In the past several months I have found myself more open than I've ever been, and more closed than ever before. Opening, for me, has been about faith; trusting that the universe is working, that the tides and seasons are in flux, that I will never be a perfect woman, and though I may create my reality, I cannot write the script for my life or project dreams onto others as if they were actors in a play. Opening, for me, has meant moving closer to the understanding that my love cannot be fully offered to another until I first offer it to myself.
I will be the first to say, Jump in, the water is warm. I'll be the first to say, Take a risk, what choice do you have? And although I myself have been courageous, I often choose to stay perched on the cliff, content to simply look at the vast space where possibility exists and life is its sweetest. I stand holding my breath and clenching my fists, prepared not to fly, but to fall, hit the ground, and break.
Opening and closing, expanding and contracting, letting life in and shutting it out. Like dancing through a field of sand and stones, searching for that place where your palms face up, where your breath is as easy as true love, and where you fall from a cliff a thousand times over and always remain unbroken.