I stand on the jagged edge of fear, tears in my eyes, terror in my heart.
The moonlight shines down in thick, silky beams, lighting my way as I stumble and stutter and falter.
I know it’s time.
I resist.
Cowering, my legs tell me to run. My hands tell me to hide. My mind tells me I’m not ready.
Panicked as sh*t, I try to back away from this painful, uncertain darkness—but I can’t.
My skin itches all over, telling me it’s time to let go.
It’s time to move on.
It’s time to step into something new.
Just as I cannot stop the wind from blowing, I cannot stop growth or change—no matter how painful or f*cked up it seems.
My soul needs it.
So, I get out of the way and surrender.
Suddenly, my heart chokes on the past, coughing up seashells of pain and abuse and spiky layers of unexpressed feelings.
I cling so hard, so desperately, to what once was.
Sad memories and mistakes and incredibly beautiful moments slip through my fingertips like scratchy grains of sand.
I passionately kiss the past goodbye—it’s a painful parting, with salty tears and anger and a red-hot longing.
But, this kiss sets off a volcanic eruption in my soul.
I lose my sh*t. I explode.
Collapsing onto the muddy ground, I shatter into a million pieces of glittering, painful possibility.
The earth holds me gently in the murky depths of my vulnerability as a high-pitched, sobbing scream escapes my mouth.
I howl to the moon like a lost wolf; my breath becomes fire.
I become wild again.
Shaking madly, I somehow manage to untangle the rusty shackles that have kept me chained in place for all these years.
Slowly, I put one foot in front of the other.
I’m free.
This freedom is not pretty or shiny or fun; it’s hard-earned. It hurts.
This is my freedom.
Sweet, painful, delicious; as nourishing as a ripe mango.
Eagerly, I crouch down in a field of golden grass and bite into this succulent soul-food as my mouth drips with inspiration and nervous excitement.
With sticky fingers, I begin to find my wings.
They’re throbbing, aching, begging to fly, thirsting to soar.
Falcon-like feathers span from my shoulder blades to my fingertips, and I sit there, stunned by their purely magical beauty.
Could I be worthy of such powerful wings?
“Yes,” whispers the moon, softly.
I cry because I believe her.
Smiling slightly through my tears, I spread my wings and fly into outer space, spinning through pixie dust galaxies, landing happily on icy-cold Pluto.
I kiss stardust and lick the sun, dancing past anyplace where time exists at all.
I fly over turquoise seas in Tahiti and see crowded, busy, beautifully dirty streets in New York City.
I fly wherever the wind tells me; wherever my heart pushes me.
I’m free.
I’m wildfire.
I’m a tender-hearted wolf with wings.
I’m ready to live.
I will soar.
No one can stop me…
Not even myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment