Cristen Rodgers's Blog, page 14

What an Introvert Knows

Some people are never alone in the quiet libraries of their minds and the open meadows of their hearts; while other people are lonely despite being overtly adored and surrounded by family and friends.

Some people embrace vulnerability while sitting in dusty bookstores, or wandering alone through the trees; while others hide in plain sight, wearing masks of steel and vying for center stage.

Sometimes confidence means being comfortably quiet in a world that’s spinning out of control, while fear means speaking often, jovially, and loud.

There are times when bravery looks like a cozy corner away from the noise, despite the snickers and sneers of those who don’t understand, while cowardice dances wildly wearing a cloak of confidence and a string of painted smiles.

Rebellion sometimes dresses in ambivalence and modesty, while conformity dons the current fashion of those who want to rebel; and security can sometimes be mistaken as a fear of change, while insecurity fears a moment without it.

Sometimes courage means sitting down and listening, and fear can mean shutting others down so you can speak out. Sometimes the ones who understand the most are the ones who won’t offer you advice; and sometimes the ones who always have answers are actually empty inside.

Some people are so happy that they aren’t afraid to cry, while others smile constantly to hide that they’re suffering inside. Some people are straight faced when they tell a lie, while the honest ones are fidgety and nervous because they’re pulling every last drop of courage they have inside.

Sometimes the sincerest are those who are questioned the most, while those with the most fans are just masters of imagery and mimicry. Sometimes the one who cries the loudest is actually the one who causes the tears; and sometimes the ones bleeding the most were taught to never speak out.

Sometimes the truth is overgeneralized, while the most complex webs are spun by those who live a lie. Sometimes things aren’t what at first they seem, and sometimes those who scream at others to wake up are the ones still lost in a dream.

© Cristen Rodgers

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It Does Matter

Words are so much more than mere symbols, and they’re so much stronger than the simplicity of speaking suggests. Words are sacred vessels that carry the soul of whomever speaks them; they’re precious ewers that hold energy, feeling, and intent.

A collection of words is like a pantheon of gods – each one ethereal, immortal, effectual, and powerful. A single word, once spoken, lives on forever. A single word holds the power to harm and to heal, to create and destroy. A single word has the capacity to translate thought into form, to open entire dimensions of possibility, or to abruptly close the door.

Words are like magic – an ancient and particularly powerful sort – but what kinds of spells are we collectively casting?

It’s clear when you look at billboards, magazines, and computer screens that we’ve traded clarity for speed, and we’ve sacrificed our love of meaning for an infatuation with memes.

We’ve glorified the quick-witted at the expense of the well thought out, and we’ve dismissed subjectivity, complexity, and creativity in these bland, biased, and barren one-liners that jump out at us from our social media feeds.

People are speaking more but saying less, and everyone is projecting while few are reflecting. There’s a surplus of opinions masking a lack of knowledge; and instead of authenticity, we celebrate a cheap imitation that used to be called flippancy.

While we revel in the fast, memorable, and loud, we’re losing sight of the things that can only be explored through real connections, with in-depth and articulate conversations. As we rush forward with ever increasing speed, we’re leaving no time for our true thinkers and shunning our philosophers – leaving people with no choice but to appeal to the lowest common denominator.

In a rich ironic twist, our current reality is a testament to the true power of words. For years, people have been saying that actions speak louder than words, and so for years we’ve given them less consideration, less value, and less care. Now what was once just a metaphor is quickly becoming a veritable claim – because what we declare we will create, especially on a collective level.

Words do have power; and that power is backfiring on those who would deny it.

Words do matter. How we use them does matter. Denying, dismissing, and downplaying that power won’t make it go away. It just leads us to wield it ever more haphazardly.

People end up getting hurt when we don’t take responsibility for how we say things.

People end up becoming more divided when we don’t look for diplomatic, compassionate, and thoughtful ways of exploring ideas.

People end up losing truth when we over-simplify things, when unacknowledged subjectivities and complexities become evidence against known truths rather than reason to more deeply explore them.

Any tool can incidentally become a weapon when it’s used carelessly – and that’s what’s happening in the world today. Where clear, honest, and intentional language once helped us unite, understand, empathize, and multiply our knowledge, now oversimplified, biased, rhetorical, and clumsy language is serving to divide us and limit us, and placing knowledge back in a locked drawer that’s only accessible to a select few much like it was thousands of years ago.

It’s time to put a stop to this regression before it’s too late.

