The hardest thing, the easiest thing


“I’m a monster,” said the shadow of the Marquess suddenly. “Everyone says so.”

The Minotaur glanced up at her. “So are we all, dear,” said the Minotaur kindly. “The thing to decide is what kind of monster to be. The kind who builds towns or the kind who breaks them.”
~ Catherynne M. Valente, The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There


It is gentle…this thing that is so difficult and yet so easy.

I go back to something I wrote in another post…

“How we try, with so many words to bring answers, to explain, inspire, comfort and heal…
…to plead with the gods for a bit of mercy…soften their immortal hearts by revealing our many wounds…and plead for our little and big dreams…for a chance, for grace. Sometimes we wonder how we have failed with our words…what else could we say, or say better to unmake error and grief, and finally shape a little miracle.”

Because only after we try with our best words, and then with our worst ones, until there are no more words left…then, and only then, it all becomes so easy and simple.

That thing…it is a choice. A choice to remember the future without expectation or conditions. To surrender to grace, truly and completely. To accept being the fool and the dreamer, the healed one and the broken one, the smile and the sorrow, the sunrise and the storm.

I recently wrote about the privilege of honor, of being responsible for what we tame, and of that being all anyone needs to know about us.

It is the hardest thing to do. Not in all things, but in some…usually the ones that matter most. That which we believe we know best and mastered turns out to be our greatest mystery and lesson yet to be learned.

The threat to our egos is huge. And the ego rarely, if ever, surrenders to the heart and soul on bended knee. Let alone with a gracious smile or a trace of tenderness.

Yes, it is the hardest thing.

And then one day, when there is indeed nothing, absolutely nothing left to trade with, we remember our future. And in that future, we have kept our word. Not because we expected a reward, not because we feared some punishment or loss. We kept our word simply because we’ve known no other way.

And then we can look at Neruda’s verses and say…

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way than this…”

Whatever that love is for…a person or a pursuit…it becomes real. Truly real. In the absence of expectation or fear, we discover the real reason for why we live and do the things we do. We chose something, and we gladly accepted being responsible for what we have tamed regardless of consequences.

That is the way it should be. Very easy in the end…as it was in the beginning.

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