Rip

The year of ripping, of goodbye, death, of the word “cruel” and being able to say “you are not who I thought you were”, the year of sickness, when the whole world stopped. The year I broke open, and my guts spilled out onto the paper, into the earth, when I learned that spirit is larger than body, and bodies are fragile. Everyone this year tells me ‘your words resonate with me’, and minds are twisted – the veil between good and evil is opened. The year that slammed me into humanity/humility, stillness, laughter, softness in the corners found underneath the shadows and the swords. Skinless and raw, with scabs that have somehow become scars, and scars that have become beautiful mosaic tattoos on my soul. The year of feeling someone else’s pain, sitting with it, holding a hand, wiping a brow, cupping a face while a hurricane boils inside me. The year of drowning in powerlessness and worry while flowers bloom, the ozone clears, the air is cleaner and fresher than ever before in my lifetime, sadness and joy weave and wind throughout soul and heart like serpents and doves. The year of evolution, revolution, mixed with flour and butter and honey-the best birthday cake ever made for the earth, and I learned through loss what love really means. The year I found my place, and I belong.