This is the nature of being born here, like this.
And in every life there is a choice—
to wrap ourselves around that wound,
protective of its shape, its cadence, its nuance
to build our life around that story—
or to extend through the fire of pain
to some other horizon.
The seed knows this: how to arise
from the dark tight curl of itself—
to bloom from the dark. As does the butterfly,
as it emerges from the chaos
of its own dissolution into winged delight.
It is the impossible miracle
of the luminous heart that brings us
to the hearth of our own awakening
that risks stepping forward to broach
illusory walls, that opens against all odds
seeing that we have nothing to lose
but our own false protection,
our own holding back.
In every being there is a wound~
a fissure where sacred longing is born
so our gifts can be revealed,
so our gifts can be given.
©Laura Weaver
Used with poet’s permission and blessings. You can find more about her and her sacred work on her website: https://www.lauraweaver.org/poetry