The End of Spring, the Beginning of me

 

It is Sunday, another one spent at home in the utter quietness of a day without music, only birds, buzzing insects and the imperceptible swaying of leaves, touched by the stillness of a very hot day.

The quietness speaks to me, loud in its silent waves, an immense relief after weeks of enduring the unstoppable clamor of thoughts streaming out of my unraveling mind,  a galloping brain in its impossible race towards an illusive and long past future. 

Deaf to the screams of a broken knee.

While I laid stuck on my bed, the awareness linking my painful body to a broken heart came as an unexpected guest; my leg bursting with feelings pounding flesh and bones, as inmates do, when trapped in a decaying joint.

Hurry tormented my days and nights, urging me to flee from what I hid for decades, angry feelings and hurtful morsels of a resentful past, chewing at my bones with sharp bits of arrows and splinters aimed at destroying, me.

Fear joined in, adding its insidious worry to the deafening noise of my wildness. What if, became the beginning of my sentences and the ending of my world; what if being me, truly me today, is the end? The thoughts of a little girl expecting Divine wrath for owing and showing her feelings.

The End. Words that take me back to a dark theater room where a story just ended, soon the lights will come up but just for now, I sit quietly letting go and preparing for the new, I must yet unveil.

My past is known and gone, with its shards and broken pieces, with my anger, hurry and fear.  Tribute has been paid with scars and pain, determination conquered with the persistent effort of a trust gained, in a moment to moment choice.

The dark screen is now pregnant with every hue of color and light, awaiting. I have become the student of patient quietness, observing as I do now, the gradual and vibrant unfolding of a flower´s glory happening in my garden. I trust it is a reflection of my own blossoming about to happen.

So I listen
So I hear
I am here