In a world where people swing words around like sharp swords, unconcerned with whom they may cut; it’s time to slow down a little and choose instead to be gentle.

In a world drenched in sarcasm, simplification, and shallowness; it’s time to take it upon ourselves to look for the deeper truth.

In a world where people use words to curse, cut, and criticize; it’s time to rise up and speak clearly, honestly, and passionately about what’s important, what’s real, and what’s right.

It’s time as a society to get back to the basics. To start speaking truth rather than spreading lies. To start acknowledging subjectivity, to take time enough to explore complexity, to slow down and respect our ideas enough to speak clearly, and to give others the time and space to do the same.

Most importantly, it’s time to stop pretending that there’s some conflict between being honest and being kind.

You can express yourself freely and openly while still being clear, kind, and compassionate; and you can be authentic without voicing every opinion that crosses your mind.

There is more to integrity than honesty alone. You can be honest and be wrong; and you can be honest and be cruel. Honesty does not imply righteousness, unless it’s the honesty not of the mind but of the soul – that part of you that understands the big picture, that’s never rushed, and that knows whatever you say to another you’re also saying to yourself.

We have real power, each and every one of us – and a great part of that power is manifested through the ways and reasons we speak. If we want to heal this world, we have to start by healing our relationship with words.

It’s time for those of us with eyes to see and ears to hear to rise up.

It’s time for every soulful artist, every awakened woman, and every conscious man to rise up and show this world how it’s done.

It’s time to rise up and let our voices be like blooming flowers and our songs be like white light, to let our thoughts be like a spring breeze and our writing as a lightning strike.

It’s time to rise up and show this world just how powerful, playful, freeing, and wildly beautiful it can really be to choose our words mindfully, compassionately, and intentionally.

©2017 Cristen Rodgers

Image: Ni Haifeng, The Domesticated, 2003

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Goddess Rebellion

I am a living rebellion. My very existence is a protest. My truth and my life is a provocation, a challenge to these lies that we’re all being fed.

I refuse to allow these deceptions to define me. They cannot, for I denounce them with every breath I take. I mock them with every step I take. I refute them by simply being who I am.

Lies that are subversively slipped into our subconscious minds through the ads that we scroll past on our screens. Lies that, like sugar-coated poison, are sprinkled all around us in our daily lives. Lies photo shopped on magazine covers and lies acted out on our television screens.

Lies by omission, implying that perfection is beauty and beauty is feminine. Lies telling us that beauty is soft and smooth, delicate, graceful, and slightly off-balance. Lies telling us that it’s all about sex appeal, about poise, posture, perfection, and plastic, about being willingly objectified, always willing, needy, and wanting.

I refuse to treat myself like a sculpture that requires the constant application of creams and paint to maintain that one moment, that one aspect, captured in time – that one side of femininity, that one image of beauty that we’re taught to adore and emulate.

I am not a sculpture. I am fluid and alive. I am a kaleidoscope of various hues that transition constantly, that mingle and merge.

There’s no single snapshot that can show who I really am, because I’m so much more than a single moment, a single movement, a single expression could ever convey – so I won’t aspire to that image. I won’t aspire to always be beautiful because that’s not my truth. I am not always beautiful. I am not always anything.

I work hard and I enjoy physical labor. I like to play in the dirt and I love to create and build things. I open my own jars of pickles. My hands aren’t soft and smooth. They aren’t weak, they aren’t always gentle, and my nails aren’t always manicured.

My hands are strong and hard and sometimes slightly calloused. These hands weren’t built to be pretty. They were built to be used. And I use them for all manner of things, not just to adorn with jewels or to lavish a lover.

This doesn’t diminish their ability to be tender and loving. This doesn’t make them less feminine, and it doesn’t make me less beautiful. I reject this notion that a woman’s hands should be soft, supple, dainty, and delicate.

Instead, I will allow my hands to be a living defiance.

I like to go barefoot and splash through puddles. I prefer walking to riding in some box on wheels, following a prescribed concrete path. My feet know the different textures of the land intimately, so they aren’t always soft but a bit rough. It’s not unusual to see them covered in leaves, with scratches and scrapes from twigs and thorns.

They aren’t the kind of feet that are coddled and hidden from the elements. They’re the kind that have walked many miles and will walk many more.

This doesn’t make me less womanly. It doesn’t diminish their beauty. I refuse to abide by this lie that they should always be silky soft and pretty in pink.

Instead, I will allow my feet to be a living defiance.

