Walking through the fire
The end of this year is approaching and with it always comes the looking back before looking forward. Taking stock, assessing needs , establishing goals, making decisions on what's next for us. This year has been watching the fire burn, walking through that fire and dusting off the ashes that it has left us with, flecks covering our skin like battle wounds. More than anything else this year has been one of change and transition for us all. On nights when my heart races across the room and under the sheets with me as I think of what's coming thud in my chest. Impending change ignites the deepest fear in me. It leaves me feeling groundless, like you're falling and nothing is going to catch you. Falling through earth and space and time, your stomach lifted into your throat. I've never been one for transitions or change of any kind. I have resisted it, and I've come to recognize this is where I am weak where I would like to be strong, afraid when I want to be bold. I long for safety of space, a bed that knows me that I can call my own, a home that is four walls around me that insulate me so I can play my music as loud as I choose, a floor to spread out on and make messes and art, a space where I can sing or dance or move at any time night or day-without disturbing anyone else; Comfort, familiarity, stability but... unchanging. I think maybe as humans it's what keeps us together sometimes or keeps us still, or in some cases - keeps us stagnant- this longing for the familiar and resistance to something different something new that we do not yet know - but that could be equally good or much better than where we already are. Opposing forces fighting within. When we resist change we also Resist growth, the painful stretching of limbs into something foreign. My wild heart yearns to not be still, to keep searching, keep creating , keep breaking beyond what I thought was even possible, keep getting better at this life. And in those moments of falling I remind myself of the things that get me through; The moments where my loved ones have sat with me through the mess and the chaos of packing, the times of fear and the stretching where I have forgotten how to breathe and I have been reminded to just take a breath, over and over again, how that is called breathing, the days of tears and overwhelm, where I have seen true patience and ferocity of love. I realize how unique and intricate each connection I have is, how precious they all are.
The love of each of these relationships is like ink bleeding into the pages of my life, colouring them all, tinting them with bright colours and most days it's the only thing I can be certain of.
I remind myself that we are all just bodies moving through the space of life, whether that is a home we stay in for four years, or a studio space that we make work in for 18 years, or just all the spaces our bodies find themselves in day to day. I try to remember that time is irrelevant, and illusory and that being attached to spaces and our time in these spaces doesn't help anything. Instead trying to move through life and space and time with the rhythm of a river, unattached to anything.
Unattached to risk or outcome of that risk but remembering that taking risks and facing fears is ALWAYS worth it. Whether or not we end up in a different place forever or we come back to the place we left or the outcome is better or worse. What we can know with certainty is that risk is growth and that's all that matters. It is stretching wings and limbs and tongues and time, it is the jewelled sunrise that we get to see on the other side of now, or a sound or a look that takes us by surprise and inspires a whole World of creation. Whatever it is- however afraid you may feel- it is never too late to change the story , to write a new one, change the plot line, the characters OR the setting. You must go where your heart is illuminated and your spirit alive and inspired. Don't settle for less and don't stop looking if you don't know what more looks like. It's the only way to be in this world.