I’m sorry. I thought banishing you was the way to become better, more perfect, more good, more free. The irony: I thought if I cut you off and cast you out, if I built the walls high enough, then the parts left would be more whole. As if the sweet orange doesn’t need the toughened rind, the bitter seed. As if the forest doesn’t need the blue fury of fire. It didn’t work, did it, the exile? You were always here, jangling the hinges, banging at the door, whispering through the cracks. Left to myself, I wouldn’t have known to take down the walls, nor would I have had the strength to do so. That act was grace disguised as disaster. But now that the walls are rubble, it is also grace that teaches me to want to embrace you, grace that guides me to be gentle, even with the part of me that would still try to exile any other part. It is grace that invites me to name all parts beloved. How honest it all is. How human. I promise to keep learning how to know you as my own, to practice opening to what at first feels unwanted, meet it with understanding, trust all belongs, welcome you home. |