color my space

the mermaid in me

Here she is, this gorgeous fury of passion, spoken-word artist Mayda del Valle, pouring her heart out to her small audience, as if we have all been acquainted long ago. Her poetry is moving in a way that a windstorm is moving. You have no choice except to be where you are, take it all in, and let yourself be filled with the possibility of a passionate intervention of your soul. Her life, her work, who she is and where she comes from, her wounds, where she has been and where she is going—all this is what she brings to the table to lay it out like an anthology of passion, to wonder about, to mourn, to celebrate.

I loved watching her perform; she made me feel free and alive. This friend of mine made a list of the top one hundred things that make her come alive. She looks at this list often, maybe because it reminds her of who she is. With so much happening all the time, with so many experiences and memories and perspectives, we know who we want to be, we just forget sometimes, and a list is a good way to remember what fills us. Last summer my friends and I ran across the Golden Gate Bridge and the wind up there is crazy and I felt just the same, inspired to be more. I just wanted to run against the wind for the rest of my life because I was just so alive.

Swimming is like this too. Now, I am not even a very good swimmer, but the water is like freedom. I feel like I can breathe underwater and it is only after I take the plunge, that I know that I am truly present. In the deepest part of my heart, I am pained to know that I am not a fish or better yet, a mermaid, graceful and beautiful, free, free, free. I have never been able to not smile under all that blue and all that cool, it is just too much bliss to contain, too much of myself, too much freedom to not laugh and shriek underwater at my incredible good fortune.

I need to write a letter to the person I was, because I need to stay in contact with all the Marys that make up my story. So much has happened and the time has been punctuated by moments of bliss, lessons learned and a consuming era of passion. But I think all the time, who was that girl that seemed so brave, or so in love, or so alone? I am amazed that I am that same girl that I have always been, just trying to make sense of it all and make sense of what I know to be true.

A wise man that I know was saying that to truly grow, our skin has to stretch, because it is not big enough anymore to hold all the things inside of us. The only way for it all to fit again is to be stretched from the inside out, to make room for the new stuff that is changing our world. Growing up and growing better hurts because it hurts to stretch the skin we’re in. Growing a wider heart to love more authentically, or bigger eyes to see more clearly, or steadier feet to follow along that path more effortlessly—none of this comes without some stretching. We have to remember, we all are stretched from what we were.

In my letter, I would tell myself to be brave and do the things that really scare me. To throw my heart out there, and dive in headfirst, because in matters of the heart, big love is what I want. I would tell myself to listen more to that voice inside me and hear the answers that are already there. Feel everything—every emotion, every moment, how all that water feels on your skin, and that wind feels in your face. How it feels to share in someone’s vulnerability and experience. Don’t let yourself settle for less—settle for more. And never forget what makes you come alive, because, after all, to find yourself again, that is where you have to go.

posted by Mary @ 7:44 PM