Louisville is Home
July 18, 2021 The Louisville Vacation
It’s been quite a couple of days.
I vacillate between digging in way too deep on the emotional stuff I want healing on, and having fun. It would be nice if the fun took precedence, but it’s going to play out how it will. I don’t have a whole lot of control over this process, nor do I want to make the mistake of trying to contain my emotions. I need to work through some serious shit, and I don’t want to get in my own way.
Terri did a reading Friday night, which I recorded and have listened to, now, way too many times. I hear my voice, I didn’t recognize my voice at first, but now I know my voice. I know what it is, what is at the root of all this. I mean, I knew. No surprises. But to hear my voice and to feel my voice, to feel the pain in what I express, was invaluable.
It all distills down to a couple of things. The big questions that will answer a thousand questions. If I can get those answers. Just a couple of answers. But two things – first of all, if I don’t get answers from Jeff (because let’s face it, that’s who I need the answers from), it’s not going to stop me from getting over the ugly. And second, like I have told Jeff so many times, like I know through and through, the truth, the answers, already live inside of us. We just have to find them and hear them and own them.
There is nothing new and special for me to learn, here, now. Only to rest in my own understanding, and to give myself credit for being a much better person that I fool myself into believing. I am good, bad, and everything in between. And I embrace that. At least, I try very very hard to embrace that.
I had fun tonight, I went to burlesque with Vee. I saw two of the performers instrumental in my healing, so that was very healing.
We drove by the Henry Clay three times. The first time, I said to Vee, “Don’t be put off if I start crying uncontrollably. That place might suck out my soul, and when you get to the show, only my body will be left.” But that’s not what happened. We drove by, and I got past, and I was OK. The Henry Clay doesn’t own my soul. Although, it still feels like home.