Sometimes I am the sea. After a full moon night. Swelling and ebbing, in control and contained. Holding space within. Exuding gentle power and grace.

Sometimes I am a river in a rush. Reckless and raring to go. Slipping over hills, sliding under crevices. Solitary and single-minded. Making my way even where none exists.

Sometimes I belong to the moon itself. Blissful. Distant. Maddeningly bright on a starless, indigo night.

Sometimes those stars descend within me. Shimmering, pulsating with a self love that shines through. Privately, for me.

Sometimes I am reduced to a minute spot of magic dust. Small and insignificant. But present. Sometimes I grow into a dark cloud of grief. So gargantuan it could end me.

Sometimes my heart beats in consistent rhythmic bursts of happiness, that can light up a room. And sometimes that same heart breathes a sadness that stifles.

Sometimes I wake up to that old fire raging within. Angry, white, hot. Blind. Consuming everything in its way. Only to turn to the rain for relief.

Sometimes there’s friendship in the freshest dew on a lonely morning. Sometimes a heavy, hollow mist. Like a hug on a cold night.

Sometimes joy bursts forth like a volcano of laughter won’t be contained. And sorrow showers soon after like the unending tears of ash. They both come from the same place. The volcano that rages must also eventually meet a brutal wind.

Sometimes I ride an irrationally beautiful rainbow to great heights. And it takes a sobering storm to level it out again.

Sometimes the universe breathes down on me. Powerful and achingly beautiful. I cower under its overwhelming immensity. But more and more I find the bountiful gifts of that same universe within me. Flowing continuously, coexisting in a complex, confusing, beautiful mess.

It’s in those fleeting moments that the leaves whisper secrets in my ears. The wind caresses me gently in a new direction. I see reflections of magical new truths in the sparkling stillness of pools. I find a quiet rhythm in the breath of a bird. All I can do is bear witness. And it’s in those fleeting moments that I know what it really is, to be me.

One year ago: Day 5: Here I go again (on my own)
Three years ago: Day 7: Shiny new guiding lights