Warrior of Love Post-script (AKA It’s OK to be Face Down in the Dirt…)

Although the last piece of journal writing that I shared felt like a truth that wanted to emerge, it’s been niggling me somewhat. I didn’t quite tell the whole story. I’m always trying to integrate my ‘spiritual’ seeking, questing, oh-so-virtuous side with my earthy, flawed human side. Both are beautiful, both are equally worthy of being loved and honoured, but so often I skirt around or brush over the messy human-ness that is a huge part of who I am, why I’m here in fact. It’s crazy – spiritual by-passing at its finest! My mantra these days is, ‘own it all’, so to honour that, here’s the missing part from my last post, Warrior of Love…

Yes, a warrior of love will get swiped down by a sword to the heart many times during the battle that this human life can feel like sometimes. And, what happens between the blow to the heart and the picking yourself up again to rejoin the fray, heart wide open? Well, many things can happen, and most of them aren’t that pretty. The first is that, as you face-plant into the soil, you’re likely to get some kind of ‘spiritual concussion’ and forget that you’re a warrior of love at all. In this place, you’re more likely to feel like a fragile, vulnerable human being, scared and alone in the dark, writhing in the mud to avoid the trampling boots and hooves of those still battling it out above you. All kinds of paralysing emotions swirl through you – shame, fear, anger, frustration, disappointment, guilt, blame, rage, sadness, depression, jealousy, self-loathing… The wound to the heart is bleeding copiously, you’re not sure if you’re going to make it. Perhaps hopelessness takes hold, and maybe even an eventual surrender to what seems like the inevitable end.

But then… what usually happens is something occurs that reminds you of the warrior of love that you also are, alongside this vulnerable human being. This occurrence could take many forms, for example the glint of sunshine from above the fray enters your eye and you remember the sun, you remember there’s something beyond the battle. Or a fellow warrior of love reaches their hand down to touch your head or heart, or you hear a distant battle-cry of ‘Remember love!’ from across the battlefield. Something changes… A remembering stirs. “Why was I here in the battle in the first place?“, you might whisper to yourself. Then the answer emerges like a leaf softly landing on your tired mind, “to learn about love, to grow the love in my heart...”

You do a bit of a body check and realise you’re still alive and well, your heart is still beating, your lungs are still breathing. A fellow warrior of love will probably notice you stirring at that point and reach down to help you up. You remember that there have always been hands to help you, you start seeing them all again and it’s like slaking the thirst of your startled eyes and bruised heart.

To be sure, it’s an effort to stand again. You will need those helping hands, and you will be unsteady for a while. But stand again you do, eventually on your own two feet, unsupported but knowing your tribe are close by, should you stumble. It might take time to feel ready to re-enter the battle, you might just stand on the side and watch for a while. But eventually the lure to open the heart again is too strong to ignore. And in you go, sword of love blazing, heart wide open once more.

We are all warriors of love and we are all vulnerable human beings face down in the dirt. It’s a never-ending cycle through this gift of earthly life. And no part of the cycle is more or less important than any other. It does me good to remember this. I salute those in the mud right now. I’ve only just got back on my feet myself, with the help of many fellow warriors of love, and so soon did I forget that time in the mud. But it was a precious time, a vital time, a time that cranked my heart right open, and now I am the one running into the heart of the battle again, shouting at the top of my voice, ‘Remember love!‘, and hoping that someone face down in the dirt will hear me, and will begin to remember again at that point why they are here…

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