I am not always serene. I’m not always smiling, comforting, or seducing. Sometimes I get angry and sometimes I cry. Sometimes I’m tired, hungry, sick, or strained. I love to contemplate and study, and I enjoy getting lost in the depths of concentration. My face isn’t always relaxed and open. Sometimes it’s sharp like a hawk and sometimes it furrows with intense concentration.

My face wasn’t made to be appealing, pretty, or seductive. My face was made to express and convey an endless array of emotions, sensations, thoughts, and feelings. Its colors are as vast as those in my soul. My face is not art. My face is my artist’s tool – not the canvas, but the paintbrush; not the poem but the pen.

This doesn’t diminish my unique kind of beauty and it doesn’t take away from my feminine energy. I will not live according to such dishonest standards. I will not pretend that my face should always be appealing.

Instead, I will allow my face to be a living defiance.

I thrive when I can put this body to work. I love to feel my muscles burn and to test my physical limits. I enjoy being active and doing strenuous exercise. My muscles are hard and my body is tough. My curves are not gentle but severe, pulled taut from years of hard work.

This doesn’t diminish my womanhood or somehow cancel out my ability to be sensual or to be submissive. I dispute the lie that a woman should be soft with gentle curves and a statuesque figure. I will not drink from that cup of deceit.

Instead, I will allow my body to be a living defiance.

I will not aspire to the likes of Aphrodite, Venus, and Cerridwen at the expense of Athena, Kali, and Minerva. I am not a goddess of love or of sensuality or even of peace. I am a goddess of all of the above.

I will not abide by these lies that are painted on billboards and starved half to death on our runways. I know better than to believe that beauty can only be found in roses, butterflies, and sunsets. Are not the mountains beautiful as well, with their towering heights and their sharp edges? Are not the wolves and their sinuousness and ferociousness as beautiful as the doves with their soft feathers and gentle coos?

Beauty is not soft. It is not off-balance, precarious in stance or form. Beauty isn’t perfect. Beauty is that energy within, that ever-present potential that arises spontaneously and in a vast array of exciting combinations – not just one form, one image, one ideal, one standard. Beauty is also hard and strong. It’s also steady. Beauty is perfect and imperfect, natural and painted, wanting and fulfilled.

A woman shouldn’t be beautiful. A woman shouldn’t be gentle. A woman needn’t be soft. A woman should be whatever a woman is – from one moment to the next – without the need to hold fast to one prescribed notion of beauty or of anything else.

I am a woman and I am not soft. I am not beautiful. I am not gentle. I am endless potential. I can be both soft and hard, both tender and forceful. I am not just the wind but also the thunder. Not just a trickling stream but also a hurricane. I am all of the above and so much more.

I am a provocation, a challenge, a rebellion. My existence is a protest. And my hands, my feet, my face, and my body – they are a living defiance.

©2017 Cristen Rodgers

Image by Saver-ag on Deviantart

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We the Dreamers

We are the dreamers, the ones with souls as deep as oceans and with the reflections of stars in our upturned eyes. We’re the wistful, the hopeful, and the quiet ones, gazing off in the distance with that absent but knowing smile.

With our heads in the clouds and our hearts on our sleeves, we slip past the edges of reality and dance through vast blooming fields of possibility. We’re not afraid to dive down deep as we search for treasures lost to culture, ego, and time – imagining a world where the earth and humans could mutually thrive.

We’re the believers, the ones who have faith in things you can’t physically see. We trust in nature’s abundance, the power of authenticity, and in the mysteries of divine synchronicity. We’re the crazy ones who walk and talk as if our dreams were already a reality, the ones who don’t care how unlikely they might yet seem.

We are the healers, the ones who’ve come to turn lead into gold. We don’t shy away from shadows, danger, or even pain. We’ve walked through our own fears and into the truth that waits on the other side, so we can walk through this world’s darkness and show others the way back into the light.

We’re the warm embrace of the mother on cold winter’s nights and the soothing voice that quiets the shrieks of broken hearts and tired minds. We’re the healing balm that gently helps you look beyond your pain, and the whisper urging you to open up and try living again.

We are the artists, the creators, and the hopeless romantics of all sorts. We’re the ones who see beauty in everything, who swim in seas of passion, and who feel compelled to express that zealously. We’re the ones made up of both fire and ice, who are in love with every hue, tint, and tone of this thing called life.

We’re the agitators, the instigators, the ones who question, challenge, and trigger this age. We’re here to slyly usher in the most difficult and the most necessary change.

