Transition

She glanced around her, all she saw a blur as she made her way to her intended destination with a soul that was yearning to break free.  It was a beautiful day that should have felt full of wonderful possibilities. A bunch of big white and grey fluffies scattered about an otherwise clear blue, the sunbeams causing chaos with the birds in the trees as they chattered away their morning dramas.

Walking out to her place, the morning dew evaporating, but still evident in the shade, she paused by the gate and took a deep breath. This was the kind of day that poems were written about, and yet her heart was in a state of unrest. In this very moment, this whole life felt worth nothing.  She needed to be compassionate toward those who hurt her, and she simply didn’t have it in her any longer.  She felt drained and tired and devoid of any rational thought.  Although she really wasn’t sure who got to decide exactly what rational thought was.  She was sick of the people and the situations that made her second guess her own intuition, her own pieced together soul that she took so long to find after the mean, the angry, the egocentric shattered it over and over again. Tired of the repressions that made her always wonder which words were proper, and which thoughts were wrong and right. Why even invite her into the fold, if each and every action were to be questioned or brought forth as a challenge?  

Shaking her head, she pushed open the heavy wooden gate standing taller than her small, yet sturdy frame, the creaks and groans of the springs an old familiar and comforting tune. Her bare toes touched the worn dirt path as she hesitantly took a step forward into the glade in front of her.  Another deep breath, taken in slowly and impatiently pushed out.  She closed her eyes and took another step, the gate door slamming behind her, but not breaking her slow and purposeful stride as she stepped off the path created by others who walked it before her. Another step as she inhaled and then exhaled slowly, her toes now sinking into the voluptuous grass as a tear trickled down her cheek.  She wanted to run, to feel the wind in her golden locks as she ran so far that the pain couldn’t catch her in the barely kempt grasses and wild flowers stretched before her.  Fragile heartfelt angst leapt up into her throat, feeling as though it could choke the very life from her, as she took yet another deep breath, yet another step.

No hesitation this time as she entered the glade. Her eyes opened, determined to find that place in her heart, that freedom she was so desperate to seek. Another few steps, another deep breath, as the morning breeze swirled around her white cotton dress.

Coming to a stop at her place, she looked around her once more, the sky still blue, the birds still chattering on about something, so incessantly. She cleared her throat of the heart that threatened to bring on full sobs, the sound so out of place in the natural setting that all movement, all other sounds and stirrings, came to a pause for a mere moment. Then she closed her eyes once more and began to sing.  It was a song that even the birds couldn’t question, as they either listened or simply chose to keep their silence respectively.

In a voice, clear and sure, she found her heart to be in the right place once more as her soul settled deeply into the tune of meditation. Her hands sought their solace in the movement of the air as if, raised up in front of her, she could feel the music racing all around in a comfort so familiar and true. This was where she set free those worries, those cares of the people who deposited their own burdens so recklessly in her path as if she were personally responsible for them, were meant to personally carry them through her own life.  The tune changed and became softer, gentler, yet no less powerful, as she remembered the love that barely recalled her.  Tears of healing, streaming down her face, barely noticed as she stepped forward, and sang, twirled, and sang, kneeled, and came to a pause. The quiet remained as she knelt and prayed for what seemed to be an eternity, realistically only occurring in minutes of solitude, as she let all of the baggage and garbage that cluttered her peace, go.

Then she stood. Renewed. Revived. And free.

The birds continued their dramatic little chirping, maybe a little louder for having been inconvenienced, as if giving their begrudging feedback for a job well done.  As she turned to walk back to her home, to the demons and the people who betrayed her, all she could hear was the peace, the silence and contentment of her own beating heart.  She knew her way back to the well trodden path. It was the only way to get back to the gate that had brought her here. She would never forget where contentment could be found, by paving her own way. Image

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