7 months go by and I declare myself healed. Over it. Moved on.


I profess to hardly give a shit and proclaim I can’t really even believe I ever cared.

Then, in an instant, like a breeze that comes from nowhere, it’s all back—hurt, devastation.. a totalness of despair and pain we all at some deeper level understand.

Sometimes it lasts a week.  Sometimes a day.  Usually a few minutes.

Years have passed now.  The hurt, when it hits, is like that first moment, or the first middle of the sleepless night, sometimes worse.

Anger has been an outlet for the hurt.  So have tears.  So has immense, immeasurable drama and words and emotional puking across the land.  Lots of food.  Meditation. Therapists.  Spiritual practice.

More anger.

More practice.

I took a walk today and as I sometimes do, thought about the initial impact of the hurt– I find myself fantasizing about how I wish I had been, what I wish I had said, who I wish I was.

I imagine the next hurt that of course will come as a result of just living in this life and I picture my awesome highest self— being so resolute, so quite, so peaceful, so conscious.

Then, I think back and change my words, my posture, my response—over and over again.

I’ve learned to not talk about it much these days.

When I do, I’m bombarded with stupid fucking quotes about forgiveness and how the only person I’m harming is myself.   About how I just need to get over it, move on, sweep my side of the street, let go, pray, breathe.

I know.

I know all this crap. forgive

I’ve even professed this bullshit to others numerous times.  Of course I want all that— of course I know.    It’s not like I’m some drugged out mental—I’m rigorous, working on my shit, constantly learning and growing and deepening.

But when the hurt comes, saying that stuff is like saying “don’t have a broken leg, it’s not good for you”.

Ridiculous.  Impossible.

Mostly, I’m totally good. When it arrives,  it’s like a storm, like the wind.

I have yet to understand how to control a storm or capture the wind.

Today, I surrender to the hurt.   I now recognize it as a presence within my life and me.  I’m not running from it or wishing for it to be gone or actively seeking some kind of total healing.

I no longer have any expectation to eventually not feel it.  I don’t hope for time to heal.

But man, other people sure do… Especially those who participated in the hurt—they seem to somehow tie the forgiveness I’ve extended (to myself and them) to the end of the hurt and somehow believe that the forgiveness isn’t real if the hurt remains, if the anger flairs, if the drama roles back in, even for a moment.

What I have done, and can do is practice.

I am present and aware when the hurt roles in and I can stable myself.  I can pull out my raincoat and brace for the incoming storm.

I can make sure I don’t react, I don’t act.

I can breathe and move into silence and watch it.

Feel it.

I can remind myself about what matters, who I am.  I surround myself with my noble friends and meditate again and again, constantly amazed and reminded that the practice creates the path.

I’ve begun to see it coming—before the full on hurt arrives, I can see signs that it’s on its way.

I’ve even avoided direct impact occasionally when I’m really present and connected—

I explore the cause, the roots of the hurt.  I rumble around within it and often find new doorways and paths I hadn’t seen before.  I deepen, nearly every time.

Mostly, it’s not around.  Mostly I never even think of it.  And sometimes, it totally consumes me and I can hardly breathe.

I’m grateful.  For the relief, and for the grief.

It’s been such a doorway to so much and I’ve deepened who I am, widened my compassion and perspective in so many ways, found so much opportunity for further growth and a profound understanding of who I am.

Hurt, pain, joy, happiness.  All real.  All good.

I am hurtall good