I have witnessed the microcosms. I have witnessed the unswerving; harsh reality of mass confusion. I have been beneath the dusty remnants left from fallen towers and not needed cards to be flipped to show me they will be there.
I have felt the sound of gongs resonate through my soul.
Yet, I am still here.
I am full-bodied in the same vessel that I dress myself in every day because I choose to be.
I have seen shamans.
I have seen energy masters.
I have touched, played and heard crystal bowls in every colour and chord.
As each sung to my imbalanced chakras, my attention cannot help but drift to the cries of the outer destruction and inner conflict of the pain of those I love or those I have not met.
I may be the moth and they the light. I may be the shadow that casts over social empires.
I might sometimes find myself tangled in a self – made web, that beautifully glimmers in my essence.
An essence where I often contract because I yearn to see others expand.
Yet, I have seen truths. I have seen lies. I have seen distortions so deeply blurred by a trust that the pit of my stomach cannot help but fill with scorching fire.
Now, I can only swing somewhere between rage and great fatigue.
The Earth’s hemisphere so large and we are still questioning if there is enough good to go around. We question if success is achieved by those we love, that by chance another reaches the same, the others are significantly diminished.
These sparks that ignite the fire within me were created by me.
My rage is owned by me and only to empower me.
My rage is the only vigorous engine that drives me to get to the truth about respecting the limitations that I once did not have.
I have learnt to infuse myself and put an end to enabling the behaviour of another to destroy me again.
Years reflected back at the tears that fell from my own eyes at this madness.
Only I have the power to stop creating a systematic pattern of self- sabotage.
Only I have the power to stand my ground and say no more.
Never again will I misidentify a part of myself as a weakness.
For I am the only thing that can prolong the process of standing in my personal power.
No longer do I need to survive.
It is only I who can witness my scars, listen to the stories they share with me, and as difficult as it is, admire them as the abstract, unique masterpieces of artwork they are.
Only I can discover my scars, notice they are colourful, not dull. They have texture and they are not smooth. They have depth and are not shallow.
My scars have wisdom, like an old willow tree with long roots that lengthen far into a dark, thick soil.
Once I discovered the true beauty they hold, I was able to see all that is reflected beneath them in their layers and all my many reasons for being on this planet in the first place.
I know why I am here.
Love is not found in everything. I will not apologise for saying this and I will not pretend it is.
My scars had been given to me to serve and to expand into a space where I can guide others to their own hearts; through expression.
With knowing this gift, my independence was given to me and I could rise and strengthen through my own persistence. I did this within the depths of me and through each tide that crashed over my body, those that would normally wipe me out and repetitively tumble me, instead washed over me.
I got up.
I am giving myself the opportunity to rise gracefully, evolving into the solid pillar I always was.
There of course are the moments where I am left in solitude and I compartmentalise from the truth of what has happened in my past. I am human. I am a victim. I no longer deny myself of being so.
I no longer fear my magnificence because others feel threatened by it.
I Am Me and will no longer deny myself for being so.
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