I have not wanted to write because I have not wanted to look at myself. For me, things are never more clear than they are in the transcendent state of creation. Therefore, creating was the very last thing I wanted to do. I wasn't feeling my energy. It was, for lack of a better term, too desperate.
I had gone so long without financial income that when the check from my speaking engagement was in my hand, I could barely settle myself into gratitude for trying to cash it. Desperate.
Equally, I was craving physical affection. I could feel myself slipping into that dangerous and desperate place where my standards were becoming negotiable. I could feel myself cringing at the texts I wanted to send. I closed my eyes and told myself "I'm not feeling you right now."
I was clamouring. I was ready to accept far less than what I deserved just for a sampling of something. That is how "without" I felt. My ego had convinced myself that my goals were too lofty, too wild. Settle into something comfortable, it's right here! Tempting. Like trying on a dress because it's there and it's your size, even though it is nothing like what you were looking for and you know if you get it, the whole evening, you will regret the purchase. It wasn't me. And the things I saw myself ready to accept, while fine, were not for me. My energy, however, was desperate.
It is difficult to admit my temptation to settle. Because sometimes, it seems, I believe my own hype. Taking myself as someone who should know better. But the truth is, I'm human. And I think we all work through shit with our ego. I owed my former roommate money from the balance of our condo. I told myself all sorts of excuses as to why I needed the money more than she did. I ignored them all. Why did my comfort supersede what was right and fair? It shouldn't. It didn't. Still, though, I was deeply disappointed in my own attempts to justify selfishness. Desperate.
The final straw came yesterday. I sat in more floor working half-heartedly on editing my book's Survivor section; a particularly emotional chapter dedicated to surviving sexual assault. I still hate the term survivor. I sat squarely in front of the words that reminded me how loneliness and desperation lead to calling what turned out to be toxicity and danger into my life. And I called it again. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I could hear my body screaming at me. I wasn't calling him or even a stranger. I just...I needed attention. My solicitation for affect was met with the weakest of excuses. So weak, in fact, I wished he had just lied to me. I would have felt better with a beautiful lie. Don't I deserve that?
I watched myself in that moment. Disgusted. Saddened. Protective. I put my phone away and closed my laptop. I told myself that I couldn't do this anymore. I looked at my past few weeks and the times, just in those weeks, that my energy was desperate for an outcome and when I let go and allowed whatever would be, to be. It was a much better process and product when I let go, I had to admit. But what about sex and money and attention and... I felt myself go on and on with the list of things that, in my head, I felt entitled to. I felt owed. I realized what I was doing. Expecting, attaching, coveting.
Just as I went to text a friend, she called. I noted the coincidence as a sign. When she came over she noted the New Moon in Taurus and how it was a good day to write down and make clear the things we wanted. Our intentions. Later, I would read something similar in my horoscope and note how this type moment of clarity was exactly what my body needed. My fits of desperation came from me a)forgetting who I am, and in effect, what I deserve. And b) from me being unwilling to have faith and trust the process. Trust that things are unfolding as they should. Stop forcing it. Let go.
I mentally smudged myself. Washing my energy in white sage, cleansing through fire and destroying the desperation replacing It with patient allowance. I challenged myself to surrender whatever control I thought I had. I challenged myself to believe that perhaps even the grand dreams I had for myself were too small. I let myself grow so deeply uncomfortable and clear that I wanted to cling and grab and tether myself to anything that felt familiar. And then I cut the string.
You, I told myself, are not allowed to be desperate. Not anymore. You do not have to settle, you will be served all the desires of your heart. If and when they align with Gods plan for you. Your job is to remain open. Your job is to remain ready. Your job is to remain faithful. Not desperate. Never desperate.
I winced as I saw his name flash across my caller ID. He didn't want me. None of them did, the itch scratchers. But I was ready to be wanted. I was not going to settle for being tolerated. I couldn't put myself in the vulnerable position of accepting affect from someone whose energy did not vibrate enough to stimulate me spiritually. Further, I couldn't allow myself to TELL myself that these small inklings were big signs. Gods work is unmistakable and I knew that. I hadn't wanted to accept that because I was too worried about what it suggested about me. I had not wanted to accept my acts of desperation. The consequences of my desperate acts had left me alone and wanting. Only I was ready to stop accepting the scraps that laid strewn across the field of battle. I was waiting for what was meant for me. Simple as that. From now forward, no more desperation. I was ready to win, simply participating was not good enough. And to the victor goes the spoils.