A small, yet brightly burning pilot light ignites in my belly. A smoldering fire fills my lungs with smoke of burned passages and past. Crawls up my throat and out of my mouth like a serpent coughing up ash from the depths. A serpent with a sharp poisonous tongue…it spits and lands in pools near my feet. A poison-covered toe, breaking the calm surface.
I step back and watch reflections of former selves, like cockroaches into secret holes in walls and cracks in the foundation.
What is asking to be created is space. A hollow in my belly that has held life, that has held stress, that has held my center so tightly that my hips forgot how to move, how to curl and wind.
A space for me. Not for my son or my family. A space where I answer to no one but myself. A space for no apologies. A space for action and growth. Exponential growth like invasive vines climbing trees, vegetation strangling wood and branch, yet both surviving, both still thriving.
A space where I can rest my heavy head too full of the world. Too full of the headlines and flashing neon lights and stop signs. I’m not ready to stop. I am just beginning.
I am just creating, not for the first or the last time, but for this new time, for this new space where I unravel and rip open this sternum to reveal lungs of lavender in fields; a liver of reeds to filter out toxicity; a heart made of broken ragdoll parts, with stitches upon stitches that weave together and make this blood pump faster; intestines full of words that fall out displayed on sidewalks and carpets, displayed in falling leaves that held too firmly to summer, to permanence, when in fact there is none.
A space pulling me in a direction of future. Pulling me out of my shell, my exoskeleton, my ability to crawl back inside and dwell and hibernate with all my secrets tucked around me like blankets.
I want out.
I want loud and daring.
I want passion and fire.
I want burning and heat from the embers.
I want a space that molds me.
I want a space that twists and contorts me and spits me out again.
Like a newborn,
Like I’m reborn,
Soaked in my own embryonic fluid of my remaking.
For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends The Universe Has Your Back: Transform Fear to Faith.
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