Raising Humanity Requires Mothering Your Soul
From the book, "Raising Humanity" by Robin Alexis & 22 Storytellers
Am I allowed to cry?
Cry from the self-inflicted wounds festering gangrene on my self-esteem?
Am I allowed to heal?
Heal, having survived a living hell taught so well by one who wished me such ill?
Am I allowed to forgive myself?
For learning all the wrong things, burning with sensations from the mind guards appointed to me?
Yes, you say. But I?
I say the rains won’t come to the desert of my desolation.
No consolation for such a bad, bad, BAD little girl!
Can’t you do anything right!?!?
Oh dear, oh my judge and jury,
Your fury of displeasure towards me is naught compared to my measure of myself.
Don’t you see!?! Don’t you get it!?!
Doesn’t matter to me anymore what you think of me,
what I’ve done, or who you want me to be.
Doesn’t matter anymore . . . never really did.
Slay me, slay me, but slay me no more.
I have washed ashore to the salvation of awareness
The Pit held the Knowledge
filled with the bones of those who chose not to know
But I . . . was not one of them.
I came back – —battered, splattered, and trailing flamboyantly my seeming misdeeds
like trophies. Giddy and starved, tripping, sliding, foaming insanity.
I fell exhausted before the Opening.
When I finally awakened, the blinding Light assaulted my senses. Bad trip?
My Soul’s lifetime, was it? Yeah, very bad trip.
I’m allowed to cry and heal and forgive myself.
Yeah, that and more.
Oh, so much more.
For I shall mother me.