There was a jungle full of roots and thorns and swamps and danger. A forest of destruction and emotional deforestation. I slowly navigated it. Sometimes going in circles. Sometimes moving forward. I marveled each time a root caught my foot. What was it that kept it growing over years and years buried deep inside a dark, quiet place? I caught my breath when fear gnawed its way inside and pushed me to turn and run. But I never turned and I never stopped.
The urge to cross over, to transcend, to transform, always pulled me like the earth's gravity.
And then I saw the sunlight catch the dew and I knew it was over.
What do you do when all the questions are answered, when you walk through all the ugly underbelly and face all the angriest demons?
Does self awareness become the cover up? Do you finally turn in any direction? Does realization make you different?