The less I projected an image of myself onto another, the more I realized that my own completion lies within.
That which I saw in you existed inside of myself — I was told to find my lover inside. Is this not the forging of the stone? Is not the forging of the stone the end of projection?
My awakening began when I told myself that I am all the woman I need. Where did this knowing come from? Somehow, the homeostasis of opposing forces was born within my heart — somehow, despite the way I appeared, I found two within — man and woman — and I was the minister of their wedding. I was them both, and I married them, and I became their love. I was their child. I was my own father, I was my own mother, and I was the newborn made manifest from their love’s sacred consummation.
I was this trinity, I discovered within the sacred power of three.
Why did I allow external meddling to desecrate this sacred bond? Why, oh why did I allow this infidelity? I tossed aside my loyalty to my first love. Oh, the blind spots, oh, the blind spots. It is easy to think oneself enlightened in a vacuum, I suppose.
But here I am once again. Here I am, having died and currently in the process of being reborn. Once again do I bear witness to myself in sacred silence. And once again do I begin to contort and shift — once again do I bear witness to the inexplicable and impossible. I stare at my reflection, and I become an impossible substance that is somehow three things at the same time. I am man, and then I become woman — and oh, how beautiful — and then I am both.
And then I feel free through the power of the three.
This trichotomy is liberation, don’t you understand? For in my completion is wholeness. This is love, and I am love. This world sought to pull apart these halves, but the magnetism between these polarities inside of me is too great, and I call that love. That is self-love, this bizarre and glorious wholeness that I somehow forgot. I somehow forgot that I am already complete — why? No more. I remember now. Oh, I remember, and in this remembering is the unlocking of the Paradise that was already here, right under my nose. This is a paradise that only demands us to bear witness, this is paradise that is the Stone. This impossible substance! This impossible substance! It is two, it is one. It is three, mother, father, made daughter/son.
But now the schism is being sewn once again. Why did I think another person could perform the sewing act? I gave away the needle, thinking another could mend the tear, but inadvertently tossed it into a haystack.
I am already whole and complete, and tears are released in that knowing. I am whole and complete and I always was, I always was. I am so grateful for this gift.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 