There is no destination

there is only your own heart

On traversing the landscapes of my own heart, the only true final destination

Dear reader,

What if there was no destination? What if there was no exalted, Perfectly Healed self to arrive to? What if Perfectly Healed didn’t exist?

Would you show up differently?
Would you find more ease in your everyday life?
Would you find gentleness & compassion in your process?

I have good news, dear reader: there really isn’t a destination to arrive at. There really isn’t a Perfectly Healed self to rush to.

There is only you. And your heart. And your desires. And your truest essence—the one that lives below the mask you wear.

You know the one—the mask that feels like a safety blanket but doesn’t allow you to take a full belly breath. The mask that lets people in just enough before cutting off the circulation. The mask that lets you hide behind your intellect so you don’t have to feel your feelings down to their very root. The mask you’ve been wearing for so long you forgot you were even wearing it at all.

Maybe it’s time to put down the mask,
to hang up the defenses,
to melt the protective layers,
to put down the sword,
to knock down the walls,
to sheath the knives,
and let yourself rest.

Did you know that being seen doesn’t mean you have to vomit up your heart in its entirety and let other people toss it around like a game of bocce?

I didn’t.

Until I did.

And now I know—being seen is a relief. It’s heart-opening, not heart-destroying. It’s being seen in my truest essence; vulnerable, sometimes boundaried.

Sometimes it feels shaky and achy and trembly
but then I listen to my body
and I slow down
and I breathe
and I move forward,
even when there’s fear.

I can move forward when there’s fear, dear reader, because I have found safety in myself. I’ve found safety without the mask. Because true safety lies beneath the mask. It’s the place where I can express freely & honestly, at my own pace. Always at my own pace.

It’s the place where all the fear & vigilance & protection melts.

It’s the place where I no longer need a sword to enter the ball pit.

I just get to be me.

My welcome letter for this newsletter is called “on my knees at the altar of my life.” I didn’t know it at the time, but it has become abundantly clear: this space—this writing practice—is what allows me to sift through my life & process, uninhibited.

So, if you’re a subscriber or follower—thank you for reading. It means so much that some of your precious attention goes to reading my letters, some of which feel like I’m on my knees at the altar of my life.

Do you relate to putting the mask down? I would love to hear from you.

<3
Christie