burn the safe house down

After a lifelong resistance to my truth, I’ve finally realized that there’s no way to remove the pain from the path without removing my purpose along with it. There’s no harbour safe enough from the storms meant to move me. There is no one strong enough to protect me from my fears. There is no path hidden enough to cover my flight from my shadows.

I’m letting the momentum of a lifetime of escapism run through me. Gradually the ground beneath me becomes steady to hold my wobbly legs. When you live in fear, you live on a narrow linear plane of life. Everything is dark, flat, cold. No colours, no sunsets, no rainbows.

In my eagerness to get away from horror, I got away from the tonic that would strengthen the lining of my heart. But the fact that I was led back to my path and allowed to recover what I tried to evade points to the fact that there’s a greater order in place, one nothing can perturb.

I can’t edit life. I can’t omit the unsettling interludes where I’m no longer but I’m not yet. I can’t change the filters on rainy days. I can’t cancel storms. I shouldn’t have to because life isn’t a product to be consumed, to be amused by. It’s supposed to be an intimate interaction where experiences bring me closer to myself. Some plants only grow through forest fires. And my soul is the phoenix that comes alive through the ashes of who I thought I was.

 

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