I remember having a conversation once with a young, many years ago.

He’s been wrongly accused of a crime he had not committed, spending much of his youth behind bars.

“Five long years,” he said, his voice trailing into resignation. “But the worst part is the stigma; that never goes away.”

We sat for hours as he recounted the many incidences of ‘having to prove one’s worth’ — job interviews, college entrance examinations, and even a failed relationship or two.

“I carried a burden that was never mine,” he said. “Until I realized, that I was a victim of my own holding on.”

There’s something that occurs when we feel misjudged or wounded. Immediately we’re faced with a whole plethora of emotion, the deepest of which is our need to be heard.

It occurred to me that the majority of conflict in our lives are predicated on this single source – “I am here. Please see me; know me for who I am.”

So much so, that we become trapped in the discursiveness of dialogue, rather than opening to the truth as it has always been.

We become victims of our own holding on.

It’s only when we realize that our existence extends far beyond the limitations of word that we are finally able to enjoy this freedom within.

In peace, my loves…

Namaste ❤️