it is one thing to be invited in.and another entirely to be invited out.
there has been a long-standing invitation of grace to enter in where it's safe, be tenderly held, soft and cozy. to let winter storms rage as we hibernate together at rest in warm presence. it is where i have felt met. seen. known. loved. in that intimate quiet inside-space.
but there is a new invitation spoken in those deep spaces, and it has sounded like cocoon-veil tearing open -almost harsh, and cold as connection is made between self-in-becoming and the air outside.
i curl against this second windy call, try to work my still-wet body deeper into the shell that has cradled me all this time.
but the voice is insistent:
"you have wings, you know."
do i? i've never seen them. maybe i don't after all. (also. why did you open the door?! i want to stay here and snuggle a little longer until i'm sure i'm ready sure i can walk. sure i can fly.)
"you can't stay in your cocoon forever."
maybe not but i like it here... (though not as much as before you ripped a window-hole)
"that's so you can breathe. so you can expand into your truest self."
i find myself saying yes to the invitation outward, and it's as if i've agreed to have the blankets ripped off against the morning air to force me conscious. i am all kinds of dripping wet naked exposed and shivering.
but then i see the others all in our various stages of becoming; we are together: shivering stretching out sticky atrophic wings using our muscles riding the wind.
we are a glorious mess and it is beautiful.
***
and here is your invitation:
March 8 is International Women's Day, and the Story Sessions community is inviting us (you!) to link up a post that day, themed "the girls we once were".
