Own it.


The edge is my holy book opened up wide. It’s my tongue taking in the Eucharist.  It’s dry flesh soaking up the anointment of blessed oils.  It’s my body draped against each sun-warmed stone, our union a prayer.  It’s handfuls of sandy dirt tossed as an offering to the endless air.

It’s one of those places I have a hard time writing and talking about.  It changes and means so many different things to me, depending on the flow of life. I am not sure if the center is the edge, or the edge is the center, but either way.  Either way.

Let me try and say what it doesn’t feel like.

*It’s not living and existing as edgy.

*It’s not really a place to exist, just a place to visit, regularly {or irregularly}

*It’s not making crazy choices {it could be},

*It’s not leaving your life behind {it could be}

*It’s not full-blown out-law misfit {though there is some rocking fun in that}.

*It’s not falling off the edge. {Although sometimes that is a good catalyst for gold-wing-making}

*It’s not an action and yet it’s only action.

*It’s not about being cautious.

*It’s not about dangerous.

 

Here is what I think it is.

*Intention in living, breathing, loving, creating.

*Diving into curiosity like it’s a bath of dark chocolate crème.

*Living your courage like you inhale mountain air.

*It’s listening in the chaos.

*It’s listening in the silence.

*And answering the calls

*The loud ones and the barely there whispers.

*Finding a bestie and/or lover in fear.

*Having your new bestie and/or lover help lead your way.

*Into a dark room

*A dark room that dismantles the idea of shelter + safety.

*A dark room that holds the most unusually intense pinpoint of light

*That light is what you have been waiting to breath into, to watch expand endlessly.

*It’s stepping inside it.

*It’s surrender

*It’s vision

*It’s seduction {of self}

*It’s practicing ownership of creative essence

*It’s the balance on the edge of: radical change + loving right where you are. Because chances are you don’t need radical change. Maybe you need just a little rattle or shake.  Chances are you are perfectly true as is.  The edge usually shows you exactly that.  Clearly.  Sometimes with an ache or two. Or three. Or a crack in half and massive generational cell and blood loss.

 

But the view. From the edge.  It’s just so breathtakingly clear.  Vistas.  After spending a moment or two there, we remember why we kick off our shoes and let the hard rock of ancient cliff cut into our feet and the new found blood spill cleanse our past and re-create our future.  

We remember why the concept of safety is bullshit. We remember why our heart is the guide to everywhere true. That our gut is our oracle.  Along with the clouds and the birdcalls and the grooves of bark around a tree. And the moon late at night when we are alone and naked, balancing on a line of granite as thin as a needle . We remember that the view is Ours.  Whatever it is. It’s ours. Fully. {To hold. And share. Through cellular memory and life story.}

And of course our center, it’s always our home. Home is suppose to be a bit boring, ya know.  Cozy. Comfortable. La de da. The place we can root down, rise up, and listen. Where are we? Where are we going? Where have we always been heading?

Home is part rest, part getting ready. To prepare.  It’s where we can sit and just be for a while with a deep knowing that all is as it should be.  It’s our space to ferment for what’s next. It’s the place where we can decide when and where to wander and explore, when it’s time to head to the cliff.  To the edge. When it’s line-walking time.

Own it.

Owning the edge means leaving the center {or taking it with us. For god’s sake the center can be the edge and the edge can be the center. You understand this is all just ridiculous semantics, right?}

Owning the edge means going where you need to go with some authority. Reclamation. Proclamation.  Picking the You others might not know or like but you don’t give two fucks. Knowing nothing but Desire to know more. About yourself.  Go there with fear as your weapon and courage as your freedom.

 

Go there and receive the gifts.  Receive lessons. Wisdom. Rewards. Nothing. Go there to find the code in your bruises and sacredness in your stretch marks and say, “Yes. I’ve got this.  It feels crazy and good and hurts but I can feel.  And it feels right. Wild. Still. Silent. Chaotic. Lonely.  All that there is. And this is as far as I need to go.  And now I can go back home. To my center.”

And then you know: repeat. Infinity.

If you do yoga, it’s like stretching yourself beyond yourself in a yoga pose.  Let’s say

Virabhadrasana III {warrior 3} because that one always takes me to far away places, to an edge I really want. So I do it.  I stretch beyond my center and I take it to the craggy cliff, crashing waves of thoughts and breath, wind so strong I probably fall over. Emotions so intense I cry right there,  out of my pours, out of my joints. Out of my brain.  But I’m there, on the edge. To own it.

To wobble. To observe. To dig. To peer over. And hang out, or hang on, or just hang.  For a while.  And sometimes for just a sliver of time.  But as soon as I get the signal from my body, from my heart, from my cells that I have been there long enough, I come back home {not out of fear, but out of choice and knowing}.  Back to Mountain Pose.  My center.  Not a place to fully rest, but a place that feels familiar, the place to soak my journey in.  Solid. Strong. I can breath. I can stand.  Listen. And read my entire body that was informed by the line of life and beyond life.   

Get  to a place when you are called to stretch past what you know and do.  Don’t get caught up in it. Don’t fall over it.  Don’t run away from it.  Don’t let it get you shit-faced drunk. Though blissfully intoxicated is a huge bonus in edge ownership and highly recommended.   

The edge is the Teacher and you own the Wisdom. Wisdom is the edge and you are the Teacher.   And always, always: you know your way back home.  Because you are your home.

And your home is now more full of Remedy. Your eyes a bit more mysterious.  Your art, your writing, your breath, more informed with the vastness of experience, the glow of exploration, the satisfaction of answering the call.