She Waits in Fire
for the right movement to pass into the light
“What does it feel like?” she asked me yesterday.
“I don’t know!” I want to scream, but I guess it would be good to try.
The weight I feel deep down at my center, both holds me fast and weighs me down. It is my captor and my invitation to freedom. This weight has kept me docile and silent. It has steadied the flow of emotions into a small trickle from time to time. I feel the imbalance of the silence. My logic flowing like a mighty river next to a drip of a Spring unable to flow as it wishes. The force underneath being clogged, muddied, and deep pressure of too too much. The force seems to drill down at times–old habits of coping and consistency.
Who wants this kind of existence?
Creativity leaking out of the corners like a stoic old man. What would it be like to dip into a mighty rush of emotion like Victoria Falls or The Great Niagara? Rushing and loud, set free from its captors, running like a pack over the steep hills edge–thudding in my chest, yet silent, as if deaf–unable to feel them but knowing they are there. Emotion like a marble stone weighing in my hips. A baby of possible endings waiting to be birthed, causing searing pain and dull contractions.
I catch my breath–sharp breath in and feel it sink lower. Can this weight be born into the world? Can the laboring on produce a beauty I long to embrace and rejoice at its final arrival?
Speak, friend.
Silent partner.
Steady and strong and full of wonder.
What do you hide in there? What is waiting to emerge?
Gentle soil, can you stand the force of the birthing process? This burning in my chest is deep and familiar, holding me tight like an unwanted embrace.
Please–let me go on. Don’t keep me captive here, silent and responsible, good child wanting to be free. Give me a voice–I know it to be strong and new and is there a sound? She waits in the fire, burning to crown, looking and searching for the right movement to pass through to light.
