A fog of longing and disappointment is falling over me this morning.
I pretend not to feel it. Needy, lost.
This isn't how I want to be. This isn't how I want God to see me.
Then it comes to me: tell the truth.
I'd rather keep pretending for myself, others, and the Presence, that I am fabulously enlightened and so over-the-world.
It's only when I connect with what is real that I can begin to see.
Tell the truth.
I ask myself: What's the most honest thing I can say to God right now?
It's the most powerful question I know.
I let go pretending.
There's only me and the Truth - no one else's definition of who I am, or who I should be. And, no one else's definition of God.
What I notice this morning is how hard I'm trying to make myself acceptable.
Noising off in my head, and everywhere, about my efforts, my prayers, my dedication, my meditation.
Because I don't feel it: accepted.
The most honest thing I can say to the Presence right now is -
Hey. I am really messing up here. I'm clingy, chaotic, distracted, addicted.
I'm no good at making myself happy.
I know better, and I'm afraid to show you who I am.
Moody, selfish, erratic, and confused.
A demanding and apathetic wife.
An inconsistent, obsessive friend.
A distant, unreliable mom.
Dear Presence: I want to be different. I remember Your beauty inside me.
Right now I can't find it.