Answer the call and feel it
The words and the answers are always within this moment, this present breath, the slowness, the slowing down of a fellow old being, a body, an animal. The wind, the trees, the breeze, there’s many moving parts here yet many stay the same. Is it vulnerability? Is it authenticity is it a true and clear look into the mind? Is it something close to the heart? What feels good for you? What’s your perfect place to start?
The desire to heal, to steal the suffering off the shelves, pocket all the illness and disease, make the world beautiful and kind again. Bring back the magic, fill the isles with roses and cornmeal and celebrate the togetherness. What can you create from what’s right in front of you? When you don’t even know where you’re being led, simply away from what you once knew and entirely into something new. Something easy, something fun, something clear and connected and grounded. Something full and bright and aware, open, conscious and kind. To fill the isles with something else, yet you are the creator of this something else and it comes from your divine surrender.
Do you know what’s right and can you simply let go? What are you afraid of? Being the one exposed for all your inner workings?
I speak to me through the eyes of you.
How I yearn and how I crave. Projecting a whole life outward into a world devoid of what I crave, empty on the insides. How do I know what I can share and what needs to be held back upon? How much can I really open up? My heart hidden back in the conclaves of my chest. My coworker told me that she loves me. I say I love you too yet my heart hides behind my ribs and feels no pulse as I proclaim the words. Is to write to share my whole soul and bear it raw? To be walked on a chain from around your throat, a flip of the script. What do I even know to be safe anymore, scavenged in the darkness, I wandered too far. I call out to the light to bring me home, for I know what it is that I want to create, and so I do.
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Back into some resemblance of sanity. Freshly wet hair to keep my face in place. A writer or a mother or a crone or a maiden. Who are you and who would you like to become, cackling underneath the moonlight, a candle to my right burns bright. Who is it that’s pulling your chain, or are you the one walking yourself. What you do is here it bring you joy, closer to spirit, closer to home. To that place within you that beats and pulses, rhythmic and steady. That place that is unwavering, unfaltering in its percussive nature. The heartbeat of the earth, of the stars, the sky. A gift it us all to follow, to listen, to hear. To hold the love amidst all the fear. To stand strong and true and clear, to let yourself eat and drink deeply into the life that you live.
Do I dive in to experience? Why do I find myself in the places and the spaces that I do. Freshly washed hair in order to keep my mind aligned. Aligned with what? The beat of my heart in time with the stars, the lightening outside, the voice in my chest that once was trapped in a room so tight, it taught itself how to break free. It once only knew life to be the size of the room and the life on the picture box, the leaves pressed to the skylight up top was the only expression of what a tree might be. Until it got out, it rolled itself in a carpet and pretended itself to be dead, it feigned a sickness to get past the guard and soon, finally, it ran free. Out of the moving truck bed it rolled, screaming for help and assistance, counting the stop signs and the turns. So that it could find its way back home and save her, the only one he’d ever known, the one who had given him life, the one who had been his only friend. He made it out of that room, my heart now roaming free, into a wild world, full of noise and stop signs and trees, tall real full trees. There were other people out here and there was kindness, there was assistance. The sky was gray but now they could see all of it, not just a small portion. The clouds moved, they breathed, they swayed. There was so much noise, and sound and color and so many things moving all at once. But now, finally now, they were free. Free of the tyranny and the cruelty. Being beaten down and locked away. Now they were finally out of the box and free to roam. Their story brought the news and the assurance of family. Ones around, who had missed them so dearly, finally reunited. Ready to meet the child they had never known. Finally safe in each others arms. The memories of the time in that room, in that small box, of being taken and used still remained. They lingered though they slowly faded out. Faded out into the outskirts of everything, for in them they knew this would never happen again. They would never again e confined or contained like they once were, for they never could be again, for now they were safe, held and secure within the arms of love. Divine love, familial love, a homecoming they never expected until it arrived. Yet it came and slowly, they got their life back.
Slowly, ease fully, the heart became free. The heart allowed itself to trust, to trust in what was being created. Trust in the plan, trust in the unfolding. Slowly, carefully, tediously, the heart allowed itself to roam free in this wild and great world, free to explore, to see new places, to go try new things, to experience new faces and cuisines and languages. To sing and to dance with different cultures. To laugh and to cry with different beings if all walks of life, all in communion under the one common agreement: love,
Love for brother, love for sister, love for mother, love for father, love for child. Love for earth, love for ancestor, love for self. Love for neighbor, love for other. Love for all and love for the one. One common law, one common agreement. One common decision to create within and underneath and through. The ability it slow down and go back and reread and listen again. To listen within. To what pours forth, to hear their wisdom and to take it in and to rest and to receive. Rest and receive.