We’re the empaths, the philosophers, and the thinkers too. We’re the ones with eagle eyes and an unstoppable urge to find the truth. We’re the ones applying old knowledge to the creation of a great new age, the architects of the future and those crafting keys to unlock our collective cage.

We are the wild ones with windblown hair and dirt on our feet. We’re the free ones, the rebels, the pagans and hippies, the ones who sing around fires, dance in the rain, and speak to the trees.

We are the people who society has always demonized, the truth of our beliefs rarely recognized. We’re the ones trying to remind you that we aren’t living in nature but are nature living, the ones who are too open to worry so we just keep on giving.

We are the resiliency of the human heart. We’re the hope that forever survives. We are the side of human nature that you’ve been taught to deny and hide. We are your neighbors, your brothers and sisters, your teachers, students, and friends. We are the spirit of creativity, curiosity, hope, beauty, and life that never ends.

We are the children of the divine, sparks of the eternal flame. We are all brothers and sisters, regardless of race, religion, or name. And we’re here to dream, create, heal, challenge, and teach, to usher in a new kind of world that’s anchored in love, beauty, life, and a lasting peace.

We are all pieces of the same great puzzle of life – each with our own gifts, powers, and unique insights. There’s never been one better than another, only the need to come together with respect and love for each other. Heaven on earth is a dream that together we can create, if only we look with acceptance, openness, and communion rather than judgement, fear, and hate.

So be true to who you are and dance to the beat of your own heart. Follow your soul’s guidance and invest in your own art. Look with compassion and love upon the rest of humanity, so we can see what beauty the greater picture might turn out to be.

© 2017 Cristen Rodgers

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My Kind of Spirituality

My kind of spirituality is the kind that needs no name. It respects no rules and fits no form. It’s as unique as an evening star, and fluid as the morning mists.

My kind of spirituality doesn’t come from the pages of a book, but rises up from the depths of my soul. My sacred scriptures are written on the river currents and my favorite hymns are whispered on the wind. The forest is my church and my body is my holy temple. My favorite teachers are the birds and the trees; and among my guides are the sun, moon, and stars.

My kind of spirituality honors all prophets and respects all saints; and it recognizes truth no matter its guise. I hang out with Buddha and talk with Christ. I serve love and obey my heart. I bow before the mother earth, beauty, light, and father sky; and I think of worship as writing poetry, planting flowers, and making love.

My kind of spirituality is the kind that respects all life and knows the consciousness in all things. It’s about honoring people, beasts, the skies, and the seas at once and equally. I speak to the animals and sometimes hug the trees. I humble myself before mountains and streams, flow with the breeze, and speak directly to the sun.

My kind of spirituality is the kind that dives down deep. I see peoples’ colors and hear their vibes. I feel what others feel. I know what you’re trying to tell me even when you have no words.  I believe in the healing touch and the power of unconditional love; and I see divinity in everything.

My kind of spirituality is about being as free as the birds, grounded as the trees, and honest as the clear blue sea. My heaven is here on earth, and my hell is too. The whispers of my spirit are my pastor, priest, and cleric, and my savior is in the mirror looking back at me.  In divine synchronicity I trust, in love I am purified, and in my own tears I have been baptized.

My kind of spirituality isn’t at odds with yours, whatever it may be. I love your spirit. I respect your truth. I see the light that shines from behind your eyes and I’m in awe of the beauty that you hold inside.   I’ll be your teacher if you will be mine.

My kind of spirituality is the kind that others may not always understand, but it leads me to truth as surely as the rivers run into the sea.  All that really matters is that my kind of spirituality is exactly what I need it to be. My kind of spirituality is the kind that’s right for me.

©2017 Cristen Rodgers

Photograph by James Autery

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Go Ahead and Look Back

People like to say that you should never look back. They like to recite catchy little lines like don’t look back, you’re not going that way, or keep your eyes on the road ahead, not behind you – but the truth is rarely so simple as to fit in a convenient little one-liner, and these are no exception.

It’s true that there’s a point when the past is best left in the past, but only after its monsters have been laid to rest and its lessons learned. As long as those monsters are still alive, as long as they still let out the occasional roar and they bare their teeth when you get too close, there’s still work to be done – and if you choose not to do that work, to push it aside, bury it away, or deny its importance, those monsters will continue to scream louder and louder until they get your attention.

