Freedom Blossoms: I Let Go.


There's something about this time of year. 

It's nostalgic for me, the late Summer--in smells and textures, in tastes, and feelings, as the breeze twirls on my cheek and stirs something deep within me. 

I feel it. 

There's just something about the angle of the sun at this time of the year. 

The heat of Summer begins to fade and hints of Autumn crispness slip into the air. A shading of depth arises, and dust is loosened from my soul, my flesh, my heart, my bones. 

Something else becomes possible...

I let go. 

I can do it. 

I am doing it. 

Gently, my fingers are pried--by love, by freedom, and some other unknown force. 

I clench at first--my muscles burn with fiery resistance--

And then readiness

Readiness spills, cool, on my lap like pure satin. 

And I stand tall. 

Firmly planted. 

And I release the frayed threads of the past

Ready to embrace the future. 

But most of all, the luscious blooms of now is what I taste. 

And yes, there was once so much pain inside me. In my life. Surrounding me. 

Now, I've worked hard, I've faced the things that are hard to face and feel

And now, freedom spills into my lungs from above and coats me in a glorious, invisible ink. 

As I let go--the past unfurls, the shame, the traumas, the abuse, the shattering

It softens. 

And floats down the river. 

After loving it, looking at it, learning from the wild ways of terror--

Here I am. 

My feet step down, with thunder. 

I am lightning. 

Bright. Electric. Alive. 

I can strike and change and transform, as rare and ordinary as anything. 

Here I am. 

Ready, saucy, solid, sensuous, woman, whole, luscious and embodied. 

Tears splash from my chin onto the page. 

Happy tears. 

Because I let go. 

Because it's time. 

Here I am. 

Through it all--free. I am free. 

I am braided into something bigger than myself. 

As I feel, I sense sweetness and relief perfume my skin. 

Like the most beautiful song I have ever known. 

Like the kind of nostalgia that brings me 

To the untarnished flame of my soul. 

It burns with decadence now. 




In the palms of this sweet creativity--this is where I land after everything else. 

Through it all--free...

I am free. 




Photo: Darius Bashar/Unsplash