3.2

Wings {Poem}.

Wings.

Everyone’s got them.
Not in the literal sense of course,
but figuratively, we all do.
Those things that lift us from the ground.
Sometimes it’s hard to keep focus.
Always accused of having one’s head in the clouds, yes.
That thing that keeps pulling you.
Tugging you away, stirring you awake.
Whispering, “There’s more to life than this, my dear.”
Glimmering in our night’s sky.
Sometimes, our wings are a bit dusty.
On occasion,
people or experiences touch our backs—reminding us where our wings once were.
Oh, my darling, they’re still here, those wings of yours.
They may have changed, maybe grown.
They do, as we do.
Maybe they’re not what you thought, or you didn’t expect them.
Be gentle with yourself.
You can be lifted again.
Maybe you followed them once and it hurt?
You can heal your wings too, you know.
You’ve got more healing within you,
and more lift-power than you’re consciously aware of.
Many things inspire wings.
Daydreams, passion, connection, synchronicity.
Those figurative bumps near your shoulder blades
they pulse with your pulse,
they feel your inhaling and exhaling,
they delight in the beating of your heart, dear one.
If you’re not aware of your wings right now,
or you knew them once, but they appear to have retracted
I offer you this: breathe.
Breathe into the places where it hurts the most.
Breathe into betrayal, breathe into forgiveness, breathe into spaces of lack.
Slowly and surely draw the light of your breath into those places
that we’d all much rather run away from.
When you’re ready—be in gratitude for all.
All of the spaces, people, and places
that have helped you weave, and rediscover
your ability to rise.

~
Author/Editor: Jen Schwartz
Image: Flickr//Cuatrok77
Copy Editor: Travis May
Copy Editor: Travis May

Mary Jelf Nov 3, 2017 1:14pm

..."Those figurative bumps near your shoulder blades"... I actually reached back to see if I could feel mine...

Sonia Azalia Nov 2, 2017 2:02am

Just wow <3 especially this line "Breathe into the places where it hurts the most. Breathe into betrayal, breathe into forgiveness, breathe into spaces of lack." it's so heart-warming.

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Jen Schwartz

Jen Schwartz is a joy seeker/sharer living in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Made mostly of heart, she is a believer in the power of gratitude and lover of the (extra)ordinary. Jen is in training to be a community choir/song leader and is particularly passionate about people, connection, words, and song—and how those things can change the world when combined. During the day, Jen works for Elephant Journal and at night she snuggles with her cat. You’ll often find her correcting grammar in things publicly displayed, thanking the sun for shining, or pointing out lyric references in everyday conversation. Connect with Jen on Facebook or her website.