Tonight we dined in the cold evening sun, huddled around coals and laughter. We looked up at the sky, the sliver of the moon, and talked about acid and love. We burned memories on the bonfire and embraced its impermanent warmth, a brief reprieve from our own critical eyes and minds.
Rejection is a word I hear often. People reject things, emotions, other people. When you’re on the receiving end of what’s interpreted as rejection a part of you just dies. It breaks and dies. For me rejection has always felt like I was being cleaved in two: the part of me before, that was worthy, that was loved, that was confident, and the second part, the part that feels tiny, insignificant, and unworthy. Rejection isn’t what we go through, it’s what we put ourselves through by subscribing attributes or value to our experiences, to our interactions, our love, our being.
Tonight I watched my friends by the fire, some old, some new, and wondered at our connections. We can feel rejected because a thing, a person, an event did not go the way we wanted it to go, but that doesn’t mean that we aren’t still just as connected.
Rejection is a feeling we place ourselves in because our mind tells us there may have been another outcome. We suffer from believing there would have been a different reality than the one we are faced with, the one we are going through.
If we never felt rejected or felt rejection, we’d feel more connected. We would believe in ourselves and in others, our belief wouldn’t waiver or change. We wouldn’t put ourselves down, or others down. There wouldn’t be a “could have been.” There would only be a now.
Right now.
chossygrl 