An Authentic howl
It was a simple question asked in the midst of a discussion that challenged perspectives. "What does love require?" A simple question with complicated
answers. Months later, I am still hearing those words, weighing
and measuring my behaviors, actions, and thoughts. Though there was a time that I understood the reasoning behind the question, it now sits stale within my mouth. The meaning has flat-lined.
It began in childhood and
followed me most of my life. What would Jesus do? What does the Bible say about that? What would the neighbors think? What does a good wife, good mother, look like? What would an artist healer do? What indeed would love require?
I am weary of asking myself such questions, trying to figure out how to act, how to behave, according
to something outside of myself.
I am not rejecting a moral compass. I am merely pushing myself deeper and wondering if asking myself these type of questions, predicting answers, and tweaking my behavior and actions accordingly is just a modification of me. In doing so, I am not offering my true self to the world. Instead, I am an altered
version of myself. I sense that
there is another way to live.
What if love is all that I know?
What if I nurtured love within myself to the extent that nothing but love was my motivation?
What if I became love? In other words, I don't want to just do random acts of kindness. I want to be kind. I don't want to just engage in a compassionate way of living. I want to be compassionate. I don't want to just make a gratitude list. I want to be grateful. I don't want to just figure out what love requires. I want to be love.
Is it possible? Can anyone really
just be love? Aren't we merely a sum of our choices and our behaviors? I think it is possible
and I certainly don't want to be defined solely by my choices and behaviors. I believe that if I know myself as love, if that is my guiding perspective, then my choices and behaviors will align ever more closely with love.
What now? How to make that shift within? It begins with the narrative that I tell myself. Previously, my story has been one of brokenness.
I was the wounded girl.
The damaged goods. The one needing someone, something, some other to heal her and make her whole. I was incomplete without that outward guidance.
Changing that storyline has not been easy. In fact, asking myself, "What if I am not broken?" challenges everything I have ever believed about myself. There is a great and terrible fear that rises up when one questions the personal narrative. Without the identity of brokenness, who would I be? So begins the quest to discover
who I am.
I am kind. I am compassionate
and understanding. I am generous with my time and energy. I am good. I am love. It seems audacious to make these claims. Who am I to say such wonderful things about myself? Who am I not to? Given
half the chance, I wouldn't
hesitate to tell anyone else all the wonderful things I see within her
or him. So why not offer that same gift to myself? If I am convinced of the good and love within myself, I have nothing but good and love to offer the world. It begins with me.
Cynthia Lee has released herself into the wild where she is recovering
her natural instincts and her inner wisdom through the healing process
of intuitive art. She lives her uncaged life as a wife, mother of many,
mi-mi of two, artist, and lifelong learner. She rattles the cage, weaving
words, asking deep questions, raising her voice to the moon, calling forth other
spirited ones, the wild-hearted women who are seeking their own
authentic howl at
with Cynthia Lee