Transition

As I sit here, I am reminded to listen to the trees.

To feel the pulse of their breath within my bones.

To watch the shimmer of their existence as the leaves turn to vibrant hues of red, orange, yellow, gold, purple, and some, even black, before they disengage from the source of their being to drift on the currents of the wind, spiraling to rest on the ground.

The leaves do not fear this cycle of death.

They know they have a purpose to fall. To enrich the soil with their thin veined disintegration back into the Earth.

To enrich the soil of their tree.

They do not resist this change. The death of the old to rebirth.

Why do we fear this change within ourselves?

I have been feeling the death of myself across this canvas for some time.

The person that carried me for the past 29 years of my life is disintegrating into the bare foundations that keep this body standing.

Every step is another layer falling away, unraveling to feed what is to come...And I stand in the middle...holding the part of myself that is dying in my arms.

Taking the strands and shattered pieces and allowing them to wither, fray, and unravel, to give way to something entirely new.

I've been wrestling with this for quite some time, now.

I am living as I am dying, and who stands here to take the next step?

What is in store when the old finally fades, and why do I fear this?

Is it uncertainty? The recognition that when I finally do step into this new way of existing, that I will no longer be soaked in the grief of all the other deaths, all the losses, all the pain of existence in such a broken world?

As an artist, pain is fuel for a fire that cannot be doused.

I reach into the life I've lived, and I find every hue tucked away in the cuts, bruises, and scars. I find these colors and I breathe them into paint, I bleed them through words, I do everything I can to bring beauty forth, and to hopefully reach out and find another who knows what these colors speak.

But—as I sit here, on a cold Autumn morning, I am reminded to listen to the trees.

To not question the process.

To stand tall—even if there are no leaves to protect from the chilled bite of the air.

To stretch into the sky, and dig roots deep into the cold earth.

To breathe in a steady of pulse, and stand true through the seasons of change.

I am reminded that even though chaos reigns, or so it would seem, Nature perseveres. Fire can scorch the ground. Storms can rip through entire lives, leaving shambles. The Earth can quake and rip apart. But Nature perseveres.

Seeds grow from ash.

Growth always follows destruction.

Chaos and Creation dance in tandem.

And so it seems it must be for my heart.

These frequency waves that ripple through and pluck at the strings in my spine...

These unrelenting storms of consciousness that contend for higher ground across my skin...that scream out for recognition of the wrongs committed against them...

These colors and shapes that dance with abandon across my eyes...

The hope, fury, joy, sorrow, and grief that waltz through every molecule from across a web that goes by unnoticed...

There's a reason for every season of change within ourselves.

I am reminded to listen to the trees.

To feel the pulse of my own heart reflected in their breath.

To be certain amidst the uncertainty of a world that is disintegrating.

To embrace these waves that ebb and flow, however, they appear—as a gentle stream, or a raging ocean squall, I am here to bear witness through the reverberations.

This is a messy process.

But I've learned that the force of resistance is equal in proportion to the suffering experienced...So I sit and hold space for the dying.

I acknowledge all the hurt. The confusion.

The innocence that couldn't comprehend why.

I show—in trust—the glow that has somehow been untouched by the damages of the world.

The pulse that keeps beating onward.

I take the pain and hold it here.

Where it is finally acknowledged.

Be in peace. Go out in a vibrant dance with the leaves of Autumn.

And when you are done....Rest.

I'll be here. Taking your story and your expression, transforming them through Alchemy into the new blooms of Spring.

It's ok to let the light in through your cracks.

See the patterns that you've created in your mosaic with your kaleidoscopic heart.

Disregard nothing in your soul.

Breathe yourself back to life with the coals left over from your last funeral pyre.

When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.

So transform all that you were, into what you are becoming.

Let the leaves fall as they may.

Bloom in your becoming....and Be.