Down the rabbit hole

I love books, stories, poems, plays, tales, yarns . . . I love reading.  I also love art.  All of it.  If someone creates something that is an expression of themselves and calls it art, I am going to love it.  Maybe not love it in the sense that I would buy it and display it in my home, but love it in the sense that I appreciate the creative force that dwells in us all, and specifically in those that are passionate about expressing it.

The above being true, I have been captivated by and drawn to authors and artists who suffer, and whose suffering is the driving force behind their creative endeavors.  I have long imagined what it must feel like to dance on the edge of sanity like Plath; or be almost immobilized by the desperate need of love from another like Van Gogh; to drown shame and self-loathing in alcohol like Poe . . .  I have wanted to know these struggles, these feelings, and yet I have held myself back from that very thing.

Gratitude, love and positive thinking have been incredible tools to assist me through navigating frightening terrain, and I will continue to rely on them in the future.  But I am really feeling called to fall down the rabbit hole.  I trust this Universe.  I trust myself.  I would be lying if I said I were in any way prepared  or unafraid.

Yesterday I realized that it always comes down to doing the most loving thing for me.  I feel, in this moment, that the most loving thing for me is to go through whatever it s that is waiting for me.  As Peter Gabriel says, "Got to get in to get out."

Peace and love.  See you when I get out!