I found my voice at the end of a pen, and I’m afraid of the words it has to say. I don’t understand the source that flows through them. I want to shoo them away like ducklings scattering from their mother’s side as a bike zips by on the tow path.
How do I know if what I say has any meaning. Any value. I don’t want to open myself up to ridicule, to scrutiny, disapproving eyes peering over horn-rimmed glasses, saying I could have done more. Pointing out errors, failed grammar, and ideas without life and meaning. A passenger on a train that’s already left the station, headed for pastures seen again and again.
This exposing of self is terrifying. I haven’t shown it before; the many doors and layers that lie within. I’ve wandered these halls many times over my life. But the interior journey has only ever been my own, the mirrors showing only my critical self-deprecating face. I’m not ready to be a warrior of words, a conductor of phrases, a siren of the truths and thoughts that swirl around my head. I’m not ready for this.
But the voice. The voice. It hums and sings, and it’s happy to be given flight, to soar and sway through the world, set free.
It’s been to the depths, the deep darkness within that holds all the tears and terrors of my 44 years. And now it wants to sing arias and arpeggios, thrilling songs of light and fantasy. For once the flame flickers into life and starts to illuminate the darkness, it has no choice but to grow and grow, pushing back the shadows until a fire rises, roaring to engulf it all in a meteor of feeling.
It’s exhilarating yet terrifying in its intensity. Who am I to do these things. Who am I to speak these words. I am not worthy, yet worthy all the same, because I chose these words. I chose this path and I have no choice but to walk it, feel it, speak it to anyone who will listen. Someone must need to hear or the words would not come. Someone must need to feel the songs that spill from my heart or they wouldn’t be there.
I found my voice at the end of a pen and oh how it wants to sing, loudly and proudly, joy etched on its face at the wonder of the world and all she has been through and survived. I am here. I am here.
And all of life is egging me on, cheering and laughing at my awakening. Come Sister, rise up from the shadows and be one with the Sun. This not a life to be half lived, but to be grasped with both hands, bodies alight with the agony, and the struggle, and the triumph of it all. You came here to live, to rise up through the pain, and reclaim your power. Feel the cloak and crown, the aeons of knowledge etched on scrolls at your feet. Your ancestors at your back, the silent probing wings of the eagle at your side. This is the way it has always been. From dark to light. From despair to joy. Now is your time. Step forward. Claim your place and know that you chose it all. You chose to be here at this time. In this place. In this arena.
Though it may feel that you are alone, the breath of baying wolves at your neck, you have all you need to find your way out of the fog. The threatening shadows in the mist are of your own making. Change them into sentinels who light your way forwards. Your team is assembled, the staff and torch placed in your hands. Open your eyes. See what you are creating. Step forwards. Step forwards. Now is your time.
