these fingers outstretched, reaching for peace, hoping that it will be welcomed within this aching soul.
We wilt for a time and tend to forget how it feels to bloom. We carry such hurt in the cavities of our chests and lose faith in any remedy to cure us of our sorrows. The other night I cried a river, carried my tears to the nearest creek bed. I threw myself into the deep end and screamed up at the moon. I lashed out at the sky as if to stomp my feet on God’s doorstep. I needed Him to hold me. I needed Him to remind me that I am holy, tell me that no evil force could rob me of prosperity. I needed to be reminded how to gather my breath and breathe in the midst of a smoky room. I needed to clear out space and make room to expand in capacity. I had been growing mindful of the weight taxing my energy. Much to the expansion of a gradual decay, I was waning. It felt like the ground beneath me was crumbling, and I was ready to fall with it. I prepared to throw myself into the dust and ashes of this earth.
After going through an emotional wave, the truth shed to light. My mind was not in the right place to pull me from any abyss. I had become my own barrier, much like we as fearful souls often do. As mentioned in my last post, I tend to tug and pull away from the reality of my distress and dismiss my pain. I have been swimming in these salt-water tears with open wounds. No more can I neglect the cries of my bruises if I wish for them to heal over. I’ve grown weary of being a slave to the fear and doubt that has accumulated within. I have to urge forward through the valleys in order to begin the mountain climb.
The atmosphere of my mind is in need of a pivotal shift. I have got to break this hurt to its bones. I have got to forgive everything that is out of the realms of my control. I have got to forgive those who have fell short in line of imperfection.
Changing the weather of my thoughts isn’t nearly as easy. I don’t always know how to summon July in mid-November, but I am trying anyways, for I do not wish to suffer the condemnation of pitied faith. I have come too far to throw in the towel. Everything I have started has been with passion and purpose, and I cannot bury them in their graves before they have had their time to dwell in living waters. I have not felt firm on my two feet, but now is my time to take a stance, become rooted and watch the fruit of my harvest grow. Even under grey skies may I still will these flowers to bloom.
I have bent my back over setting suns and compelled them to rise again. I have grown tired of singing the blues. I have grown tired of reeking woe. My petals fell from these burdened branches, but now it’s time for this tree to ripen.
We have go to heal from the inside out. Pull these wounds from broken bones. Navigate our scars to refurbished skin. When you carry fear, where does it place you? Under limitation. Behind bars. We cannot exists as caged birds, clipped-winged creatures for eternity, so take my hand and let’s break free.