If I could tell you one thing, my dear heart, it is this. No one has it figured out. None of us. We are all just trying to get from birth to death as peacefully, as sweetly, as nobly as we can. We are stumbling, most of us, though from where you sit it may look as though some of us are elegantly waltzing or doing a fancy latin dance. We are making it all up as we go along. You are not alone.
You will make mistakes and those mistakes will teach you things–things you never imagined you would learn. You will work hard, harder than you knew you could and it won’t even feel like work. It will cost you dearly, this passage. You will have your heart broken a thousand times perhaps–by friends, by lovers, by strangers. You may think you can sit out by refusing to give your heart or numb yourself but giving it away to everyone. You can’t. You will doubt everything you ever knew to be true and tell yourself a hundred fairy tales. None of it will be true and all of it will be true and then you will wake up.
You may feel extraordinarily lonely then, even though your sobs are resonating through hollow chests all around you. Resonating like bells ringing together, like guitars humming, like drums thumping in unison. And in that moment as you move to the harmonies of joy and sorrow, you will look up and see that the whole world is dancing with you and that your stumbling looks like a magical choreography so stunningly beautiful and honest that all creation is wondering how you got so wise, how you learned to dance like that, what secrets you must know.
Dear one, if I could tell you just one thing right now its this. You know everything you need to know and absolutely nothing all at the same time. There is no magical moment when suddenly you are worthy. There is no gate to walk through that makes you belong. You have arrived here. It is your birth right. And that’s all that is important.