by Sarah K. Grundy
An emptiness and sadness has been bubbling up from deep within. Yet, as I type this the clock reads, 2:22 pm, sending me hope through numerology - ‘do not worry, all things are as they should be.’ At 12:12 pm and 12:12 am, my eyes are drawn to see the clock strike - ‘you are waking up your Merkaba, baby all things are happening harmoniously.’ It’s 5:55 pm and the feeling of something big on the horizon is undeniable. I fall into the messages like a wave that has over powered me and believe that I am doing the right things.
Collectively there is a sorrow. How could people be so horrible over and over again. There is a craving for things to be the way they were, sweet and pure with a fiery gentleness. Yet, you dream, ‘maybe I will ride a horse today instead of drive a car, or get that bicycle I saw with a basket on it and that will be my new ride forevermore, or maybe I will meet someone on the street who feels like Christmas morning and they will be true.’
From the tears that sting your eyes, comes the medicine to heal your wounds, and yet none hold the sweet taste of revenge, which seems to fit the crimes.
Things just do not feel right. A nagging tug at your heart strings keep whispering, “do something more, it is your destiny, you must…” and the words fade leaving you unsure and needing to further explore just what you must.
What does the universe want you to do next? Will you be bold enough to listen? If you are not strong enough to be bold, will you do it anyway?
There’s a feeling of loss in the air and like when a thief in the night makes off with your joy, you wake up wondering why you let the thief get away with it, and if revenge is the balance.
I breathe in the chemicals instead of salty air and sense with every fiber the horror within humanity, woven through a deep, dark history. It is in every stone, bit of moss, and towering piece of architecture around me here in this concrete jungle. The ancient trees tower overhead and echo with wars won and lost, blood shed and injustices, and no salty waters ever washed over them.
There’s a death in the air on these original battle grounds and it’s sure to wake you eyes wide open.
Yet, here I am, remembering how I got to this place on the winds of a deadly tropical storm, feeling everything. I walk the cobble stone streets in reverence of a highly developed lotus flower universe right between my legs, unharmed despite yet another lost love here on these streets where only the dead roam.
My petals are scarring here, wilting and resisting the toxins, crying to take flight freely in fields of green once again. I can see it in the texture of my hair, in the coloring in the whites of my eyes and I can feel it in every breath I take; I guess I am a warrior now and what was once soft is now hard.
It’s like the thief in the night took my softness, my gentleness and I long for her dewy, misty petals once again. Sirens sounding outside my window remind me there are decisions to be made, plans executed and time is not waiting, yet I’m still healing. “The divine never promised to be soft, but rather fierce…,” I hear whispering to me on the wings of the cool winds blowing in from the east through my window.
There’s no sea to extract the pain each morning now. I’ve got to carry her with me and do like the ocean waves taught me all those years on the water. She shows no mercy in the face of removing what does not belong. She moves quietly and seductively captivating all in her path. Her salty waters act as an astringent for poison and inject magic into everything she touches. The sea plunders and devours without a second thought returning all as it once was and as it should be.
“Oh how I want to have her strength right now, again,” I moan to myself as I slither weakly into Dandasana chaturanga. As the words leave my lips and the flow shivers through my hips, I remember the gift the ocean bestowed upon me, and how once I could move the ocean waves with something broken inside me. It was my broken pieces…
“Something broken inside her moved the waves. If she spoke of it, the power would vanish. And I just think it’s magical the way love refuses to be captured.”
-être l'amour, the lotus flower will always blossom, Sarah, xoxo
Image and Text COPYRIGHT ©August 2019 MAZEYLOTUS