You have to look back. Even if it hurts. Even if it’s scary. Even if it embarrasses or saddens you. You have to look back because the things you’ve seen, felt, loved, lost, and learned have made you who you are. And knowing who you are is the first step towards taking control of who you will become.

Like any good story, there is more than one lesson hidden in the pages of your life that have already been turned. Sometimes you have to re-read something to gain a new perspective, to catch the subtleties tucked between the lines, and pick up insights that you missed the first time.

Sometimes the most important step you will take is the one where you stand still and assess where you’ve already been. When you leave unresolved issues, un-relinquished guilt, and unforgiven foes to roam the halls of your past, there’s no lock strong enough to keep them from occasionally breaking out and trampling all over your carefully laid plans for the future. But if you acknowledge those ghosts, if you listen to what they’re trying to tell you, show them love, and forgive them their sins, they won’t feel the need to haunt you further.

Often times, people say that you should never look back because it’s not always easy to look at the past without getting stuck in the past. But this doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t occasionally take a minute to remember where you’ve been. It just means that you should be sure you’re doing it for the right reasons.

If your intent is to cling, or mourn things long gone, to beat yourself up for past mistakes, or to nurture a sense of resentment towards yourself or someone else, the only thing you’ll end up doing is spoiling today’s canvas with an unnecessary mess of yesterday’s tears.

The purpose of looking back isn’t to blame, escape, or excuse, but to learn, grow, and heal. The trick is to look back without going back, to experience things not as you already have but in a new and better way – to look with the clarity of hindsight, to assess with the wisdom of added years, and to practice the kind of compassion that comes from having already survived.

Each time that you approach the past with integrity, compassion, and honesty, you’ll dig up a new little gem of insight to take back with you. And as you gather these many gems, you’ll grow increasingly rich in wisdom – the kind of wisdom that you can share with others who may be facing things similar to what you once did.

This is how you give purpose even to your pain. This is how looking back can help you improve the way ahead. This is how you begin to see that beauty sometimes hides in the places least expected. This is how you take control of who you will be – by accepting who you once were, by embracing the lessons of the past, and by applying that wisdom to the present. This is how the seed, buried in darkness, begins to sprout. The phoenix, reduced to ashes, begins to reform. This is how you, once in a state of responding, transition to a state of becoming.

So go ahead and look back. Take whatever time is necessary to make peace with where you’ve been, or else you’ll never quite understand where you’re going. Invest in your future by honoring the past, by listening to the lessons that are still echoing down its corridors. Don’t let this world push you ahead when you feel like lingering awhile longer. Do what’s right for you. Always do what’s right for you.

©2016 Cristen Rodgers

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In Thanks

Thank you to the sun, for rising each morning without fail or applause. Thank you for every kiss that you laid upon my upturned face (your touch always did make me blush), and thank you for coaxing the flowers up from their cozy beds. Thank you for peeking out long enough to lift my spirits after the vibrant colors of summer had given way to winter’s chilly greys. And thank you for warming me when that chill tried to creep into my bones.

Thank you for splashing your light across my living room walls, for sending it in slivers through the sharp edges of the city, and for painting it in patterns upon my skin. Thank you for the fireworks that went off as it reflected off of water, wedding rings, and windows. And thank you for the way it played with the shadows cast by leaves, fence posts, and eyelashes.

Thank you to the trees, for remaining steadfast and strong. Thank you for your devotion, even to those who would take your life away. Thank you for giving breath to this world and for dutifully cleansing what others so casually despoiled.

I thank you for every moment of relaxation enjoyed beneath your sheltering canopies. Thank you for your immense presence and your incredible strength. And thank you for the afternoons spent walking among your forests, where your healing and balancing energy never failed to restore me.

Most of all, thank you for all of the many lessons. Thank you for showing me how to be strong, and also how to give a little in the midst of the storm. Thank you for reminding me that, beneath the surface, we’re all connected, and for showing me what it means to reach for heaven while remaining rooted in our mother earth.

Thank you to the moon, for softly illuminating the truths that I couldn’t look at in the harsh brightness of day. Thank you for reminding me that it’s okay to go through phases, and for guiding me in and out of life lessons just like you guide the waters in and out of the shores. Thank you for helping me reacquaint myself with softness, with the wilderness within me, and for reminding me that I need not fear the dark.

