Life cracked you open and you all spilled out.
A purge that was both deeply pleasurable and sickeningly painful.
Delighted one moment by the freedom of realisation and release, disturbed the next by the grief of a long loss of power and the damage of old wounds flashing before your eyes.
The rotten roots finally pulled free and discarded into the cosmic fire, leaving an empty space for pure desire to emerge.
And what was finding the light was a desire and longing so pure, so astonishingly beautiful and powerful, you didn’t feel ready for it.
What will this violent world do with it? With me, if I make my move towards it?
It almost feels too pure for this place. But then I guess that’s exactly why it’s needed here.
I’m feeling vulnerable. It feels scary in a way that is both exciting and horrendous. I want to stay with the excitement, but the fear keeps creeping in, voicing its doubts, declaring dramatically that this is the danger zone.
But it’s different this time, I tell myself. We’ve been here before. We survived.
I grew into a woman who is wiser, stronger than ever before. We laugh in the face of danger. In fact, we grab its stupid face and shove our tongue down its throat.
This time, vulnerability, I meet you with tenderness, a touch of humour and a whole lot of love.
I don’t care how many times we do this. I won’t let you harden my heart and shut me off from love.
