What about the bad stuff?

Even as I integrate my dark night and begin to understand the divine unfolding, a small voice in my head still has to ask- “What about the bad stuff? What about that sticky dark tar at the bottom of your soul?”

Because the lessons I learned didn’t come from walking slowly through the mud and never slipping. No, I slipped and fell hard. I rolled around, got sucked under,  lungs filled with dirt, and then I spewed the dirt everywhere, filth splashing on anyone near me. It’s no wonder my parents didn’t think this was an Awakening.

On the list of shame I’m still healing is displaying sexuality all over social media.

In one instance I convinced a friend/ex to post a nude picture of me on 4chan and send me the link, which I then posted on Facebook. It was around the time a mass of celebrities had nude photos leaked, and I felt compelled to release mine as well.  A big motivation was lyrics from the song “Both Of Us” from B.O.B:

“What’s the pattern for the madness / Everybody ain’t a number one draft pick / Most of us ain’t Hollywood actors / But if it’s all for one, and one for all / Then maybe one day, we all can ball / Do it one time for the underdogs / Sincerely yours, from one of y’all”

I took “Do it one time for the underdogs” to heart. Every time I listened to the song (and I listened over and over) I understood it as a call to action. The song is full of love with a call to recognize our similarities, as Taylor Swift sings “I wish I was strong enough to lift not one but both of us.” I saw the underdog as the celebrity, not the other way around, with so much pressure on their shoulders and so much privacy ripped from them. A lot starting as children, not even knowing what they were getting into.

I needed to understand their perspective, how such a violation would feel, to know that so many people you never gave permission to, and even family members, had looked at your naked body with who knows what thoughts. I thought of the nudes I’d taken for my boyfriend when I was just 16, and how it would feel if someone leaked those. I thought of friends and family members who I knew had taken nudes as well, and how easily a hacker could access them. So I hacked my own mind and posted my own body.

As I write it down the guilt slips away. The thought that I was somehow disgusting in that act fades. So much of what I did was out of empathy. Did I really not understand, or did I understand too deeply?

I was ashamed afterward, I recall my mom freaking out ‘Anyone could have looked at that link!’ And a couple months later when everything was sinking in, when I was back in this plane of reality, it freaked me out. I felt the violation. Now I heal it.

A body is a body. We all deserve privacy and acceptance. Had I not enacted the story maybe I would still have empathy, but I wouldn’t feel it down to my bones, I wouldn’t know their story in my soul. By getting sucked under, into the deepest murkiest parts, I understand more. I see more. I feel more.

My actions seemed insane. I can honestly say I didn’t have much control over myself. I heard messages in music and saw signs in every piece of littered trash and splash of graffiti. The entire world was a sacred puzzle and there were hints everywhere to help me solve it. Who’s to say that was a wrong view? Who’s to say that I didn’t need to shout and scream to learn the value of silence?

So what about the bad stuff? I’m learning the divine unfolding of that too.

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