“And the day came when the risk it took to remain in a tight bud became greater than the risk it took to blossom”
Oh, that day took its sweet time coming.
The way the dawn comes, stealthily through the mist, highlighting the mountain peaks then sneaking down into valleys and frosty places. Westward, look! The land is bright!
My blossoming didn’t happen like that.
It didn’t creep.
It didn’t unfurl into soft shell petals and loveliness.
I was dragged.
Through every stubborn resistance my own conscious put up. Each barrier pitted against the drive within me and the Divine without: those needing my work called out to me. My inner dynamo cried to be heard. My future self, laughing, holding out her hands to grasp mine, pulling me toward my future. And the Fates tugging at my skirts and whispering stories until I couldn’t resist any longer. There was safety in remaining a tight bud. The risk of blossoming into the unknown, so daunting. But to remain so closed and frightened? That risk – of dying with my sparkling precious life un-lived – was more than I could bear.
It was too painful to hide anymore. Too intriguing not to be lead into the light.
I emerged from my hiding place, fluffed out my petals, and was surrounded by everything I needed for success. The Divine, the Fates, the Universe and my own pure potential said, “There. Try and get out of this one. Try NOT to grasp this delightful evolution.” I couldn’t deny it anymore. I stretched and shook my petals and began to trail blaze my path.
I get to be here now, in this form, in this place, in this body, just one delicious time.
I am blessed with the ability to write. To breathe. To be safe, as a disabled woman. I have computer access. Food. Fresh water and fresh air. Freedom.
There are women like me, with my same name, age, passions. Women with hopes and dreams and souls who do not have any of these privileges. Who am I to squander them?
Blossoming is jumping from the cliff and growing your wings on the way down. Not to bloom? Keeping everything inside? That silence is torturous. Folding your soul tighter and tighter until it itches and rubs, shreds and fades. No way. Not me.
This is my holy, eternal, blessed, divine spark soul and I will treat it accordingly.
Blossoming can be painful. But the joy that comes with expression, with the following of our own path, is beautiful. Divine.
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