The Daily Om
July 26, 2005
Being Who You Are
Living Your Truth
When we are young children, we live authentically, seldom afraid or embarrassed to seek out what we want or to speak our minds. As we grow older, we tend to tuck that authenticity away, putting it aside while we chase our dreams, afraid that it might hinder us in our success. But we never let that freedom go completely. We may conform to society while embracing secret passions when alone. We may withhold certain opinions, though it doesn't change the fact that we possess them. It is important, however, to never stray too far from that youthful brashness and self-interest for they are qualities that help make you who you are. The authentic you is your true self and, in living authentically, you live your truth, making time for the things you love and projecting who you really are. The simplest way to live your truth is to leave the expectations of other behind and live the way you feel most worthwhile.
It takes being selfish in a healthy way by doing what you know is best for you, regardless of the opinions of others - even the opinions of close friends and family. Living authentically means that you make choices without fear, trusting in your soul's wisdom... If you value personal pursuits, don't feel forced into a certain job just to make enough money to keep up with your neighbors. Conversely, if you prize success in business, don't let others' perception of what's right for you hold you back. Denying your unique truth can lead to feelings of failure and dissatisfaction because you aren't acknowledging your true self. In living your truth, there are no pretenses. Everything you do will reflect who you truly are.
If you are unsure of who the authentic you really is, look inward and ask yourself what your purpose, values, and needs are. Honor your strengths and don't let yourself be guided by what other expect of you. Finally, discover your passions by trying new things, and sticking with those things that stir your soul. Finding who you really are and then making the choice to embrace you true dreams and desires will take your life in a direction that is both satisfying and deeply meaningful.
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That being said, I like money. I like having money. Yes, deciding to be a CPA instead of a mortician feels to me like abandoning all that I am - but as I told Lisa yesterday, a starting CPA w/a Bachelor's can expect to start at anywhere from $80,000 - $100,000 a year. Last night, Scott called to catch up on ol' times, & when I told him I was going to try school again for accounting, he said, "You must like numbers!" I replied, 'Why yes, especially lots of 0's at the end of my salary.'
Psychologically analyze it all ya want... I was a poor kid. My dad lost everything we had when he wrecked two different trucks. My mom died in a hospice as a governmental guinea pig & my dad died homeless w/.16c in his pocket. My mom worked for the apartment complexes we lived in - renovating apartments, killing weeds, pool maintenance. She was not a healthy or strong woman physically, but she was determined that we not be out on the streets. I spent the better part of a year like Abraham Lincoln as a teenager - living in a log cabin w/no lights or heat because my dad couldn't keep a job. I did my homework by candlelight & took freezing-cold baths as quickly as possible. I volunteered for P.E. even tho I had all the credits I needed so I could have the luxury of a hot shower. We hunted & fished to feed ourselves through most of the year, and in Autumn I got to harvest fruit from orchards w/illegal immigrants who thought I was just in it for the worldly experience. Hell no, I was in it to take home the less-than-suitable for market display discarded fruit, just like they were. I've eaten out of dumpsters, I've listened to church sermons so I could be fed in the dining hall or the soup kitchen, I've sold my body so I could sleep indoors or have money for food & booze. I counted ribs & collarbones & hib bones rising to the surface of my skin as even my muscles were stripped away, strange structures & shapes rising to the surface beneath my fingers. The landscape of the starving body is amazing in its stark simplicity. I struggled very hard in the first 20 years of my life.
When Rob came into my life I latched onto him as though he were a savior. I moved myself in on him & he fed me & I nursed him through a bout of pneumonia... we explored many dark places within one another in those first weeks.
The cold hard heartless truth about Rob is this - he gives me what I need. He feeds me, he makes sure I'm fed and kept docile, kept low, kept down, a dangerous well-fed animal on a short chain. I care for him, I support him in his endeavours, I do no complain or give voice to my wants or needs, a simply am here for Rob. I need Rob in mine to hold me down, Rob needs me in his life to lift him up. We may not be healthy for one another, and one of us will certainly kill the other, make a final end to the other, but until then, there is the opium intoxication of the dance between us. When we come together, we're like scrowling beasts, biting & growling & scratching. We want to eat each others innards, our gizzards. We want to crawl inside to the dark, hard places inside one another & pull them to shreds.
Don't try this at home, folks - I took an Ambien & an Elavil & I am pretty high. We are stoned, immaculate... The effects of the Ambien make it hard for me to articulate things verbally. The very words on my comuter screen are swirling about like those gel tubes filled w/glitter & shapes... or lava lamps. The words form little centipede chains & mill about, swirling, contracting, rippiling. Sometimes it doesn'tseem as tho I'm typing on the screen at all, but typing off the edge of the screen, somehow on the edge of the air or past the corners of the screen. My nipples are hardening, my clit is hardening & starting to throb, my cunt pulsates. Ripples of oooooaaaaa run up & down my back & shoulders. I find myself wanting to just run my nails down my face & throat to clasp my breasts so I can chew on my own nipples as my squirming pink slit pleads for attention.
I just totally went off on a tangent... Why am I with Rob? Becuase in a past life, Rob asked for someone like me, down to the unusual name... and the Universe conspired that someone like him - beat down, hurting, fearful of mankind, fearful of his family but somehow bound to obligations not his own through them, would need someone like me, free of parental or family obligations, strong, decisive, hard, tactless, angry & scared for the right reasons, in his life. I am here to heal my husband. It's only coming more clear to me as time goes by just how fucked up that handfasting was. As long as the love shall last, in the lifetime, and the next. And the next. And the next, on into infinity.
And in order to surrender myself solely to his keep, I require, in the way of most seal-wives and bear-maidens, compensation. There are gesas in our marriage. I will do for him as long as there is money coming in to the house, be it provided by me or him, there must be money. He has to answer to my every request, be it convenient or not... I must have books, electricity, lightbulbs, tequila, Coronas, half-n-half for my coffee, a constant source of hot water. I must have mental & emotional freedom even if I have no physical freedom. I must have access to the ocean and all that it entails.
And so I give up one more thing. I admit, freely and of my own will, that money is my prime motivation. I will put myself through hell & back for money. I don't want to be homeless again. I don't want to have to eat at parent's friends homes, or from dumpsters or soup halls... I don't want to go dumpster diving for food or furnishings... I don't want to live in a nice house w/no bills paid. I want to be comfortably well-off. And once I've achieved a level of comfort for myself, I can help others achieve comfort.
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