Love Is Not Enough to See the Journey Through.
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Love is a dynamic union with internal forces powerfully life-granting, life-nourishing, and life-expanding.
It must be what is accessed to transcend the isolated ego of strict individuality, to endorse a metaphysics of transpersonality, that is, prioritizing that which goes beyond the merely personal, as the ultimate truth and value.
Love is a central factor in any spiritual doctrine, and is crucial to our evolution.
I thought it could be also deeply healing. Love, I ventured, could nurture any soul to greatness, no matter how lost, confused, or prone to dark moods.
But it seems I need to clarify some things, for myself and for us all.
For an attempt at love between wounded, frightened, desperate, angry, ill-equipped people who aren’t yet fully-functioning or capable of true, genuine (agenda-free) care, love between people who are compromised in psychic economy and equilibrium, in being open and trusting, in being emotionally clean, in being good-natured, positive, and constructive in their respective autonomy is too often needy, demanding, and one-directional; love without personal responsibility is too easy to be exploited.
I venture nowadays that I was somewhat misguided on my original quest to love and, as important and central and all-encompassing a topic as love is, still humbly locating corrective guidance bit by bit, piece by piece, page by page.
It seems to me now that love is a flow of energy that requires a circuit to open in order to enact its synergistic effects that makes whole and holy, otherwise it drains and devours.
To release me from this period of disillusionment, I must confess! To release me from the conspiracy of silence that has pervaded all dysfunctional arrangements from the beginning! To not call out what is obvious to everyone is a disservice to all! It lets nasty, ugly, deranged things self-perpetuate rather than be self-overcome! No more, I say, no more, I will state my truth, I will freely speak! Even as I don’t have the final answers, figuring it out, as I am, along the way!
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Love without boundaries is a regressive merger, a return to the pre-infantile womb where all needs are met immediately and completely: you recognize it in feeling smothered, and as a kind of sickeningly-sweet, saccharine ‘sentimentality’. This engenders mutual feeding that will turn on you when hungers go unmet and your lover unfed; this is not love but proto-love, what exists prior to the formation of the capacity to relate, which might someday mean relating lovingly.
A counter-force that draws a line, divides and separates, to conquer the integrity of the self might be felt as war. It is a war of sorts. A war grounded in the unyielding intelligence of a sacred purpose for waging it.
Oh, how love and war remain polarized, fashioned crudely as either/ors! We categorize accordingly, yet we desperately need them to dislodge from their positions in the extremes to interrelate and to integrate.
We need a spinning disc of yin and yang to consort the two into an interlocking, spiral dance in which successive generations of successfully compounding differentiation and unification, differentiation and unification, take place, until we wind up in a society in which we are thriving as independent cells seamlessly coordinating with our larger body!
We need the weft and the weave of separatio and coniunctio to heal ourselves and heal our relations, to bridge the gaps in the self so as to not burden others with filling in, compensating for, or covering over our gaps!
The very, very first step is to sever what relates as co-dependence. If you are enabling those with whom you are in contact with to be fed in a womb without tolerating the frustration of their gaps, I am here to call out that you are an intricate part of the problem.
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I am not calling on those who’ve lived as unchecked self-expansion and who’ve gotten away with it thus far. The ones who run roughshod all over the road, who allow themselves to release volatile spikes of unbridled anger, unprocessed pain, and unaltered venom, those who spill their chaos and disorder into the lives of those who are in unfortunate proximity.
I’m not calling on those who are now getting by on their thinly-veiled, flimsy strategies of power and control, who are currently exploiting your vulnerabilities and taking credit for your strengths.
Their demons will get them in the hour of the wolf where a reckoning of conscience will come for them from that intact part of the psyche seeking to restore equilibrium to a very messy house-of-being.
I am not calling on them just yet. I am calling on you. That’s right. You. The enablers.
You are being recruited in this war whose primal drumbeat of sacred rebellion is already faintly heard in your airwaves.
You are being recruited in this war that filters out of the deep recesses of your own untameable heart that can’t be touched by violent demands or righteous entitlement to your time, your body, or your love-drenched commitment, that innermost interior that can’t be captured, fucked with, or fooled.
