I'm quietly imagining a world where all humans grow up knowing their magic is totally normal. It's not too much or too little or too loud or too masculine or too feminine or too androgynous or brash or bold or clashing or searing or quiet or intense or uncommon or scary or fierce or unexpected or desperate or full of doubt or too fucking weird, man.
Okay. That's what I wanted to know growing up. I don't think I'm the only one.
I'm dreaming about space being reclaimed by the parts of myself that have no room and loving the quiet guidance, the silent choices that have no voice, except through fear.
I'm dreaming that life can be breathed all the way down into the deepest belly stories and that those stories will learn to whisper/shout/roar/snarl/spit/giggle-flirt up and out of self judgment and into the open air where they can be held and loved and seen and adorned.
Celebrated for their wisdom.
Heart first, opinion second.
I'm dreaming to look and love the wide face of grief when it smiles.
I'm dreaming to respond to the receptive palms of belonging when offered.
I'm dreaming to meet the gaze of welcome when warm to the soul.
I'm dreaming to believe the open heart of possible when it's beating drums of love.
I'm dreaming to fold and fold and fold again into the hugs of kin.
I'm dreaming to have the courage to see my own blindnesses and respond with patience and humility.
Everyday I lay down old theories.
Everyday I pick up new truth.
I can always do better.
I can always slow down.
May I always pursue wisdom of the highest guidance.
May I always remember to belong especially when I don't remember where that is.
May I listen to the answer.
FFS, may I learn to listen.