I should have said no to that tenant who left his stuff in my house.
I should have said no to my mate who insisted we bike that treacherous trail.
I should have said no to that vampire, that leaner, that diva and bully.
But I could not.
I am too well trained in the art of creating a mirage of “yesses.”
It is a lovely world I conjure for others: no opposition, only pleasing; no meanness, only nice. They can relax because I have this; I can take the pain, the discomfort, the crap—all for their pleasure.
I am the geisha of yes.
But then one day, my true heart bursts forth and yells no, no, no!
With scarlet lipstick I write the word on the bathroom mirror, letters larger than my head.
Still, since my “yes” training is so deep and old, my matrix dies a bloody death.
Only when I move inward and take hold of the Beloved’s hand can I enter the land of “no.”
This place is more real: people are less happy with me.
Rather than pools of honey, it has concrete sidewalks, and sometimes, a pounding jackhammer.
That tenant, mate, or employer may have a crinkle in their brow.
They may shake their heads and even yell at me.
But then one day they understand; there is someone here, a live soul, with agency.
Respect is born, or they slink away.
That mirage I tried to create for others now expands inside me.
It is a place of soothing love baths, waterfalls of power—a doorway to safety.
Most of all, a deep knowing that all those wayward “yesses” weren’t a mistake.
My very descent into the material world came from such a yes.
I said yes to life—to learn, to come to know the God within,
as all experience teaches me
to say no to the lower
and yes, yes, yes to the true life