You’ve already searched your soul and concluded that your heart-spun interest and your abundant care are auto-generated and given away freely. No one controls what and whom you love. What you give by acquiescing to such coercion is false reassurance; it makes you nauseated, quietly shake your head, and confess to willing listeners that you’re faking it and he doesn’t even seem to care.
Everybody already knows; there is no hiding in these matters, we sniff this out, it reeks, we whisper about it when they’re not around; evolution blindly designed us to weed out parasites and false self-propaganda from the herd, but didn’t apparently stop us from trying to pretend to one another.
You are disempowering us all by continuing this charade and by making this dysfunction of a status quo easily self-perpetuating.
Call it for what it is. Be bold, be brave. Say openly I will not stand for this. Speak your truth. It will fall apart. Let it. Its toxic fumes and termite-riddled beams were combustible and collapsible anyway. Give it a little push or turn an ignition, shove it, set it on fire.
Indoctrination too often informs us that this kind of a move will seal us as nasty, witch-bitches. How clever. This holds us in our position, as nice-y nice, tip-toe-y, and accommodating as a Summer Breeze.
Should not the witch-bitch be called on and channeled when appropriate in these dire circumstances, should we not draw freely from the repertoire of archetypes to guide us into the ten thousand variations of this human experience?
The witch-bitch shouldn’t be, can’t be, subdued entirely, she is subversively potent and has a rightful place in this world order: she has a divine will, and the means to alchemize what is untrue and unkind and unfair in her cauldron rather than continue to absorb, ingest, and take on because she’s drawn up inner wisdom which speaks to her clearly and directly. It says, this weakens you.
So, enablers, stop drinking their Kool-Aid and instead drop into the silent ledger composed of the recordings made by your soul; everything is there, waiting for overdue recognition, all of your forsaken impressions and your own intelligent sense of things. Do this, then draw up your inner witch-bitch: she wants to have her way with you.
She wants you to stop pretending, to give away your true position and to give up those stowaway poisons to her, the ones you usually keep locked up in your heart, unacknowledged, suppressed. So she can get busy making potions out of those poisons to save your heart from the slow rot of its otherwise quaking dis-ease, and start to heal its despairing, shredded tissues.
She is Kali and she takes no bullshit, she won’t absorb it, ingest it, or take it on, unlike you, who have been taking it for some time: it’s shit, and she is rightfully disgusted by it.
Removes herself from it with a sealed boundary.
Washes her hands clean of it.
Draw a sacred, inviolable line. It is an intuitive step in the right direction. It is a step of many. You won’t always be in this phase of separation, this phase called sacred rage. But you must go through it to move on from it. You must ironically call it out and move into its marrow in order to ever properly heal. Which means first to be free of it. And I mean, really free of it.
So draw a line as a sacred demarcation between you and your Toxic Other; eventually that line is so un-breachable and un-hackable, it will protect the deeper work of figuring out what is good and what is ugly within that sacred boundary, what is constructive and what is sickened, what is strong and what is lazy or apathetic, what is stagnating and what is on the rise.
There is much work ahead of you, of cleaning house, of clarification, of cultivation. But you must first draw the line.
Hold your ground, refuse to be compromised, stand up for the dignity of the self, say no to opening your bundle of resources to those who abuse.
Invoke Pele, who liquefies forms out of the divine knowledge of that which is corrupt, spoiled rotten, or damaged beyond repair; unwaveringly she melts these forms down into their primordial elements in the belly of her volcanic creatrix so that they may have a chance.
Of reconfiguring anew.
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Sarah McKelvey is a free spirit who enjoys introspecting, speculating, and writing about life, love, synchronistic experiences, identity, psyche, self-cultivation, and her various misadventures. She typically writes in the context of traveling, and is informed by Eastern wisdom traditions, depth psychology, and the iconoclastic teachings of Alan Watts. Words are her favorite medium. In her pursuits, she pursues truth, beauty, and goodness, and hopes to, through her endeavors and writing, promote a life-affirming attitude that belongs on the spectrum of love. She lives along the Front Range outside of Denver, and practices psychotherapy professionally.
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