|light on my lover's skin|
sometimes i rely on the label artist too much because it is such a beautifully distracting word. writer? painter? journaler? photographer? artist. tantalizing and mysterious. i told my husband tonight that i wanted to be a tattoo apprentice for awhile, to see if i wanted to be a tattoo artist, and there was the word again. evocative and soul-stirring.
this season of the new moon is especially potent. so much to release, to let sit and marinate, to absorb and see. i'm feeling subtle, external pressures to conform myself to boxes i escaped long ago, shapes which don't fit me, and it makes me restless. it makes me want to run away. two things happen when you squeeze something too tight: it slips away, like water in a clenched fist, or it is crushed to death.
and yet ...
i am blessed. there are secret places where my soul fills out her shape, where she can frolic in rumi's field. these are dark wombs of love where i am gathered and seen, where my soul shimmers and wakens the way she is meant to, where she is nurtured and witnessed.
as i refine my passion and purpose, as i step along my path and shed old skin, witness remains an elemental soul thread: i witness. i see you. i celebrate your soul. i am an artist. i share what i see. this is why i work and persist and survive, really. it's why i'm alive.
soul stirring prompt:
why are you alive?