I never wrote Journey 6, though I revisit its discoveries almost daily. I swim back through its feelings of wholeness. All pieces having fallen into place and discovering a love for the imperfect shape. Gazing upon all that’s been built and admiring the spaces left to grow. I’ve created something glorious from shattered fragments and it’s time to start appreciating the years spent mending tears and crevices.
My body has been lighter since laying down the corpses of past selves. I think often about how I might honor laying them to rest. What could show my gratitude for facing years of feeling painfully unwanted in this realm and still crawling forward clinging to the hope for more. It is far easier to move about now and with every step, I’m overly aware at the struggle of every movement before. I have a pestering fear that lingers low and hopes I never wake in that curse again.
I write this in the most pain since my sixth journey but I’m coming off an adventure I’m in awe to have been able to complete. I haven’t danced to live blaring music in so long and even as the familiar ache crept into my feet and legs the next day, I was still overjoyed to be able to walk. Anyone would be sore and exhausted after such a weekend. I’m hopeful to see what a few days of rest may be able to settle. That hope alone is shiny and new.
Everything feels new and there is an unfamiliarity I’m trying to find comfort in. Less unsettled by no recognition, more curious delight in exploring the unknown. It is a balance I teeter each day but I have hope it will float on its own soon enough. I’m just now beginning to believe this isn’t a dream. I itch for old loves like parties and builds. I have a need to feel strong again. It all rushes in like crashing waves I have to calm with promises of slow steady growth that will arrive with each new day.
