The Dance of No Hope

I remember an old therapist of mine telling me that I was never going to heal my “not good enough” story. It was one that could not be re-written. Something, rather, that I would need to live with for the rest of my life; so I better just accept it, and dance the wild dance of no hope.

A wash of relief swept over me. Light streamed through the dirty windows of his central Berkeley office illuminating the dust on his assortment of ayahuasca textiles and requisite metaphysical therapist tchotchkes.

I felt gotten. Understood. And finally, like I could let go of this impossible heavy lift that I had spent almost 20 years trying to do.

Let’s stop making deals for a safe passage; there isn’t one anyways. Life has not broken her secret promise to us. She has not broken any promise. She is actually delivering as promised.

It’s not meant to be easy. We are given the lessons we need to learn what we need to learn.

Sometimes no hope is exactly the birthplace of hope.

Sometimes the unbearable is exactly what we need to bear to breakthrough.

When you stop looking, you find your keys.

When you let down, you resurface.

Let’s stop pretending we don’t know the deal here.

Let’s remember to remember.