The Challenges Are Doors to Be Opened.
The “bad stuff” is over. It’s time to accept that I have choices. I am no longer a victim. I am a heroine. I am intelligent. I have thoughts, ideas, wit, interests and opinions. I also have feelings, and for the first time it feels okay to feel them. I am female and will no longer be walked on or ordered around. I won’t be a servant. I give not to be taken advantage of, but because I care. I’m not heartless. I’m full of heart.
It takes courage to explore what is real—the real that has been kept quiet for lifetimes. My anger runs deeper than any chasm on this planet; so does my grief. The frustration of being a victim has caused an avalanche of other bodily, emotional crap, but it didn’t and won’t take away my soul. I have a vision. I have a light and it comes from within. I will not, nor do I have to, put up with anyone’s shit.
The tears and rage went deeper. She saw it as an end and not as a beginning.
Recently, I caught a glimpse of a new future. While on a mini excursion, my perception shifted. The walls, doors and windows all seemed to open. I followed a bluish-gray slate path wedged into the earth. At the end I stepped into a portal where insightful conversations ensued.
There was a quiet cottage with a quality of warmth. It was a safe respite, tucked neatly beside heirloom apple trees and massive walnut trees. The wisdom of nature was palpable. A ribbon of fall-faded saffron and pale white dahlias grew along the backside, overlooking distant peaks. The air was damp and crisp. Wooden fences wrapped around the weary veggies. Paths were strewn with cedar pine needles. The smell was intoxicating. Clarity penetrated the metaphors of my life. Possibilities seemed endless as synchronicity hummed.
In this future, life is moving forward. The story slips purposefully on the pages. Deliberate strokes strike a chord of liberation. It is prose streaming through my heart—fluid and unique. The pine floor boards are flawed, and the wooden beams exposed, while herbs dry freely. There are open fields and animals milling around. Flowers and vegetable gardens permeate. The fireplace—a real fireplace is stoked with aged wood. I can smell the happiness. It’s a meaningful life filled with like-minded, intelligent, aware, spiritual, genuine people, coming and going.
Life, purpose, unique, flawed, exposed, open and free
I relish the quiet and being in nature. It steadies my mind and fills my heart. I also enjoy sharing my home and having friends over for leisurely gatherings. Whatever happens will happen. No more panic. No more rules. No more fanfare. Present to the moment. I realize simplicity is good and not wrong. There’s no need to justify my beliefs.
My center is multifaceted. Life isn’t about being plastic. I choose to swim against a current of lies. My body, mind and soul echo an ebb and flow as I change. When resting, my breasts lull east and west and when standing they dip south. My stomach is a relaxed soufflé of sorts, coupled with a maze of stretch marks, outlining my tenacity. My forehead is vertically supplemented with years of growing intuition and wisdom. The skin around my eyes is creased, and the creases fill with joy, not with some artificial crap that diffuses my age. There’s a growing softness and trust in the soul of my eyes. Laughter comes easier. Trust will too.
The moments have built around me for years, letting me know the past is over. Difficult as this process is, I will listen to that inner voice. She has been there all along. There is a growing freedom. I no longer have to shield myself from what was. That past is no longer. The moment I accepted this, I entered a flowing stream of now. I am readjusting the navigational balance and the course of my life.
Like a tree
Like the universe and infinity
The leaves swirl to an imaginary dance
The veins of life or leaf, pulsate
Even in a withered petal
Dormant in rest
Hidden in slumber
The challenges are doors to be opened
Change is here.
Ed: Stephanie V.
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July’s Full Moon in Capricorn: The Heart wants what it Wants. How to Love a Woman who Scares You. Our Soulmates are Rarely Who We Expect. I Still Think of You. The 4 Stages of a Good Divorce. Men, Let’s Stop Fooling Ourselves: Size Matters. Reading This Takes Guts. To the One Who Tried to Break Me. An Open Letter to the Fixers. How your Stored Memories in the Amygdala can lead to PTSD.