I want to begin again, I used to think returning should feel noble and clean but most times it feels tender and slightly embarrassing, for all of the past challenges,
I want to begin again, what costs me is the few moments before I want a restart, when shame tries to dress itself up as discernment and stepping away from what matters,
I want to begin again, can I hear the lie I tell myself before it settles into my body,
I want to begin again, because the path back is rarely grand and almost never dramatic, it is usually just me choosing not to obey the voice inside me longing for my true calling…
I trust less and less, there are days when I want complete control on every line and every shape and every result even if certainty leaves the work smaller than it could have been,
I trust less and less, the best parts often arrive when I stop strangling the page and let the thing just breathe wider than my anxious little plan, which relieves my heart too,
I trust less and less, am I trying to protect the work, the art, the perfect condition or just protect myself from uncertainty,
I trust less and less, whenever I try to control things too much, I sense the whole thing tightening and dimming, as if the living part has retreated and is waiting for me to stop…
As I let go gently, I have felt that strange feeling before, when the piece becomes larger than the plan and I realize my job was never to fight the universe but to stay awake enough to follow,
As I let go gently, this is difficult for me because I like dreaming and I like knowing where I stand, yet the deepest work keeps asking me to just stay in motion,
As I let go gently, can I stay open and trust without demanding guarantees first,
As I let go gently, when I do the work sometimes it reveals a hidden rhythm guiding my hands, something older and wiser than my fear, and that discovery humbles me more than success ever could,
As I wait here, because once I am thrown off center I want immediate certainty, immediate redemption, immediate reassurance that nothing essential has been lost, and without it I return to the same restless habits,
As I wait here, there is a quieter strength that returns only after I stop demanding instant reassurance and let time do its slower work inside the part of me that became unsure,
As I wait here, can I bear this unfinished feeling without making it mean failure,
As I wait here, until what once felt like distance becomes only a pause, and what seemed unreachable begins to move toward me again in its own unhurried way…
the ordinary work of repair,
the voice that wants one,
the whole making tighten and dim,
I cannot honestly claim,
what felt like exile becomes,
