The Adventure

In 9 parts

I.

Sometimes I imagine a seam that runs from the soft hollow of my breath down to the wide expanse of my hips.
And sometimes.
It is the sharp edge of moonlight.
Sometimes, the nimble talons of possibility.
That cut the threads.
Opening me up.
To more.
More.
More.

II.

Becoming will sometimes leave us clad in labyrinths we do not yet recognize as our own.

III.

I have sat in stillness.
Letting the waves of wonder wash over me.
I have trekked through pathless forests.
Grasping and singing and aching for a way.
I have stepped beyond the pale of just enough so that I could try my hand at weaving miracles from my fingertips.

IV.

Once upon a time.
A long, long time ago.
So long ago now that it is hard to remember when I first felt the fabric tear.
And maybe when it did, I ignored it.
Lingering in the shell longer than I should have.
Or maybe I shed the skins without care of a map or a clue.

But what I am sure of is that I looked around only to find that what once seemed so solid had given way to wisps on the horizon.

I didn’t know who I was.
And.
I knew exactly who I was.
In ways that held no words for me to explain.

The mystery had opened itself to me.
A whirling circus tent to tumblestumble through.
With truths and visions to hold and claim and make solid with choice.
With desire.
Fires of fear offered warmth.
Light.
Aching comfort in the swirling unknown.
Sometimes, I bathed in their meager offerings.
Sometimes, I listened too closely to their songs.

V.

I have stood on the edge of everything ever and wished to be shown the way.
As if there is such a thing.
As an edge.
As a way.
The whispers I heard were the echo of my pleas.
Offering me only what I already had.

VI.

Surrender is the burn on our palms as the rope tied to all that we attempted to force into being slips through our grasp leaving us with the knowing that the mystery is the seam and the fabric and the blade that breaks us open.

VII.

I stopped knowing what questions to ask.
I started letting myself see beyond the walls I forgot were there in the first place.
I stepped out of the shrouds.
I saw a horizonless sky.

VIII.

I have been dreaming of landscapes.
Tilting mountains and tangled, verdant valleys.
Feral gardens.
Wild prairies.
Grand.
Intimate.
With nooks and stories and everything waiting to be told.

IX.

I have been dreaming of not stopping myself.
Of not explaining myself.
Of just stepping free of the bindings.
And living as broadly.
As deeply.
As magnificently.
As is.

****

With love and fire and everything else,

Jo Anna