Coming clean cuts like a knife

It’s Monday morning and I have a hell of a lot to write about; and a whole lot of it that I really don’t want to write about, some of it that I do, and some of it that I am compelled to write about.
So in lies my dilemma.
Last week I was bemoaning the dry spell and burn-out that had arisen from perpetually pulling my heart out of my chest and letting it do all the talking as I wrote about life in the weeks since Jon committed suicide.
And I was tired. I really was creatively burned out, used up, parched of emotions, and ready for a break. So I just quit trying to find all the answers at the end of my fingers on a keyboard.
Little did I know that the Universe once again was conspiring to assist me in the next leg of my journey. I think it always knows what I need. I just have to be open to it, stand back, or just plain ask the right questions of myself.
But of course, there are no next steps in life, truly, until a lesson is learned or, as I am about to discover, until I cough up some undelivered emotional communication.
That’s going to happen for me today at 2 p.m. when I take all the positive and negative events that I have discovered (with help from my counsellor) in my relationship with Jon and communicate and complete them without loud apologies, statements of forgiveness, or statements of emotional significance.
It all sounds big and wordy, but what it really boils down to is about me moving towards being complete by coming clean. I would be stupid to think that I do not have undelivered communications to my dear late Jon in all three categories that I need to release to the Universe.
I readily admit, however, at this very moment I would rather have dental work done through my backside than open that gate just so I can close it. Just thinking about saying these things out loud to my counsellor makes me run to the bathroom as if I had food poisoning.
But if I don’t do my “me” work, I do not heal and I do not get to pass “GO.” This I know for sure.
I also know for sure that yoga is the new bomb for this green thumb mat monkey. If I’m not already taller from all that stretching, then I am well on my way to becoming the tree I want to be in my next life.
I am learning the true meaning of “focus” and “breathe.” And although I’m still falling over while attempting it, I am learning to hold a pose I’ve only seen in the movie “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon.”
And although this next statement begs to be expounded on in many more columns—and it will be . . . “I am going to Wales in the United Kingdom for nine days in May.”
This is the miracle reward I received from the Universe, at no cost to me, when I was standing in the shower one night last week thinking “maybe I should start travelling and write ‘The View From Here’ from somewhere else.”
The next morning, I had a random, “pulled the rabbit out of the top hat” e-mail from a world traveller I know who was important to me even before I received the ticket money to “go smell the salt sea air and wash away my past and get healed.”
The quote I have on the wall above my writing desk that says “Today is where your book begins . . . the rest is still unwritten” just fell off in my lap.
Thank you.

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