It’s not a secret that I have fear and doubt as much as I have bravado and arrogance. I’ve always proclaimed it is a part of me, that I am every woman and everything at all times.

During my trip I allowed myself to consider what life looks like unafraid. I allowed myself to consider defining my own dreams and desires. I allowed myself to be still and listen to a wise woman I love.

I allowed myself to see beyond my circumstance and my losses and be reminded that shit happens everyday B, its how you deal with it that makes the difference. I allowed myself to consider what embracing faith looks like again.

It isn’t that these things are new to me, rather I allowed a series of people places and things to suppress dreams.

I cried on my trip. I dislike crying, even though I know it is necessary. One morning it was about a song. A song I’ve heard dozens of times before and didn’t allow myself to feel. I’ve done that a lot historically- prevented myself from feeling. It wasn’t even so much that song but the passion with which it was played. She wanted something more for me that it felt like I wanted for myself and in that moment I was ashamed, humbled, loved, bewildered, honored, amazed, and a whole slew of other adjectives for emotions that I will go out of my way not to feel at any general moment.

I could not contain any of it so I cried.

In the days and nights since, I’ve allowed her words to re-visit my conscious. I allow myself to hear the words and comments and observations from others over what is now decades. It started with nuns in elementary school and was most recently shared by my crush with an unexpected phone call that made me blush and kept me awake until my heart stopped pounding, even if my smile never receded.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I may never know, yet that absence of knowledge doesn’t have to translate into stagnation. It’s okay to dance. Even if I don’t think I am good at it. The pages of the instruction manual of me don’t contain the words you must be good. That narrative came from the women who raised me who feared what this world would deliver to me. I’ve retrained myself to be someone else than what they chose for me in so many ways, this additional way needs to happen as well.

It is okay to dance. It is okay to dream. I don’t have to be good and they don’t have to come true.

So since this is the blog I practice honesty, I can admit that one fear with returning to practice is the past.

I didn’t receive my Gohonzon right away, but I practiced. When I started in earnest, working to transform my existence, when I went all in October of 2010 happened and out of nowhere that man appeared. I want to tell myself that it was just to learn a lesson, and in a sense I am sure that is correct… I also cannot escape the just as real possibility that even though I never asked for him by name my heart did. I mean, I never asked to have my family ripped away from me in the manner they were, but along the way I know I asked for help. It didn’t appear in the manner I could have imagined but it did. And I ask myself as I prepare to walk back into faith, what unknown shit is on my heart now, that I won’t see coming and have to endure.

And in theory I should not be afraid, I’ve demonstrated my own power and strength so many times over my resilience should be the LAST of my questions, my ability to sustain should not be a doubt.

Some traces of it does though, and yes I will do the work to minimize and then erase them, that work ain’t done right.now.

I know that it’s coming though, my nightly lullaby of Marvel character corners and random podcasts is replaced either with the sound of my own breathing, the torrent of my own thoughts, or like last night, a multi hour YouTube recording of Nam Myo Ho Renge Kyo. I no longer have my prayer book but its 2019 and the Internet contains everything. Gongyo happened and it hasn’t in years.

I did something today I haven’t been able to do for a month prior. And it’s not that the circumstances are different, in fact they are more challenging in ways. It was me who was different, and I won’t take that lightly, I cannot.

Tonight might not have been a dance, more like a hesitant toe tap and occasional finger snap. But there is video evidence that I DO dance. Someone will tell the story of one day how I walked on the floor in a robe and cane and then proceeded to mostly slay. And even if I didn’t slay, I licked a leg, and I still remember how it tasted.

I can point to any number of moments like that, where I went full Nike on life and just did it. What I building now is a future where that is who I am as the standard not the exception. And as usual Constant Reader, I will keep you posted. In the interim, I hope you dance.

Aphrodite Brown