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You’re a Fucking Miracle

You’re a Fucking Miracle

You’re a fucking miracle.

You just are.

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We don’t know where you came from, we don’t know why you’re here. We don’t know where you will go when you leave.

There is no logic that will justly explain you. Your existence. Your eccentricities. Your occupation and expert navigation of skin and bones and brain. The way you breathe in symbiosis with trees that you’ve never even met. How you arrived on an inhale, and will leave on the exhale. Your heart beats for a place you’ve never been. You’ve fallen in and out of love, lost everything and been asked to give more. You’ve produced mayhem. You fight for peace. You’ve discovered freedom isn’t flying, it’s being held. You revel in and revile relationships with people, plants, animals, and things. Yet your deepest, most intimate guide is your hunger. Your hunger nourishes you. Your hunger defeats you. Your hunger  ignites you. Your hunger is the impetus that brings you back to me.

 

You rearrange yourself, endlessly, like a galaxy.

 

It hasn’t been a fair fight.

 

And, yet, you are still winning.

 

You’re a fucking miracle.

 

I can see it. I want you to see it as well.

 

I’ve just opened this month’s five spots for The Feed Me Darling Liberation Front.

 

(I’m opening only five per month to keep it small and safe).

 

One of the my (many) favorite parts of TLF  is on Sunday, where, in the Facebook group we share our successes as sacred. Bragging *as* a spiritual practice.

 

I’ve struggled with Sundays for years. I find them too quiet to bear sometimes. They make me realize how addicted I can be to the constant streams of information-as-pain relief. They make me face my deep need for solitude and quiet reflection – something I don’t always want to do. The opportunity to articulate the things we are proud of, grateful for, the triumphs that – if gone unwritten, unspoken, unshared – might slip by unnoticed, trumped by the louder list of stuff we (think we) still need to do to get “there”.

So we delight in our successes. No matter how incomplete, or imperfect. We let ourselves be complete, victorious, proud.

Hashtag fucking blessed.

It’s useful. And it’s fun. And why the hell not? Because all our stories will end the same: We will disappear just as mysteriously as we arrived. In an epic crescendo.

So let us gather around our metaphorical fires and tell the best, most subtle, and wholly dimensioned, stories. Let us wring the drops of beauty from our stumbling experience, the gold from the grief.

Let us find freedom while we’re here.

We are better together.

Click here to read more and send me an email if you’re ready to join us! If you’re one of the first five, I’ll get you all set up, if you are after the first, you will have priority wait listing for next month! Can’t wait to see you there.

 

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*The image in this post is collage art by Eugenia Loli. Buy her work here.

 

 

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2 Responses to You’re a Fucking Miracle

  1. Ella says:

    <3
    Thank you meg.
    [do you have a blog post or link for resources to do with phobia around stomach; fearing being physically sick; not fearing digestion?] xx

    • mworden says:

      Hi Ella, I’m not really clear on what’s going on? I don’t think I have a post just like that….If you ever feel like a coaching session might be helpful, that might be the way to go? I can get a better idea of what you need and direct you to the very best resources. <3

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