“Vulnerability is not a weakness, a passing indisposition, or something we can arrange to do without, vulnerability is not a choice, vulnerability is the underlying, ever present and abiding under-current of our natural state. To run from vulnerability is to run from the essence of our nature, the attempt to be invulnerable is the vain attempt to become something we are not and most especially, to close off our understanding of the grief of others. More seriously, in refusing our vulnerability we refuse to ask for the help needed at every turn of our existence and immobilize the essential, tidal and conversational foundations of our identity.
To have a temporary, isolated sense of power over all events and circumstances, is a lovely illusory privilege and perhaps the prime beautifully constructed conceit of being human and most especially of being youthfully human, but it is a privilege that must be surrendered with that same youth, with ill health, with accident, with the loss of loved ones who do not share our untouchable powers; powers eventually and most emphatically given up, as we approach our last breath.
The only choice we have as we mature is how we inhabit our vulnerability, how we become larger and more courageous and more compassionate through our intimacy with disappearance, our choice is to inhabit vulnerability as generous citizens of loss, robustly and fully, or conversely, as misers and complainers, reluctant, and fearful, always at the gates of existence, but never bravely and completely attempting to enter, never wanting to risk ourselves, never walking fully through the door.” ~ David Whyte
I love this writ by David Whyte. It speaks to an awareness … a deep living awareness echoing from the time our first two cells divided and we began our journey here on earth. It speaks to a human need that cries for release, and an allowing to live and breathe as surely as we do.
Many things have changed in my life in recent months, and as a result I find pieces of myself are shifting, rumbling and moving about, perhaps clearing space for new paths to be built. I cannot say for sure yet. I only know that the roads I have been on as of late are affecting other changes within; that the vulnerabilities I’ve felt – and continue to allow myself to feel – are creating new textures and colors in my life. Some rough edged and sharp; some very soft, indeed. Where it all will lead, I do not know at this point in time. I only know that it is. To deny it would shut myself off from my own humanity – and that of every other living being who occupies this earth with us. And I am human. I am most definitely human … in all of my strengths and frailties, all of the good and the bad, and all of the frustrations and joys that go with along with it. I am human, I am vulnerable, and I dance in the joy of that vulnerability.