Julia Sweeney: Letting go of God


Amazing performance! Hilarious and heartfelt, entertaining and thought-provoking. :)
Super expressive, she tells her story so well. Great watch.

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Just keep moving…on the spot.


The memories. They won’t stop– they keep flashing past my eyes of their own accord. 

I’m getting so sick of treading on this worn out path, this rut. It feels like I’ve been stuck here forever. The same bleak scenery stretching on in all directions, the sticky muck and sharp, rocky debris underfoot. I know it hasn’t been forever, i know it hasn’t be that long, objectively. But sometimes it sure feels like it has been too long, too long.

“Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” One foot in front of the other, that’s it, I keep reminding myself. Often it’s necessary to tread through rough patches to get to your paradise, get through that darkest hour before you’re rewarded with the light of day. This is all a part of life. It may not be pleasant, but you can’t escape it and in retrospect it won’t be take bad. In retrospect you will probably even be able to appreciate it and be grateful for it. Probably.

Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of a new horizon, a new path, a new landscape just around the bend, and I’d smile and feel assured that I must be on the right path, and all I have to do is keep pushing, I’m nearly there.

Then the next thing I know, it seems I must have taken a wrong turn, or accidentally trekked backwards, or maybe I went in a circle… I’m not even sure if I’m on the right path, maybe I should go where it branches off suddenly over there…

As someone wise and purple once said, If you don’t know where you want to go, then it doesn’t really matter which way you head in…

If i knew what the outcome is ‘supposed’ to be, if I knew which outcome was best, then I could pick myself up from here and now, and plop myself right there. And head straight there in a straight line, and start preparing myself NOW for that. Cut out all this messy bits, I don’t care so much for the figuring out any more, it stopped being fun. I don’t want to be stuck here forever, just give me the answer, whisk me to the next pitstop, so I can move on from there and get on with it.

But there’s no ‘Supposed to be’, there’s no ‘Right Answer’, there’s no ‘Designated Pitstop’.
It’s the journey that matters, not the destination. Rather, there IS no Destination.

Life is a journey. Like reading a book or playing a computer game. If you cut to the end just to find out what happens, it really can’t be said that’ve you’ve read the book or played the game, much less that you’ve enjoyed them. Cutting the chase would be missing the point entirely.

… Doesn’t make the frustration and impatience of feeling like you’re stuck go away though.

Ripped Heart


Sudden, unexpected, violent–
All that’s left, a gapping hole.
The magnificent tree that had been seeded
that had taken root
that had been growing beautifully
under tender loving care
unceremoniously uprooted.

By what? who? where? how? why?
In shock and reeling from injuries
can only stare.
Stare and stare at where it used to be
as the wounded heart bleeds.

Reaching out frantically–
Where is it?
Just a mistake. A wayward wind, maybe.
Wrecking unintentional havoc.
A trial to be overcome.
Re-plant the tree, quick!
Put it back where it was, fill up that hole, tis not too late.
It’ll recover, and be stronger from this.

The tree… is gone.
Twas not a wayward wind.
I see that now.
Twas a deliberate act.
To rip, to hack, to chop, to destroy.
There’s no hope left for it.

Well, maybe– start again?
Here’s a seed from the beloved tree.
Should I place it in the hole?
Start a new chapter of the same book?
It’ll be good–mistakes made with the previous tree won’t be repeated.
It’ll outshine it’s predecessor.

The seed’s… not growing.
It’s not receiving the love or care it needs–
or perhaps it was a bad seed from the start.
Bad trees bear bad fruits which give us…
dead seeds. Not worth the time.

The gapping hole stares back.
Blacker, bigger
each time you look.
The edges harden–or are they healing?
No, they turn black from poison.

The darkest, roughest parts
are those in contact with the roots of the missing tree.
Once full of life and joy,
now only death.

It’ll be a slow and painful
but necessary process
to weed out every single last tendril
deeply entrenched and entangled
in the soil of the heart.

Great care is required
to not cause more damage
to let the heart heal
to extricate
every
last
memory

and send it the way of the obliterated tree.

(How inconsiderate
to take the tree but leave the troublesome roots.
Leave it there to develop and flourish
else don’t even start to grow it at all.)

My Rainbow Heart


My rainbow heart
Where have you gone?
I haven’t felt you
For so very long

I miss your laughter
I miss your smiles
I haven’t had that
For quite a while

I miss your prancing
Your joyful songs
Your silly banter
Your stringing along

I miss your optimism
Your idealistic hope
That all will be better
There’s no end of the rope

I miss your contentment
Your inner peace
Your love for the world
Your desire to please

I miss your appreciation
For the simple and small
To not hold grudges
To let go and trust all

My rainbow heart
Is that you hiding?
I think I see you;
You’re almost in reach.
My rainbow heart
I know you’re hurting
You don’t like pain
But pain, too, has lessons to teach.

Dear rainbow heart
Please come back stronger
Please don’t get tarnished
and come sooner, not later.

I need you.

 Other hearts: Black Heart and Pink Heart