Gazing stalks tickle my trunk and wriggle into my roots. A breath on my neck whispers to let go.
Breath grows to a breeze grows to a wind more stirring than a witch’s brew spiked in slivers of upheaval and entwined in the riling passion of debauchery. It whips deep into my soul, rippling and rustling my every fibre, unhinging the grip that steadies me.
Chaos squalls in on a tail tainted in musty stale that gives rise to a festering stench. My roots bore down, scavenging for the tiniest morsel of stability from a bottom of waning. Instincts tell me to give in and toss all that’s known, to allow for the emergence of the new. And yet instincts of knowing can battle as Titans in an underworld of raging wrath.
Cells of being start to wilt and dry under the stress of spitting solar flares, beads of me bleed from a craggy facade. My might is wasting, flailing in frailty as sacrificial kindling to the desolate and barren. My roots dislodge under the smirk of despondence shunning the sun … my core teeters, and erodes in quivering quakes. Twilight gives way to darkness.
Exposed in a waste land of vanquished foundations and smothered in vulnerabilities of unknowns, all I can do is let go and be whatever it is I’m meant to be, to sway in the currents. Numb and with no fight left or strength for thought, it’s time to just be. In the smothering aftermath of debris, I shut my eyes.
Time passes without measure, in a gloom of gluttonous gloom shaded in clouds of obscurity.
Then comes the rain, sometimes ringed in rainbows, other times as hammering hail. It’s cleansing is in preparation for the fresh and new, for the nurturing to nourish the bleak and stark.
Soon, my roots begin to sprout new footings and as they do, a budding strength locks in. They grow in tentacles of spiderling webs to clutch the Earth and bore quickly and deeply to re-establish a solidity beyond measurable compare.
A flicker of light over the mountains of purple and blue arouse the tips of me and I hunger after the warmth as a Bird-eating Spider ravenous for glow worms. My tips reach for the stars to dizzying heights … such joy in the stretch that unchinks me, for the new genus of existence.
And then it hits my centre, propelling me and thrusting me to the gist of me. Glorious golds shimmy beside molten silver rippling in ridges of red … a new strength is birthing in heartening warmth and bottomless love, a depth of boundless appreciation blooms in the feminine of frangipane and masculine of magnolia.
An energy more luminescent than a blood moon and more unconditional than the heart centre of Mother Earth … that’s the new found strength.
From any ashes, comes eventual rise.