It’s no “coincidence” that a northern prince and his duchess are in labor right now, too. Only, this wild child wasn’t born into
nobility nor was she privileged with having wealthy parents who could send her
to the same college an elite son chose, only to walk down a runway and right
into his arms. Rather, this woman
has had to come through hell and high water, she’s had to endure the slaughter
and re-create the true matter in order to arrive here, now. And she’s still scraping by with her teeth, courageously
holding on, physically exhausted yet mentally acute, happy and grateful for it
all. Her Soul gave birth to her
Spirit long ago.
What remains is the
task of riding out the strong currents, her ship’s mast still tossed to and
fro, only now that expanse in the distance on the fast-approaching horizon – a land
she has firmly spent decades dreaming of – is coming into clearer view. The light at the end of the tunnel, the
crossroads at the middle, the safer shore that she has been sailing to, now
nearly re-discovered - merely by hitching her Heart to that Northern Star, and Go,
go, going, gone, gone, GONE.
The pain and the sadness, the destruction and the dis-ease, receding and setting on the past. A new sun sits perched, ready to rise. From the ashes, the feathered serpent crawls. Wearing red, she twirls on the embers, dancing in the flames. Wizened by the burning, softened by the heat. The smoke lifts, spelling out one common word. LOVE. The transformative fires are licking their dragon breaths. Bee ready.
The pain and the sadness, the destruction and the dis-ease, receding and setting on the past. A new sun sits perched, ready to rise. From the ashes, the feathered serpent crawls. Wearing red, she twirls on the embers, dancing in the flames. Wizened by the burning, softened by the heat. The smoke lifts, spelling out one common word. LOVE. The transformative fires are licking their dragon breaths. Bee ready.
