“Your truth shall set you free,” they cry, rising, swirling, dancing, swimming through the air as one.
“YES!” My soul shouts in return. How well I know this story, true. Long have I heard these words, long have I felt their song, long have I labored with their meaning.
Then to discover it, right there in front of my face – it was so simple. The words said it all along, when I would stop trying to complicate them, stop trying to make them more than they were. “It’s about time,” a little dove coos from behind a modest wing.
The truth shall set me free. My truth. Not your truth. Not his truth, her truth. My truth. The truth that comes when I finally jump to my feet in a dazzling burst of light, crying, “This is ME, world, here I am, and this is Who I Am!”
The truth, when I no longer aim to please, please to aim, tit for tat, long road home. The truth about love. The truth about light. The truth about the song of the mockingbird, and the gracefully slithering dance of the slug.
No path for the faint of heart, this truth.
There is no room for making nice, for people-pleasing, for putting my needs last, last, last… true service, true unconditional love does nothing of the kind.
The truth? We are all One. All equal. All worthy. I am Me, and that is good. I am You, and You are I, and that is also good.
Yet in our Oneness, like single feathers on the same winged bird, we each share flashes of brilliant nuance – essence takes so many forms. To deny that, to hide, to serve some outwardly imposed list of shoulds and shouldn’ts, the ones our hearts have been crying against, the ones we’ve been taught to believe were True – oh, what a mis-creation we have made.
And now, we each stand. We each find our way, our path, become the light unto ourselves. Stand bravely in the face of disapproval, growing our backbone, vertebra by vertebra, chin rising, heart lifting with each moment, light shining brighter and brighter, swirling in unison with the birds overhead. I am Me, and this is My Truth.
And that is a beautiful thing.
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© 2012 Mary Batson, Front Porch Rambles
All rights reserved, especially the one to fly.