Journey to One

I was searching for my life purpose as if it were sitting out there in some cosmic bubble. I was waiting for it to float down and burst on my head, spilling its contents over me so that I may finally know what it is I am here to do. What I did not yet recognize is I create my purpose. I get to choose. My purpose…(drum roll)…is to help others no longer live under the constraint of fear and judgment and to open to the beauty of their truth, our truth. I do this through my writings, teachings and actions. My purpose is to be a tool, a guide. My purpose is also to love and to live each moment in awe, appreciation and joy, fully experiencing my humanity. I could choose another purpose. I could choose anything, just as you can choose anything. But currently this purpose is what I want for this lifetime. It is where my passion lies.

The end of the book is the most important part – whether it is a suspense novel or a memoir. It is where the whole story comes together, where the last pieces of the puzzle get laid in place so that now the full picture can come into view.

So this part of my story ends where I write this book, where I share my story. When I was in the darkest depths of my hell, I read autobiographies and stories of healing from dozens of people. Not only were they completely fascinating to my analytical self – having the opportunity to step into the very minds of others – but they helped me continue on, to have hope. Of course, the story must have a happy ending, for only then could I trust that mine would as well.

The second half of this book took a turn I did not expect when I first began writing. Yes, this story turned into one of finding meaning and awakening, but it still remains a story of healing. For without healing, it would not have been possible for me to find meaning. It was in the Women’s Temple at Teotihuacán, where I fully surrendered, giving myself over to the open and loving arms of Mother Earth, that I released the last bit of abuse that remained – that which resided in my body. It was in this place that my body finally spoke and screamed out and stomped and mourned. That experience of final releasing freed up the space for me to then more fully experience my spiritual truth. It was the “one last painful push, the last necessary step” in order for me to begin life anew, to be born.

I have not forgotten my rough childhood. I have not forgotten those of you reading this who are currently in pain from being an abuse survivor or otherwise. I have not forgotten my own pain. Being a survivor of abuse is part of who I am in this physical realm, but I have many, many other parts. I recall the story of my birth that my grandmother used to tell. I remember my beginnings, as difficult as they were, and I also remember my strength, as I feel she wished to convey to me, as I wish to now convey to you. It is a story for all of us. We are strong. We survive. And we thrive.