She is :: I want to be :: I am

A few months ago I wrote about how I felt healed enough to move into more positive changes in my life. Rather than looking into old wounds and helping them heal, I was now ready to grow something positive.

After that I still had a few difficult moments (and, surely, there will be more). I have been in a transitional time- moving away from the hunting for brokenness and moving towards what is next. A little bit of this, a little bit of that.

What is next has been partly about cultivating my own happiness. As much healing as I’ve done, as much as I’ve opened myself to sensuality and adventure…I’m still not as happy as I’d like to be. I discovered, during my latest retreat, that I’ve ignored some of my own happiness, been unnecessarily critical, and gotten in my own way of feeling happy.

This is part of what is growing in my life, and what I am actively reaching towards.

But there is also something growing in me, from the inside out.

And what is growing is a feeling. I cannot really tell you what it is, with a perfect label. I can only describe it. (I started a Pinterest board for it, here.)

It is another facet of my sensuality.

The original facet of my sensuality -the one that comes easily to mind and spirit and feels like walking an old path- is vibrant, intense, colorful, curious, adventuresome, and heavy like velvet curtains.

The new facet is very different. It is light and soft and quiet and supportive. It is the wind through the window, blowing the gauzy curtains. It is the rumpled bed, the glass vase, the wild trees, and the rainy window.

There is a new woman growing inside of me. And her softness is her strength.

This is how I pray to her. Believing that, if I listen, if I feel, if I make space for her- she will grow.

::: ::: ::: :::

She is dried flowers in a blue vase.
She is soft t-shirts and bare feet.
She is no words, just breath.
She is a safe place for him to land.
She is cinnamon tea and cream.
She is a safe circle for his mind to rest.
She is laying on the unmade bed and listening to their downstairs noise.
She is rubbing the white shell between her fingers.
She is chunky wool socks on winter days.
She is the smell of campfire in her hair.
She is shoulders smooth and strong.
She is knowing about his entire day by breathing at his neck.
She is listening to you with all her soul.
She is touching the book to feel its words on her fingertips.
She is laughter and bright eyes, vibrating on your chest.
She is holding your hips.
She is making small prayers every moment.
She is simple magic.
She is making a quilt-tent for everyone to laugh in.
She is sandy feet.
She is milkshakes and soup and almonds and coffee cake.
She is holding space for you to lay the weariness down and find solace in her softness.

::: ::: ::: :::

I want to be dried flowers in a blue vase.
I want to be soft t-shirts and bare feet.
I want to be no words, just breath.
I want to be a safe place for him to land.
I want to be cinnamon tea and cream.
I want to be a safe circle for his mind to rest.
I want to be laying on the unmade bed and listening to their downstairs noise.
I want to be rubbing the white shell between my fingers.
I want to be chunky wool socks on winter days.
I want to be the smell of campfire in my hair.
I want to be shoulders smooth and strong.
I want to be knowing about his entire day by breathing at his neck.
I want to be listening to you with all my soul.
I want to be touching the book to feel its words on my fingertips.
I want to be laughter and bright eyes, vibrating on your chest.
I want to be holding your hips.
I want to be making small prayers every moment.
I want to be simple magic.
I want to be making a quilt-tent for everyone to laugh in.
I want to be sandy feet.
I want to be milkshakes and soup and almonds and coffee cake.
I want to be holding space for you to lay the weariness down and find solace in my softness.

 

strong-shoulders-woman

 

I am dried flowers in a blue vase.
I am soft t-shirts and bare feet.
I am no words, just breath.
I am a safe place for him to land.
I am cinnamon tea and cream.
I am a safe circle for his mind to rest.
I am laying on the unmade bed and listening to their downstairs noise.
I am rubbing the white shell between my fingers.
I am chunky wool socks on winter days.
I am the smell of campfire in my hair.
I am shoulders smooth and strong.
I know about his entire day by breathing at his neck.
I am listening to you with all my soul.
I am touching the book to feel its words on my fingertips.
I am laughter and bright eyes, vibrating on your chest.
I am holding your hips.
I am making small prayers every moment.
I am simple magic.
I am making a quilt-tent for everyone to laugh in.
I am sandy feet.
I am milkshakes and soup and almonds and coffee cake.
I am holding space for you to lay the weariness down and find solace in my softness.

::: ::: ::: :::

This is the feeling that is growing within me. Everyday, every hour, I feel this new sense of myself in my chest. I hold myself there, opening and opening, receiving this piece of myself. Uncovering this facet of myself, ready to let my light shine through it.

 

 

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

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