The Promise of Ashes
Sometimes the cavernous gap between who you think you are and what you have become is much too hard to reconcile.
Sometimes to recognize yourself, you must leave your mind behind, in the shadowy, mysterious world of the unknown.
In order to become the butterfly version of yourself, caterpillar you must ingest itself whole, into not the comfort, but
the coffin, of the cocoon.
It is said that we die many deaths in a lifetime.
Each time we are born anew in the same flesh, but with a decidedly different perspective.
While once we were born of fire and fierce mother pushes, we are born again and again by our own folly, our own choices,
the mistakes of our own, and of Life's, making.
As I stand in the ashes of my former self, I find less and less reason to lament.
Sure, she was fun and free and also a little fragile. Not knowing that what awaited her on the other side of the pee stick was a new life that would rob her of everything only to give her more in return.
We are shaken to our core because we must completely and totally lose ourselves - that is, we must die tiny deaths to really live.
To be reborn.
Where once I rejected and disidentified with the new life I had created, both literally and figuratively, I now relish it
like the dirt between my fingers, the dewy grass between my toes, under my feet.
Because to turn ashes into promises for a new and better tomorrow is all we can really be expected to do.