’re not. You’re collapsing into yourself, like a spineless toad. There we go, yes, now draw in your belly button.”
I do. A familiar feeling greets me like a fuzzy dream in the morning light.
“Yes. You remember now. Close your eyes. Do you feel your spine connecting with your navel? Aah yes. Here we go. There’s a tingle in your toes that starts at the sole of your feet, feel that? Yes, it’s traveling up your legs now. Mmm, yes, its tingle touches your clitoris.
Now don’t stay there, keep moving, you lustful youth. Into your belly. Do you feel your heart coming into existence again?
Yes? No, no, don’t attempt to decipher it with the code you learnt as a kid. You’re a new woman now. Ha! You think all the crying on your bedroom floor like a crumpled love note was for nothing? You think you’ve veered off your smooth sailing course? Ha! That was all a part of it, dear.
Look yourself square in the eyes. Was that a flinch? Close them! And open them again, catch that immediate electrical spark you see as your pupils dilate, looking at the reflection of themselves. This, right here, is it. More cold water. Yes. That’s it.
Can you feel your reverberation returning?
Do you feel the fireflies within your veins?
Take a moment.
Breathe.
Now go. You haven’t lost anything. You see now. You see your shadow and it scares you shitless. Oh if only the shit could be scared right out of you. Yes, you do have to walk with it. No use pretending it is obliterated from existence. Make it make you walk tall.
Engage your inner core — break the bullshit that you use as a straitjacket for yourself.
Go out and ride now. You’ve been broken in, like a wild horse. You’re ready now. Go out and meet the world. And if you fall again, for god’s sake don’t take so long getting back up.”
*****
African-born and ocean-raised, Jessica fuels herself with Yoga and words. She embarked on a journey throughout Southern Africa, where shadows of childhood troubles were dealt with. Jessica envisions a healthy and whole world, with humans having nothing left to fix within themselves. Could this be plausible? Everyone has to decide for themselves. Jessica freelances as a journalist and Yoga instructor in the wonderful Southern Cape of South Africa.
{You’re ready now.}
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