I grow weary of the worlds I carry. The ones I allowed others to create for me, the ones I created for myself to appease those so uncomfortable with the irrepressible parts of me. There are truths of me that I haven’t shown in the centuries I have existed since I was small.
I hear the clock ticking, the grains of sand whispering to me that I have to move now. I have to do more than stand at the edge of this precipice waiting for permission to exhale the dust of immobility. To take my first free breath, and laugh joyously before leaping into the next whatever.
I still hear clearly the admonishments to be still, be quiet, don’t question, calm down, don’t laugh so loud, cry so much, smile so freely. Each one a binding, a board to be nailed, a bar to be placed at the windows where my soul was kept. The pain of rejections becoming self-rejection kept me in a state of inertia.
But now, my heart is cracking, the magic seeping in calls to the joy sleeping and I tremble at the force of my desire to live.
I can feel the relief in my bones as I carefully set these worlds aside in the moss of their own reality. But I hear them crying, and feel the tears of the pain I cause in the letting go, the cutting off, and it stops me on the edge where I stand now.
Is my need to live greater than what others need from me to feel whole?
On the other hand, if those who need me don’t know me, then what is it exactly they will miss in their lives when it is a lie they love? My heart has always taken on the experiences of other hearts whether it be joy or sorrow. It has been to my detriment that I let these both carry more weight in the deciding of my path than they should.
My nature is to fix, to heal, to nurture. Foolishly, I haven’t guarded my heart or boundaries from the relentless pull of those who feel entitled to everything, and I allowed myself to be depleted to the marrow, and shut my heart down in an attempt to preserve the spark of me that is now barely a glimmer.
I smell freedom, I feel the truth rushing against my skin as I stand here, and my need for it is fierce.
I want to be seen with eyes that aren’t afraid of what I am. I want to be heard by ears that demand the truth of me and will not accept otherwise. I want the heart that is unafraid to tame and be tamed for the sake of something miraculous between us.
“But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world.”
~Antoine de Saint-Exupery The Little Prince
If this is not to be found anywhere in my lifetime, then I must have the smell, and the truth, and the fierceness of my need for both to give me the courage to get out of bed every morning and continue my experiencing of what might be.
The magic grows so strong in my heart now that I am close to not caring whether I fall, fail, or fly from this edge where I stand with my heart pounding its way out of my chest. The more frightened I become, the more brilliant my smile. As the rock of passive existence crumbles beneath my feet, I have an insane urge to throw my arms wide and laugh with all of me.
The thought of stepping back, stepping down, and returning to the grey and joyless is unbearable. To those who, in their own weaknesses, wish this on me, know this…
I will not go quietly. Be warned.