I am gestating in the womb of change and progress.
I am developing the skills and strength to become reborn in my own image without the yoke of false hope, without the bearing of bloody lies, without the praise for being different tainted with shame. The strings and ropes that moored me to the shore are severed with my clear consent. I am no longer anchored at the pier of someone else’s demands and lack of mercy. What is no longer necessary for my survival is falling away rapidly, some of which is regret.
I Regret that I didn’t realize sooner what was occurring. I Regret that my need to hope that things would improve could not be sated by the harmful actions of others. I Regret that I saw the omens, realized the map, and ignored my compass.
But there will be obvious bouts of discord as there always are when rebirth is occurring. There is always pain, but that is the labor of passion. That is the direction of one’s eyes being opened to a new dawn. That is the sanctity of new life being brought into the world despite the age of its possessor. It is a covenant union between life and the living. It is where, just outside of the comfort zone, new and wild adventures are committed to memories with delight. It is where the spirit remembers why the pain is sometimes deeply necessary. It’s there so we remember not to walk that path any more. That pain is there as a guidepost, a milestone, a mile-marker.
My future destination is still being navigated, charted, and lined into a clearly mapped path. But I fear the end result out of resistance to chaos, upheaval, and the possibility of error. I am petrified that I will be stillborn. I am so frightened that I won’t evolve into something or someone I recognize. I look in the mirror and wonder what’s next, what am I going to do? I play the Wo-Co-Sho (would have, could have, should have) game and the What-if’s because my uncertainty in the future is wrought with cautious ambition.
I know better. I know that I am being guided by the blessings, gifts and goals painted on my dreamy canvas. I know that what is to come is not for me to know, even if I can see glimpses of it. I know that once I’ve arrived in THAT place, it will match my vision and I will weep once again with gratitude.
But, for now, I will gestate in the womb of change while I grow into my new spirit self. While I bloom, blossom, develop, and change. The risks that are involved, while in this state, are negligible.
It’s what comes after the rebirth and during that process that will engage every moment of bravery required of my soul spirit to achieve that which my heart remembers, requires, and desires above all else. My courage will come when it is needed as long as my feet are still moving towards my own evolution and reconstruction of who I am destined to be at this time in my life.
My umbilical chord hums with rejuvenation and possibility. The anticipation of new sprinkled with historical re-validation, and written onto slightly off key musical staffs, create wonder in my spirit. I wonder if this music I hear is loud enough to be heard by others. I wonder if this tune I write will inspire others to seek their symphony, to take the risks that encourage growth into the sonata after the dirge has bilged their spirits clear of the desperate attempt to belong where they don’t.
Some of the music my spirit knows are still empty notes played at random while the steady rhythm of my heartbeat drives me forward. The harmonica plays. The violin strings. The chorus of bass (because it’s all about the bass, ’bout the bass, no trouble) drives the beat forward. I am immaculate but still dusty and bloodied from my last go round. I see the path to walk, nay run, and I lay my foot down against the soft walls of wisdom. I must keep moving forward.
The risk will be worth the reward despite the outcome of the final piece I’ve committed to writing. The outcome, come what may, will be life unfolding in a grand mastery of orchestral parts with some blended so lovingly with beauty that joy is easily found.
I will be reborn. I will shake free of this shell. I’ve become like a chrysalis wrapped tight in swaddling adventure, changing my colors, changing my heart, changing my spirit for the next chapter. I will be reborn because to remain where I am, who I am, doing what I’ve always done is not an option if I hope to experience the life I was destined to meet. I MUST risk everything in order to rise up and meet the challenge of my spirit. This temporary state of rebuilding is my sole opportunity for the path I’ve chosen. But it isn’t my only option or way to get there, it’s just my choice to follow this particular path.
One foot in front of the other. One step forward. One belief that I am more than what I am right now. One wise guide that tells me to bloom, to grow, to breathe, live, act. I follow this inner voice, but I’m truly leading myself on my own spiritual journey.
Reblogged this on Mare Martell and commented:
The transition that I’m going through right now has left me devoid of any tools I’d formerly acquired. I’ve been given a child’s toy box filled with ancient lessons, many of which I’d discarded in favor of happier memories to be created.
I am not upset with the choices I’ve made to arrive in the womb of my birth, but that womb has been long absent, my ties severed and reweaved with the intention of a more beautiful tapestry. That has, indeed, been the result of an unending compromise of spirits bound by strength, embattled by power, and a fierce defense against those who attempt to stifle the sacred vow of compassion between the hearts.
My terror of losing whom I’ve worked so hard for many years to become fades and sharpens in focus depending on the moment. At times I feel the liberation from the blossoming fields into fruition while, to the contrary, I also feel the drought that loss affords when one is used to abundance.
I am a refuge from poverty where I’ve lived for so long, but I also know that my shirt sleeves that are pushed up around my elbows are no stranger to fighting injustice in the trenches of a dismissive society.
I repost this as a reminder that my rebirth has moved into another stage of labor, a thinking of the membrane that, when pressed firmly enough, will erupt with inspiration, creativity, warmth, and everything else I know myself to be with an even more stellar position in the world beyond the stars.
At your leisure, may you enjoy this article as much as I needed to be reminded that the process is working. I am okay. I will be okay.
OMG. This is your best yet! Wonderful piece. Love the imagery. Great job. Mom
This is, hands down, your best piece yet. It is truly well done and it makes my heart swell with pride at your gifts. Love you, my daughter, the writer.