Unraveling Into Light

Standing here, at the threshold—

midpoint, cusp, inhale, exhale—

light and dark folded into each other,

the pull of what was,

the whisper of what could be.

New threads—gold, silver—

woven in with the tenderness of unseen hands,

old ones loosening, unraveling,

not torn, not discarded,

but unmade, unneeded,

released into the hush of what no longer is.

The gentle hands of the Divine Mother,

weaving, singing, holding me in becoming—

but not yet silk, not yet smooth.

Still raw, still unwoven in places.

Still aching where the old threads were pulled,

still yearning for peace, for grace.

The adult in me, weary of all the holding, all the healing.

The child in me, waiting to be held,craving the words—

You have fought enough.

You can put it down now.

You are not what you have survived.

And yet—I am that I am.

What is That?

Can I walk forward,carrying all of That—

gold and silver,

light and dark,

spirit in matter,

joy and sorrow intertwined?

Can I?

Will I?

The Equinox stands still,

breath caught in the balance,

watching, waiting.

And so do I.