it is one thing to be invited in.
and another entirely to be invited out.
there has been a long-standing invitation
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
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.”
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.”
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:
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”.