Thank you to the flowers, the bees, the birds, and the tall grasses that giggle in the wind. Thank you for the simple joys that you offer, for the reminders about how to be present, to slow down, to just be, and to laugh without reason. Thank you to the rivers, the oceans, the lakes, and the rains. Thank you to the tears of joy and of sadness. Thank you for cleansing me, us, everything. Thank you for sustaining the endless cycle of give and take and for reminding me to do the same.

I thank my heart, for always leading me back home. Thank you for gently pulling me back into love, for teaching me how to open up – how to let the world in and let myself out. Thank you for whispering to me, urging me to practice compassion even in the face of pain. And thank you for being patient with me as I was learning what it meant to give without expecting something back.

Thank you for bleeding. Thank you for the chances you gave me to learn that within every pain is a promise. For teaching me that it’s not about avoiding hurt but about what you do with it. Most of all, thank you for finally learning how to turn inside out. It wasn’t easy to take that chance and release all of the judgments that I held about myself. And for that, my heart, I thank you.

And finally, thank you to all of the precious souls I’ve met. Thank you for your presence. Thank you for your love and support. Thank you for being who you are and for allowing me to witness that beauty unfolding like the petals of a magnificent flower.

Thank you for allowing me to witness the play of light and shadow within your eyes, like the morning sun did when filtering through the blinds.

Thank you for being uniquely you, and for teaching me the tough lessons, like the trees did as their branches sighed in the wind and their energy wrapped itself around me.

Thank you for every giggle, laugh, and comfortable silence that we enjoyed together. Thank you for pulling me back into the present moment, in a way similar to the birds, and the bumble bees, and the flowers of all sorts.

Thank you for sharing the different aspects of who you are, for allowing each phase to be seen and known, just like the moon embraces and shares each of hers.

To my friends on the street, at home, online, and abroad, and to every one of my readers as well, I thank you. Thank you for teaching me, for supporting me, for hearing me, and for loving me. And thank you for allowing me the opportunity to hear you, to love you, to support you, and to teach you as well.

Thank you twenty-sixteen, for your gifts and lessons. For your struggles and triumphs. Thank you for the time spent with my loved-ones, for the moments of feverish writing, and for the times of utter inner silence. Thank you for the new laugh lines at the corners of my eyes, and for every turn around the spiral staircase of growth. I close this year with a deep bow in humble thanks for all that you have brought me. And now I lift my eyes to the shining road opening up ahead.

©2016 Cristen Rodgers

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The Road Behind Me

There will always be farther to go; but I’m proud of just how far I’ve already come.  I’ve stripped away layer after excruciating layer of who I thought I was, what I thought I knew, and what I wanted to believe.  I’ve cleared away the rubble and put out the flames, and discovered my soul buried beneath.  I have faced fears and conquered demons.  I’ve unveiled truths and illuminated shadows; and through it all I’ve learned that love will always prevail.

Broken and bleeding in a pit of fear, I was lifted up on the wings of love.  I learned to love myself and my journey; and now I am in love with love itself.   I love this earth and her creatures, the wind in her skies, the water in her veins, and the fire in her heart.  I’ve fallen in love with the stars and the moon, the light of the sun, and even the darkness of night.

Like a star being reborn, I had to collapse in upon myself until my true essence broke free and scattered in an ethereal cloud of love, hope, chaos, and fire.  I’ve died a thousand deaths, each time reinventing myself brighter, stronger, and purer than before.  From the midst of destruction, I became the creator of myself.  From the midst of darkness, I became my own source of light.

I wasn’t born with courage or strength.  I had to take the path less traveled and pick them up along the way.  When the time came, I didn’t stare down my fears like a natural born heroine.  I trembled down to my bones and I turned back more times than I can count before I finally took one tentative step forward, followed by another and then another.

And I didn’t learn to speak my truth with grace.  I learned it through countless failed attempts that ended in snickers and sneers that scared me away.  Time and time again, I had to speak with a trembling voice and with my face flushed with fear before I finally figured out how to just let go and allow my soul to naturally sing.

I didn’t question my beliefs passively but catastrophically.  My knees quaked and my stomach churned while I watched the world turn upside down.  But I pushed on.  Because I knew that there was something more.  Something pure.  Something unafraid.  Something loving.  Something true.  Something that was within me all along.

With much time, many tears, and a good measure of trust, I slowly started to learn.  I learned to embrace my vulnerabilities.  I learned to laugh as I stripped away the falsehoods and uncertainties that cloaked my spirit.  I learned how to follow my heart instead of my head.

