I must say, I’m enjoying Eat, Pray, Love. I would say I’m devouring it, but I realize that this an account of her journey, not mine. Or maybe it’s an account of both of our journeys, in some cosmic Yogis timeless way. What I do know is that my loan from the library will end tomorrow. I wonder what will happen to all the sections I’ve highlighted–all the things I want to remember.
This one, I’ve decided to record here:
INSTRUCTIONS FOR FREEDOM
- Life’s metaphors are God’s instructions.
- You have just climbed up and above the roof. There is nothing between you and the Infinite. Now, let go.
- The day is ending. It’s time for something that was beautiful to turn into something else that is beautiful. Now, let go.
- Your wish for resolution was a prayer. Your being here is God’s response. Let go, and watch the stars come out–on the outside and on the inside.
- With all your hear, ask for grace, and let go.
- With all your heart, forgive him, FORGIVE YOURSELF, and let him go.
- Let your intention be freedom from useless suffering. Then, let go.
- Watch the heat of the day pass into the cool night. Let go.
- When the karma of a relationships is done, only love remains. It’s safe. Let go.
- When the past has passed from you at last, let go. Then climb down and being the rest of your life. With great joy.
If you must know, the only words I highlighted in this section were let go.
Hot baths have become a nightly ritual for me. At one point, not too long ago, I used them to escape situations I didn’t want to be in. I’d sit in the water and cry.
But now, I realize baths have become my practice for being alone. For finding peace being alone with myself. I like how the hot water feels as it hits the back of my legs, between my legs. If my mind is anywhere else, the hot water jolts me back to the present. And then I sink into it.
I don’t fill the tub as fully as I once did. I also get into it as the water runs, instead of impatiently waiting for it to fill.
Toward the end my bath, I wash my face. At this point, I am embarrassed to admit that I’ve probably peed in the water.
Yes, I’m vaguely aware that I’m likely splashing my own urine onto my face with the water. Something that my body has naturally discarded–a waste. And yet, this does not gross me out. I don’t wrinkle my nose.
Even waste has a use. And in that way, it is no longer a waste, is it?
The thought occurs to me that for most of my post-divorce life, and probably a good chunk of my pre-divorce life, I’ve regarded myself as a waste.
And yet, here I am, on a journey I never expected to be and as my sponsor put it, I’ve lived through the realization of my worst nightmare.
The only wasteful thing about my life has been the time spent feeding and devouring these false beliefs, letting others dictate for the rest of my life how I will feel about myself, or believing that I could not–did not–deserve better.