Saturday, November 3, 2018

A hundred epiphanies...

Soul shrine...
Healing is a process. It is a thousand rites of passage, and a handful of soft awakenings. It feels easy in concept, is often difficult in execution, and I am rarely forgiving of myself. It is on going, shifting. It is painful, joyful, shattering, and uplifting. 

But all of this work that we do to make ourselves whole, it is always worth it. Because it is in the illuminated moments that I find my magic.

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There have been a hundred epiphanies. 
Accompanied by trumpets, lightning, avalanches, and whimpers.
Each illuminating a piece of personal darkness.
Casting more shadows.
Showing the way.
There were times I crawled on my belly.
Moving forward blind; feeling my way with fingers and knees.
There were times I ran on new limbs. 

(Hey, World…here I am! No longer small.)

And I fell.
Again. Again. Again. 

(God dammit…why do I bother?)

Crawl away to hide.  To lick wounds.
And wait inside the quiet chaos I know. 

There have been a hundred epiphanies.
Each one a spade, a rake, a shovel…a spoon.
How deep do the roots go?
How did there come to be so many rocks here?
I pray for a pickaxe.
And my soul delivers an ice pick.
We dig with the tools we are given.
Or we make new ones.
Soft soil scooped with tender hands.
I look back at the heap of weeds, stones, and dust.
I look down at new soil.
I plant precious new seeds chosen by me. 

There will be a hundred more epiphanies.
And the rain will come.
And the sun will warm.
And I will grow.
Again.
Again.
Again.

 

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