And I’m still learning even today.  I still have times when I instinctively try to hide or downplay my truth, my light, my flaws, my shadows.  But now I believe in myself, I trust my divine guidance, and I trust the process.  I know that beauty doesn’t come from perfection but from authenticity, that strength doesn’t come from hardened armor but from a softened heart – and this helps me overcome that instinct no matter how strong it may be.

I’ve learned, but I still have my days.  I have days when I look around and it seems as if everyone else is much farther ahead.  I see other people who never knew fear as intimately as I.  I see other people who knew unconditional love earlier than I.  I see other people who walk gentler, who love deeper, who are braver, kinder, smarter, stronger, and who see things more clearly.

I see them and I’m tempted to backtrack.  I’m tempted to fall into those same old feelings of unworthiness, of insecurity, of self-judgment.  I’m lured into questioning myself – whether I’ve come far enough, if I’m trying hard enough, or if I’m progressing fast enough.

But I no longer fall into that downward spiral because I understand that this journey is mine and mine alone.  I know there’s no sense in comparing one path to another, no standard that can apply to different souls.  I know that those who seem so far ahead were once just like me, and I can learn by paying attention to the clues they left behind.

This understanding has planted within me a burning desire to leave clues for others in much the same way, to help them navigate their own way through the wilderness.  And so I do my part.  I do my part by sharing my own story of survival, discovery, learning, and healing, by putting it all out there for everyone to see.  I am committed to giving others what I once wished I had – a glimpse of what the process can look like, an honest portrayal of the struggles, and celebrating the triumphs.  I will share what I’ve learned as I’ve taken down my own giants, faced my own monsters, and dispelled my own shadows.

I know now that the best way to help others is by helping myself.  By continuing to grow and by refusing to compare.  I understand that every journey is as unique as a single snowflake glistening in the evening sky – but one that’s taking place among countless others.  Now I trust in the power of my authenticity to work in mysterious and profound ways; because I know that we’re all in this together, and together we can bring beauty and light even to the darkest of each other’s times.

© 2016 Cristen Rodgers

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Through Their Eyes

In this life, my dear, you are going to meet some people who don’t accept you for who you are.  Some may try to change or fix you.  Others might judge and criticize you.

Some people will accept you only until you hit a rough patch, until you make a mistake or struggle with a lesson – and then they will get stuck there, never moving on to the better things that come after.  And some won’t even make it that far, instead drawing dark conclusions about you and clinging to them no matter how brightly you may shine.

I know it can hurt, beautiful soul, but it’s a fact of life that you can’t make everyone love you, or even like you.  And this fact can’t be changed by how hard you pray or how long you meditate.  It’s not about how much you give, or how willingly you trust, how deeply you love, or how passionately you try.

Some people won’t like you regardless of what you do or don’t do.  And that’s okay, because you’re not for everyone.  You are too unique to be good enough for billions of different people; and you’re too deliciously complex to please everyone you meet.

Most of these people will pass right by you without leaving a mark.  They’ll step into your life and, by the time you realize that they don’t like you, your paths will have already diverged.  Or they’ll walk alongside you for a while, but stay at enough of a distance that their opinions can’t quite reach you.

I wish I could tell you that this is where it ends, but life isn’t always easy.  Sometimes, the people who don’t love you or don’t approve of you are going to be those that you want to the very most.  It might be a family member, a teacher or partner, or maybe someone you thought was a friend.

These are the ones that leave a mark, because they’re the ones that you’ve already let in – the ones that have a place in your inner sanctum, behind the walls that usually keep the naysayers and haters at bay.

Every once in a while, it’s really going to hurt.  When someone you love or respect refuses to see the goodness and the beauty that’s woven into your being, their opinions have this way of seeping into your heart and trying to turn it against you.  And if you’re not careful, their criticisms can begin echoing in your head as if they were your own.  You will be tempted to start looking at yourself through their eyes rather than yours.

I hope you listen to this, kind heart, because it might just help you step around some of the potholes that broke my ankles a few too many times.  You can’t control someone else’s perception.  You can’t change how they choose to think – and, no matter how hard you try, you can’t make them feel any way that they don’t want to.

Everyone looks at the world through their own lens, with their own assumptions, striving to fulfill their own needs and desires.  Often times, what people see in you is really just a reflection of what they’re looking for, what they’re accustomed to, what they believe, and what they want to see.  It’s more about them than it is about you.

