I feel my soul stir, as I breathe in the early Autumn morning air.

There’s a deep gratitude in sensing its come back home.

Or perhaps, what blocked my connection, has left.

There’s still a quietness to it.

I think a lot about this culture of quick results, self-appointed status and premature wisdom. I wonder about the wounds and their defence strategies that drive it. My soul desires the gradual path alongside mentors and elders.

I’m learning that endings can bring up a lot.

Whether they’re chosen of feel like they’re out of your control because of some sort of logistic.

Whether we’re using that logistic to avoid other layers.

Ending can bring up big feelings.

The in-between space.

No longer what was, but not yet what’s to be.

A place full of unknowns.

Full of questions and uncertainty.

Loneliness

A well of nothingness.

A hollow ache, pleading to be filled.

I’ve felt alone in a room full of people,

even those close to me, just as I’ve felt lonely be myself.

My soul sings a song.

I can hear it in the marrow of my bones.

It’s a melancholy of remembrance.

When I pause to listen, I feel it inside of me.

The wanting of something that was.

A gentle yearning to unfurl all of my protective mechanisms.

To access her.

And what if this isn’t here to stay.

But to guide me through.

That old part of me is afraid.

Afraid that it will pull me down with it’s arctic grip on my wrists.

Binding me.

I feel that grip tighten as my chest heaves.

This is for the quiet ones

The highly sensitive ones.

The introverts. The empaths.

The shy ones.

In a world full of the extremes of black and white.

The grey is where your magic alchemizes.