I've shared my thoughts through writing, as a way of organizing discoveries I want to share with my daughters. I have been conflicted by the results of my writing. My writing at times, seems more like an orderless rant. I re-read old entries and see a passive aggressive expression. Other times, it seems like therapy. I was hoping for some legacy. I've watched my writing evolve with the mutation of my thought patterns and emotional synthesis.
My writinghas had a life cycle. The mutation feels a lot like the fine tuning of wisdom. This forum started out sad and grew into resentful. As I learned more about love and my vulnerability, my acceptance expanded. Relationships inspired me. The mistakes made in love, despite feeling genuine, helped me develop a stomach for self correction. That became the emotional synthesis
The synthesis of emotions feels a lot like self acceptance. I finally see myself as intelligent, but without a need to teach. I have reached a point to where my learning isn't as competitive. My learning is growing passionately. I don't have a message for my daughters like I used to. God has blessed me with the luxury of being an example more than a parent. This stage of my writing will be an effort to write, not to my daughters, but to me.
I am capable of loving and accepting the opportunities to be loved. I don't always receive love. But Love doesn't ask to be received because love cannot be rejected. The ego, the surviving pieces of me, and the judging part of me thought I could control who I allowed to love me. I see now how love waits. Love does not creep, solicit, or pester. Love might invite. Love might peek. Love doesn't always have perfect timing, but love doesn't get tired. So I see how love from me and for me, doesn't die.
How much love is there?
Love leads me to passionate topics. Love has inspired me to be naked of unnecessary identities. Examples of this include how my views on race, they are being overshadowed by the emphasis on heritage. My fear of not belonging is being cradled by solitude. My guilt and shame are trusted allies, treasonously providing intelligence for what my shadow hides from me. I may not be worthy to write about love, but I am worthy of writing about the love in me.