Even the people who are special to you.  Even those who hold a special place in your heart, that haunt your mind, or who’ve touched, comforted, and held your body.  Everyone has to make the choice for themselves to either look with the clear eyes of the heart or to peer through the buildup of their own assumptions.  And when the people closest to you choose the latter, there’s nothing you can do to change that.

What you can do is remember not to give them the power to define your own sense of worth, goodness, or success.  You can remember that your purpose in this life isn’t to make them like you, accept you, or even to get them to love you.  Your purpose is just to be you, to be so completely true to who you are deep inside that the wrong ones will find their own way out and leave room for the right ones to enter.

Be warned though, my dear, that there is a very fine line between not caring about people’s opinions and not caring about people.  And where you stand on that line makes all the difference.

Don’t allow the pain of not being accepted drive you to not accept others.  Instead, devote yourself to seeing the beauty in those who refuse to see the beauty in you.  Because that kind of compassion, understanding, care, and clarity of sight is exactly what makes you so very stunning.  Don’t let their inability to see your beauty work to diminish it.

Rather, just shine brighter and allow them to think what they will.  Don’t worry over whether they like or love you.  Just focus on why you like and love yourself.  Focus on being the best you can be for you.  Face the fear of disapproval and conquer it.

Believe me when I tell you that, if you learn how to walk through that fear, to make peace with the fact that you’re not everyone’s cup of tea, you’ll eventually reveal a part of yourself that is so pure that it’s as light as a feather and just as unique and precious.

And that’s what really matters, because there are going to be other kinds of people that come into your life too, and that stunning spirit of yours, your willingness to give love, to be compassionate, and to be accepting is what they’ll see.

There are going to be people who fall absolutely, hopelessly in love with you the moment that they lay eyes on you.  There will be some who manage see your inner light when all you can see are shadows.  Some people will carry you when you’re too tired to walk, and others will offer you the privilege of carrying them when they are.

Some will come along and show you beautiful things about yourself and about the world that you’d never recognized before.  And some will step onto your path one day and end up walking it with you until the end.

And these people won’t judge your imperfections, fear your individuality, or be deterred by your shadows – they’ll love your quirks, be intrigued by your complexities, and be drawn by your light.  The real love, acceptance, support, and companionship that you crave doesn’t need to be earned – simply by letting go and being true to yourself, it will come to you on its own.

So, rest your weary mind and bring your focus back in, back from the minds and emotions of others and into your own.  Remember that you aren’t here to work your way into someone else’s heart but to unabashedly follow your own.

©2016 Cristen Rodgers

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And So it Is

In the light of the sun, may we loop the final stitch in all that’s been shorn unduly apart; and by the soft glow of the moon let us smooth out what remains of all our old scars.

When we feel the slight itch of a past pain, let us casually brush it away – and as the last remnants of that wound flake off, may we find that a new kind of beauty and strength has grown in its place.

So it is; and so it may be.

Let the discomforts that once drowned us become oceans of strength – and the hidden hurricanes of our fears settle into a welcome wind at our backs.

May the thorns along our path learn from tasting our blood as much we’ve learned from suffering their bites.  May those we no longer need withdraw from our path, and may new blessings begin to bloom in their place.

So it is; and so may it be.

May we find all of the answers we seek in the depth of our souls – and let the light of their truth guide us as we transform and ascend, like the sun guides the lotus on its journey of emergence from the mud.

So it is; and so may it be.

May we be respectful enough to feel the heartbeats of those who came before us vibrating through the soles of our feet.  And may we be humble enough to hear the voices of those who will come after us as they softly sigh in the wind.

May we recognize the spark of Divinity within ourselves; and may we recognize ourselves in one another.  May we see this earth as an extension of our own souls and see ourselves as an extension of the stars.

So it is; and so may it be.

Let us remember when our emotions begin to whip and roar and our blood starts crashing through us in waves that the storm only exists within our minds.

May we develop the presence to pause, the consciousness to control ourselves, and the courage to concede to the greater plan.  And through it all let us have the levity to laugh at our mistakes and to learn from the moment.

So it is; and so it may be.

May we come to know love, learn to live in love, and eventually understand what it means to be love.  May we reach out and grasp every chance as it flutters by – and let us always appreciate its delicate beauty and allow ourselves to get lost in the tenderness of its touch.

Let us become so helplessly addicted to love that we look for it everywhere and in everything.  May it permeate our every thought and may it be the source of our inspiration, the force behind our action, and the definition of our every intention in the world within as much as the world around us.

So it is, and so may it be.

©2016 Cristen Rodgers

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