The sun is out and a yellow glow is clinging onto the atmosphere. The cold morning air is slowly surrendering to the warm rays blanketing her freezing touch. It is that sacred quiet hour before the neighbourhood churches crank their speakers up.
My slow dance with ink has me excited to invite prose back home. It is tackling the aftermath of months of internal wars and grief. This doesn't mean that I am no longer fighting or gloom won't drop by uninvited, it just tells you that this modern warrior is back on her feet.
My resurrecting light must accommodate my reigning darkness. I must learn from what lives in my shadows or what bites on my essence when I venture inward.
Pain has always had a place here.
It always will.
Or isn't it a part of life?
Just like death is.
Fear comes and goes. Denying it the opportunity to burn down everything that my resilience has helped me build this far is an act of courage on my part. I have been known to set whatever my self-doubts whispered wasn't good enough on fire and nothing ever was.
My wild woman
Rise from the ashes that have coated
Your delicate feet
The time to resume your place
Is here
Let fear dissolve like sugar in a teapot
And embrace courage
As you age
For time remains the keeper of the truth
And in every season
She spills what is and has been.
The wind is your friend
Only she knows the faces of your ancestors
Their voices are lost in her screams
And so she alone wields the ancient wisdom
If you listen carefully
She whispers to you
In your lengthy daydreams
While you soak your bones in the sun
Or in your haunting nightmares
When your tears smile at the moon.
I invite you to wait with me. I invite you to stay. Stay and watch me sow patience for myself. I need softness & compassion to grace my unforgiving attitude towards old versions of myself so I can create space for my steadily evolving self.
wambuku w.
