Old souls and the fragility of life

Old souls and the fragility of life

Hello dear soul friend,

Actually, something else was supposed to be on my agenda. I actually wanted to do this and that. A lot was planned, but in a brief moment, just a tiny instant, everything changed.

My moment came a few days ago in the middle of the night when an incredible crash and a bloodcurdling scream jolted us all out of a deep sleep. My eleven-year-old daughter had missed a step in the dark and tumbled down the entire staircase, landing face-first on a protruding piece of wooden paneling.

Blood everywhere, a nerve-wracking drive to the emergency room, two doctors stitching my daughter's face back together, plaster casts, painkillers, even more blood, a daughter who repeatedly threatens to go into shock, trying to protect her as much as possible from the impressions of the emergency room (a woman who had just cut her wrists and was lying covered in blood on a cot in the hallway, an old woman who had broken her pelvis and couldn't stop screaming in pain), fighting to be allowed to stay in the room with my daughter, etc.

Finally, at four in the morning, I sit in the dark room next to my daughter's bed, holding her fingertips. The only part of her body that doesn't hurt. Finally, she's fallen asleep, and finally, for a brief moment, I don't have to be strong for her anymore, but instead feel my own shock, my own deep, incredibly deep fear.

I force myself not to think about all the things that could have happened, how my child narrowly escaped tragedy and death for the second time. She is alive, she will recover, her wounds will heal.

But inside, I feel wounds that haven't yet healed. Wounds of loss. So often, across so many lifetimes, I've had to let loved ones go. And yes, even though I know we remain connected on a soul level, as human beings incarnated here on Earth, it hurts to lose a loved one. To no longer be able to hold them in my arms, to feel abandoned, to feel left alone on life's journey.

And once again I realize how fragile our lives are. That there is no guarantee how long we can be with our loved ones to share, feel, and experience this life on Earth.

In this moment, in the dark hospital room, I feel my golden armor around my chest crumble. I had once put it on in the irrational belief that it would protect me from precisely this pain, from these fears. I have to acknowledge that this is not the case. On the contrary. No external armor, no life lived on hold, protects me from the possibility of experiencing loss.

Loss is part of life. Dying and death are part of our lives. And many nod and say, "Yes, we know that!" or "I'm at peace with death!" And what do we do then? We continue living our lives on SPARFLAMME.

That night, trembling and weeping at my daughter's bedside, I decided I would no longer live a half-hearted life, not for myself anymore. I will no longer hide my feelings behind a shell. I love, and I share that love, and I share that love with others. I stand up and speak my truth, and no, not everyone has to share my truth.

I respect everyone's truth, but I won't let others talk me out of it anymore. I won't let anyone tell me I'm wrong for not leaving my eleven-year-old daughter alone in pain in an empty hospital room. And yes, you're welcome to roll your eyes because I'm talking about angels or the soul.

Yes, you're allowed to think I'm crazy because I believe in my soul sprays and my calling. Yes, you're allowed to get upset that I support my family through spirituality. It's your life, your feelings, you're free to do what you want. From now on, that's okay with me. I will no longer take other people's judgment of me and my way of life to heart.

My time is too precious for that. I am right, with all the mistakes I make and will make. But they are my mistakes, not yours. I am allowed to judge them. You are not. You are allowed to make your mistakes, and I will try to focus on myself.

I'm tired of armored emotions and of hiding my true greatness just to avoid getting hurt in the storm. I'm tired of having to justify or even defend myself for who I am, for what I believe, and for how I live. Life is infinitely precious; the time I have now, with this awareness, with these insights, with these experiences, is finite.

Your time here is finite, too. And yes, perhaps this is your last life on Earth, perhaps your last life here as an incarnate human being. And whether that's the case or not: damn it, let's make something of our lives. Something bigger than the constant fear of not being able to pay some bill.

Like the constant frustration because someone wants to convince you that you're not good enough: not a good mother, not a good father, not a good employee, not a good boss, not a good life partner, not a good lover. HELLO? You are good, not only that: you are amazing. We are all amazing when we can flow with the current of our own lives. When we are ready to let our own lives fulfill us. When we create for ourselves a life that we love to be fulfilled by.

My daughter's accident was a wake-up call for me. Once again. Not to waste my precious time here on Earth, not to squander it on grief, fear, hatred, anger, envy, worry, or negative thoughts about myself or others. I want to make something of my time. No more doing things just because "that's what you do," but because I feel it's right and good for me now. I no longer want to bend over backwards for others, hoping they'll like me.

I AM and you are, and we either like each other or we don't. And that's okay. That's perfectly fine. I don't have to like everyone, and not everyone has to think I'm great, and yet we can still treat each other with respect and appreciate each other's life journey.

And if this is the last time I'm here (which I'm not entirely sure about myself), then I want to enjoy my time with the people I love. I want to taste chocolate and drink delicious sparkling wine, I want to go back to Paris and climb the Eiffel Tower, I want to go to Canada, I want to laugh with my husband, share my children's most beautiful experiences, and be there for them when life gets tough.

I want to tell them that they are amazing and that they deserve the best life anyone can have. Every single one of us deserves that: to be loved, to be valued, to be able to breathe freely, and to be grateful for our talents and gifts.

If this is my last time here, then I want to know how great my true greatness can be. Then I want to discover how much light is within me and how much of it I can share with the world. Then I want to do what I can so that my footprints on Earth are filled with life experience, with laughter, with love, with fulfillment, and with humility.

And when the moment comes that I must go—and that moment could be at any instant—then I will know that I have truly lived. Not half-heartedly, but fully. That I have given my children and my husband as much of myself as I could, that I have given myself as much life as I could. That I have given the earth and humanity as much light as I could, and illuminated my own life as much as I was able.

And then? Then I'll move on, to the next task, or come back again. But I hope I'll remember that I was once able to make something great out of my precious time. And if that was possible once, then it's possible again. Again and again. More beautiful and more fulfilling.

From now on, I will let life fulfill me, from now on I will immerse myself more and more in my true greatness. And I invite you to make the most of your time. Together, so much more is possible. So many wonders await us, so many gifts along the way, just waiting to be unwrapped.

I thank my children for being here and reminding me to love, to feel, completely without a safety net or any backup plan. I thank them for reminding me how precious our time on earth is and that we have no guarantee how long it will last.

I thank everyone who shares a part of their journey with me in mutually perceiving each other's light. I am happy to see your true greatness, beyond drama and armored emotions. I am grateful for my own light, which I am allowed to shine, and for yours, which can be a guide for me when I am standing in darkness.

Here's to a great life, now and in the future.

Lots of love, Jennifer