Circles. Wombs. Magic. Death. Creation.
My womb sheds cells every month. Builds & sheds, builds & sheds. I’ve held nothing inside of me, I’ve created nothing from the blood of me. And I’ve forgotten my magic; I’ve forgotten how magical it is that I have the capacity to create new life, new beings, new breath, new air, new flesh into the universe, new words, new poems. I’ve forgotten how magical that is. I’ve forgotten the life inside of me, my own creative life. I’m trying to remember.
There are times when the universe asks us to make new movements to remember who we are. When we are stagnant, when we don’t dance, when we aren’t making circles with our hips, when we aren’t creating, when we become lost in apathy & listlessness & a darkness we can’t seem to break through. The universe asks us to forge a new path, to take deeper breaths, to sit still, to Listen. To listen for the new movements. To let our divinity flow through us like water, bringing us to new shores.
I am there.
I am not knowing what is next.
I am inside the uncertainty.
& I am committing to not being there in isolation.
I make a promise to write about it here. Weekly. At least.
I am committed to making myself a clearing for new life to grow inside.