My November soul is peeking along the fences wondering when the time will finally let go of a dying moon while my recently reborn soul is still obsessing over the fading Jacaranda bloom.
In meditation, I am discovering obscured parts of myself. Strengths that trauma has coated up like a layer of conniving soot. They are so many smiles ready to adorn my stiff face and enough tears left to scrub away my sins.
Words may fail me at times. Or maybe it is my disorderly thoughts. However, a wildfire burns within the walls of my spirit. One that won't succumb to the difficulties life keeps dishing out.
The societal prospects and or its norms. It wanders in the background even when my physical body seems to have given up on staying strong. Her flames always unearth ways of staying alive if not fierce.
It bows to none other than my ability to speak through ink.
Age is urging me to strip away a few disguises that helped me survive and I am extremely tempted to oblige. I have carried the dream of finally leaving my masks behind for a bit now and I must say I can't wait for such a time.
Baby steps though.
I have ended so many dysfunctional patterns and broken out of a few toxic cycles. The energy around me keeps cleansing itself and steadily carving out anything that interferes with my inner peace.
I am also in a place of realizing goals that I never thought were possible just a few years ago. Everything is in sync with where I am heading and the growth is significant but I am in a different season of challenges too.
Struggles seem to have been embroidered in the tread of life.
Either way, what I have noticed is that whatever has gravitated towards me in the recent past has been on my mind one way or the other. Time must've had a way of incubating what I have secretly desired or manifested.
This in return has me trusting myself more and more with more. I have learnt to choose my battles and to mull over who stays within the walls of the sacred circle of my evaporated trust.
And I shall keep growing and flowing like the river of my hair.
wambuku w.
Six and a half years later...say hello to my mane.
