https://www.treesisters-nest.org/posts/10647985

The naked new

In the birth canal
Poised to become
Held in a prism of potential
Unknown to self
Unknown to the world
But intact, 
Armed with love,
Ready.

‘What am I?’ said the Self..
Honeysuckle laced with dew,
Candle wax and frogspawn,
Rainbows and lily pads,
Piano keys and the wet mud
of the potters wheel.
You are it all,
You are life.

‘But what comes next?’ said the Self.
The unfurling of the rose bud,
The crossing of the veil,
The opening into humility,
The touch down into time,
There is no rhyme or reason
against which you are defined,
Only becoming,
deliverance,
and beginning.

‘But what if it hurts?’ said the Self…
The broken dream bent by unwantedness,
The closed heart hardened through lack,
The shamed love rendered brittle and stuck,
The aloneness of crystallized separation,
The life never given for fear of not being enough.
The unavoidable sting for each aching heart
willing to weather it all.
To taste pain,
To take the poison,
To find the beauty,
In order to grow wings.

‘I am here!’ said the Self, 
surprised to find it had a voice.
Face turned to the sun, to the wind and the rain.
Unknown to itself,
Standing ready or not
for the effortless unfolding
of whatever comes next.
For the dance of deliverance,
For the radical true,
For the wretched 
and for the sublime 
naked new.

Onwards into the new year,
ready to let go of the fear of what could be,
and to welcome the miracles lining up
if we drop expectations
and bow to the radical beauty
of this wild thing called life.

May you touch the sublime and taste the sweetness of pure gratitude as the year turns.

Poem Clare Dubois
Treesisters