I allow the hard places in me to be like the early spring ice. I don’t try to make them different. I let those places in me that are strong, fighting, insolent be. I feel their edges as sharp diamond knives that slice through stone. I feel my edges harsh, unyielding, charging through the season. And I let them be. Something made them freeze solid. I don’t blame the ice for shining. I don’t blame my hardness for existing. I let it be.
The ice seems to suffocate what’s underneath this time of year. Thick sheets blanket what I know is some great green riot underneath. I want to throw off the winter and let it shatter into a billion pieces that disappear under the sun. But it’s not time for that.
It’s time to let the ice be. It’s time to let what’s hard in me be there. And so I gather all those places in me that feel like winter. The crystalized expectations of what should be, the walls of judgement, the collapse of too much dark. I bring them into my arms and spread them out like ice across the earth. I leave them to be what they are.
I am standing back now. Watching as the sun grows over the horizon, licking the ice. Streams flow around my feet. I am washed by what once held the earth hostage from spring. Walls collapse. Solids turn to liquid. What once felt a prison is now the deepest nourishment. The hard ice in me becomes soft sweet nectar for thriving. Just like that. Without trying.
I believe in softness. Oceanic softness. Especially for the hard places. The stuck places. The places that seem like they will never melt. I believe in trusting the green riot below our feet. And the icy places that hold us in position until just the right time. I believe in the inevitable rotation of the earth around the sun. The holy thrill of spring each and every year. Will it really come? Yes. Yes. Yes.
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