GATHERING STRENGTH
It’s strange to think I never would have found my missing self if I hadn’t taken that left turn.
It was a force both within and outside myself that made me leave the main road. I would have realized something was off had I been paying better attention or making decisions. As it was, I braked just in time for the car to follow as my hands yanked the wheel sharply with a will of their own, directing the vehicle to take the right-angle turn too fast. I made it, straining against the seatbelt, upright, breathing heavily and staring.
Had I continued on as usual, I would not have come to a screeching stop in the pea gravel when I saw myself standing in the middle of that unlined, pitted country lane.
What was I doing standing there in the vehicular crosshairs, in front of my own car, posturing like a watch dog, glaring and unmoving like a fearless fool? Looking for the rest of myself, of course. That’s the answer she gave me when I got out and asked, leaving the running car askew in the middle of the road, forgotten.
Put your finger on my pulse, that other self directed, to prove that she was real. So I did. Here was strength. Here was capability. Here was a woman that would have wrecked my car had I accidentally hit her. But her body and spirit felt cold, unyielding, unforgiving. My fingers were too soft to dent her tough exterior. In this simple interaction, she hurt me, unintentionally, and I drew my hand back, seeking my own infinite warmth and kindness. She was too much challenge and power, not enough heart and softness. All torque, no finesse. She was solid, rigid. Nothing squished, nothing bent, nothing broken. Her chin thrust forward, her voice came out like iron. “You’re soft,” she accused.
“You’re hard,” I whispered.
“What of it?”
“Not a thing.”
Staring at each other, one through slitted eyes the color of a nocturnal ocean storm, one from the gentle openness of a field of cornflowers, we didn’t hear the sky scrape open overhead. There was no thunder. We didn’t see the lightning bolt until it struck. I screamed, weak and worthless. Her fists flew up, noble but futile.
It must have been gathering strength for quite some time to make such an impact. When it hit us, we rammed together with such force that we lost a body in the process. The electric bolt of sky-come-to-earth was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving a stinking, dusty, burnt patch on the pavement, leaving one fortified, strong body, one mouth to say the things that needed to be said, one uncrushable soul, one tender heart that would certainly break yet be able to repair itself. The perfect combination of all that is. Yin and yang. Light and dark. Sun and moon. Expansive love and grit and confidence.
Smoking and patting out flames, I straightened up, shook out my hair, and moved forward. There was nothing left behind.
It’s strange to think I never would have found my missing self if I hadn’t taken that left turn.
It was a force both within and outside myself that made me leave the main road. I would have realized something was off had I been paying better attention or making decisions. As it was, I braked just in time for the car to follow as my hands yanked the wheel sharply with a will of their own, directing the vehicle to take the right-angle turn too fast. I made it, straining against the seatbelt, upright, breathing heavily and staring.
Had I continued on as usual, I would not have come to a screeching stop in the pea gravel when I saw myself standing in the middle of that unlined, pitted country lane.
What was I doing standing there in the vehicular crosshairs, in front of my own car, posturing like a watch dog, glaring and unmoving like a fearless fool? Looking for the rest of myself, of course. That’s the answer she gave me when I got out and asked, leaving the running car askew in the middle of the road, forgotten.
Put your finger on my pulse, that other self directed, to prove that she was real. So I did. Here was strength. Here was capability. Here was a woman that would have wrecked my car had I accidentally hit her. But her body and spirit felt cold, unyielding, unforgiving. My fingers were too soft to dent her tough exterior. In this simple interaction, she hurt me, unintentionally, and I drew my hand back, seeking my own infinite warmth and kindness. She was too much challenge and power, not enough heart and softness. All torque, no finesse. She was solid, rigid. Nothing squished, nothing bent, nothing broken. Her chin thrust forward, her voice came out like iron. “You’re soft,” she accused.
“You’re hard,” I whispered.
“What of it?”
“Not a thing.”
Staring at each other, one through slitted eyes the color of a nocturnal ocean storm, one from the gentle openness of a field of cornflowers, we didn’t hear the sky scrape open overhead. There was no thunder. We didn’t see the lightning bolt until it struck. I screamed, weak and worthless. Her fists flew up, noble but futile.
It must have been gathering strength for quite some time to make such an impact. When it hit us, we rammed together with such force that we lost a body in the process. The electric bolt of sky-come-to-earth was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving a stinking, dusty, burnt patch on the pavement, leaving one fortified, strong body, one mouth to say the things that needed to be said, one uncrushable soul, one tender heart that would certainly break yet be able to repair itself. The perfect combination of all that is. Yin and yang. Light and dark. Sun and moon. Expansive love and grit and confidence.
Smoking and patting out flames, I straightened up, shook out my hair, and moved forward. There was nothing left behind.
