Release. Letting go. Life seems like a long fall. As I hurtle toward the unknown below, I reach out for vines, and rocks, for promontories and netted connections to slow my fall and end the rush.
Wrapping the roots of old trees around me, I begin to think I have always been what and where I am. I wake strangling, unable to move. I realize I was never the root of an old tree.
Slamming hard to the rock-face surface, I gasp thanks for the stop. Here, I can breathe, but I have no place to go. I cannot pace my prison nor reach another hand-hold to climb. Safe maybe, but not free.
All that keeps me from the fall is fear. Not-knowing. Insecurity. Isolation. I hate that I so often live out my inner coward. I have a tendency to believe the worst, but I have the capacity to imagine the best.
The best is that the fall is fun. The best is that the bottom is not a stone. The best is the possibility of flight. Maybe, if I just give myself permission to scream, I can let go of this ledge, and stop trying to twine myself into the same-shaped curtain of vines that has held me before.
Knowing Love,
Cobalt Dreams
