Let me tell you about my Lower-Self Child-Self,

Sometimes, my lower self child shows her wounds that she carries. Those are the wounds that cause her to emanate behaviors that do not exemplify her true self.

[her wounds are her baggage,
that is actually her ammunition,
to help her conquer her dreams,
that she created to solve,
the problems the bag presented.]

There is no time on this realm,
She has carried them for as long as she carried them.
Time is of no judgment or concern here.
She carried them until she decided
to open the baggage she was caring.

"What did she think she was caring? Why wouldn’t she put her bag down?"
They say in judgement; all while carrying their own bags.

Her pain was in that baggage.
It was too hard for her to confront,
so she had to take it with her.
It had to stay until she decided to let it go.

She carried it voluntarily.

"All she had to do was clean out her bag"
They said while steaming in their own shit.
They wouldn't have even noticed her;
if they too had sat down to clean out their own bags.

Would it be painful? She thought.
She kept thinking, every step.

Suddenly the pain to carry the bag was harder
than the trail she was hiking.
She had to let go —
She had to go through the bag.

Would it hurt? she thought again.

It would. But there was a secret.
It was through the pain that the keys to her dreams lie.

Her pain was the answer
to her open her castle that sat on top -- ofthatmountain
All she had to do was trade-in her baggage for that key.

The bag was deep, wide and long.
She only decided to look and finally sort through everything —
Because she realized she was going to die carrying this burden.

"It is either this bag, or my dreams" she said.

It would kill her if she did not stop and look inside.

She knew this, but she kept wanting to avoid the pain.
She felt the growing burden of the baggage she carried.

Once in a while she HAD to dig through the bag a bit.
She had to remove some things just to walk a bit faster.
She had to remove just a bit to keep up.

She dug inside just a bit.
Just a bit to toss a bit of the trash aside.

[She didn't know there was more than just pain inside the bag. She wouldn’t let herself feel anything except for the pain inside the bag, there were a lot of other things in there as well — if she would have just dug longer, searched around a bit more.]

So she would look just enough --
Toss out just enough.
So that she could keep moving forward,
Albeit slower.

And onto her back would she place the s l i g h t l y l i g h t e r bag.

But “moving forward” still she’d say!
I’ll get there.

She’d hum all the affirmations and manifestations songs she could along the way.

And
she
would
not
put
down
her
bag.

There came a day, tho.

Where she could not keep up.
Now, the bag was so big — it was crushing her.

She needed to look inside.

She couldn’t wait any longer.
She was being crushed.

She just needed to grin and bare the feelings, emotions, pain, and suffering.
The things she held deep inside her being.
She just needed to “set down her baggage at the cross” per say.

The cross was going through pain she’d been carrying/avoiding all those years.
The cross would be the accumulation of things she’d kept along her path.
Things she didn’t want to see.
Things she did not want deal with.

On the surface she seems
off-beat, discolored, distempered, uneven, rough.
Some would call her broken, bruised.
Weird, abnormal, annoying.
Loud, too loud, obnoxious even.

The vortex of her rotting emotions of old around her created that.
The vortex was created from her willfully unhealed wounds,
from her willfully unhealed baggage.

Trash rots similar to how emotions rot in our system.
The emotions that rot aren’t fleshed out in tears,
sweat or another medium that is outside ones being

(i.e. poetry, creative writing be it fiction or non, art, music, painting, sculpture, even sciences, research… etc.)

Experiences are suppose to move through you to create something.

Holding onto them is placing emotions into the bag.

Letting those emotions become and go is art
It is part of the human process.
It is part of expression,
It’s part of creativity.

Tears are art.
Even on its most fundamental level,
it is something our body creates that manifests outside our being
with the purpose to express an emotion,
our emotions.

Tears, are art.
Appreciate them as such.

Laughter is art.
Joy is art.
Fear is art.
Love is art.
Desire is art.
Sadness is art.
Grief is art.
Hurt is art.
Anger is art.

When it is expressed, when it is ridden as waves on an ocean.
When it is felt, truly, appropriately and controlled —
It cleanses our being and brings us renewed strength that we never knew we had.

Releasing emotions by appropriate expression is to control the chaos.

Expressing emotions is the way in which we organize chaos into a way in which to communicate what it is like to be human. Do not disturb the art by trying to change it, by trying to mold it. By trying to create it into something that it is not.

Enjoy the emotion, enjoy the moment, enjoy the pain.

Know the pain.
Is usually followed by a lot of joy.
ifyouwanttolookforit.
i f y o u w a n t t o f e e l f o r i t.