There

I am there, standing at the top of my consciousness and mastery. I shouldered the weight of all my past, gracefully and with valor. I have to admit: the more I learned about it, the heavier it got, or maybe it was heavy all along and only now have my senses widened. I sat with the trauma long enough to stop being ruled by it — not to conquer it, never that. I grappled with my own ego and fears, with all those dark alleys of my serpentine demeanor, and I came through to the other side.

I see the picture, vividly: all those tiny memories, the relics of the past, all those fragmented, dreamy visions of my childhood; I remember them.

I am at the top of “myself.”

My tools were of war and love. I shot my ego in the foot and watched it bleed. I asked those dark questions of myself: which part of you is feeling this way? I asked this over and over again until the question was washed away. There are no separate parts anymore: it is me — weaponized and ready.

Love made me soft — that ferocious and almost childish insistence to stay open.

I came through despite all the exhibits pointing otherwise. “Son, be careful outside, no one cares for you out there,” said those people. I half-believed them for the longest time and frankly, I still do sometimes. But I came through, without armor, scars healed, my sober eyes wide open.

I fought the hardest battle, I still do, every day. Every day I choose whether to close or remain open. And every morning, I choose to remain open. I choose to be vulnerable. And ever since I opened, people can no longer hurt me. I feel I can caress my emotions. I find myself in the valleys of my deepest emotions. “I float.”

I was the orphan baby, as lost as one may get. Full of rage, doubt, indecision. All the exhibits pointed to my defeat. Defeated I was indeed. But somehow, I got up. A miraculous might held me upright and whispered in my ears, “you have all it takes to survive, just listen in,” and the voice faded away. All the odds were against me.

I sank in — the only thing I really knew, but this time, I excavated. I extracted pieces of myself from streets, from photos, from friends, and I began juxtaposing them, with tweezers. Some pieces bit me, but I kept on putting things together, looking for me in all the pieces.

I get it. Look at me: I get it. I get the complexity of my soul and the vastness of unknownness “within myself” that I probably will never fully fathom while on Earth. I am at peace with it: I will die not knowing myself and I am at peace with it because I know knowing it is not the takeaway. I look at masters crafting their art and I get it: I understand spending your whole life perfecting a sword. I understand pouring your heart into a book. I understand “the shape of my heart”: he deals the cards to find the answer. I see the system and my role in it.

Here I am, keeper of my own spirit, wearing my strongest suit, which is openness. I let emotions pass through me and not around me. I understand masters and mastery. Me? I am on this planet figuring out and learning angles of myself. I will die not knowing myself, but boy, I am gonna sip the things I learn like the finest wine, because they are mine. This is my canvas, my color palette, and my show. I am no victor — this was never the kind of war you win and walk away from. I am the one who gets up each morning and chooses to stay open, forever trying to master myself and uncertainty, and never quite finishing. I will forever be the proudest pupil of this world.