It may not always be apparent on the outside — the silent, slowly shifting way in which the soul moves. Every little expansion, stretching my skin, elongating my bones and making me porous and light, open and free. Only I know the work that it has taken and continues to take — the quiet, private work of meeting myself in a way that I have never known before. The energy it consumes and the emotions it brings to the surface. To make space for it all even as I hold it within is a process — almost dance-like — that I am only just getting familiar with.

It may not always immediately make sense. Especially to my rational, habituated mind that still slips back into old ways. And even more so, it may make absolutely no sense to the outside world.

The ask of this ever growing soul, constantly morphing, WIP being, is to stay tuned-in, as far as possible. To the voice that is emerging, growing from strength to strength, as well as the opposing voices also within me that are constantly trying to drown the other out. My job is to give both space so they may meet, converse, mingle and come to a new kind of settled alignment. To make space for this process, to slow down if I must, rather than fill myself with the next activity to numb, deny, ignore or avoid everything that is emerging at this time, or to rush ahead and lose sight of the subtleties that are gentle and small when they show up.

This is the slow and sometimes painful, also hopelessly lonely, grief inducing, and simultaneously exhilarating and invigorating process of being in-bloom.

This is where I am.

One year ago: I wrote a letter to my love
Three years ago: May