For as long as I can remember

For as long as I can remember, I have been Christian in "Moulin Rouge". Driven by my, "ridiculous obsession with love."

For as long as I can remember, romantic relationships have been the thing. The quest for love has consumed, been the most desired, what I want most, the ultimate goal, and I (mostly) haven't thought twice about it, it simply was. But, if love's the thing, and the ultimate goal, that means I've put my ultimate happiness and measure of success in someone, and something else, for as long as I can remember.

With that gone, I am left up to my own devices to find out what else brings me joy.

I have spent the majority of my adult life in one long-term relationship after another, with virtually no breaks in between, from the time I was 19, until three years ago. You do the math. Married to two different people, yet spanning a decade total, I spent a part of my 20's and the better part of my 30's as someone's wife, in someone else's house, or working towards that, with someone else supporting me, and often, willingly giving to them the prime position...right at the helm to steer my ship.

I had two drastically different married experiences, for a whole bunch of reasons, but there were often times that I longed for what I didn't have. There were unsettled bits, flashes of longing for the lives I didn't choose, and the occasional pang that something still wasn't satisfied within me. I could never pinpoint it.

Those days are long behind me, and when I became a mom, all of the longing, the wondering, the restlessness, all but sealed up.

I also think about how even though I say I was single for the last three years, I truly wasn't for majority of that time. I was in a relationship with a court case. It was all consuming, and nearly killed me. I have only recently began to dip my toe in the pool of trust that I can relax, and flourish into a newfound life.

When I glimpse my strength, I am so full and satisfied with my ability to provide, and take care of myself, to do all the things I was made to feel I could never do...but also have emphasis on new aspects with my life and self, I am still re-shuffling, re-prioritizing, entire. Things are still shifting into place, and in many ways, I am only at the beginning of seeing where they will land.

This time leaves me to really figure it out, what I want, rather than choose what was really available and presenting itself, because now there is nothing to present, other than what I am creating.

It is a waiting game of learning, discovery, and being hopeful that life will still surprise me.

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He came back. He didn't stay.

He came back. He didn't stay.

He said he loved me. Still. After all this time.

He said he was still obsessed with me.

He said nothing and no one matches the intensity he felt with me. He said he missed being "the hot couple". He said he missed being with someone who turned heads when we entered a room. He said he wanted to take me on a date. He did. He said he wanted to take me to Vegas. He didn't. He said a lot of other things, some of which did, and did not happen.

He said he was still obsessed with me.

He said he loved me. Still. After all this time.

And still, he did not choose me.

You can have a top spot in a heart, and still be denied.

He came back. He didn't stay.


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Cosmic Contract

Isn't it curious, how we can long for elements of earth we didn't grow up with? We can be called by the sea, knowing we should be by water, before we even see it. There is a pull of the familiar, an inherent knowing, without any concrete proof, that we're not where we belong.

I was born in a place with harsh winters, and cold parts of the year that last too long. I am uncomfortable when cold, covered, and bundled. I feel restricted by long pants on my legs and long sleeves on my arms. Trapped. I am much more myself when little material covers me. When my skin feels the environment on it. Bare feet on earth. Air on my limbs. Water on my skin. Perhaps I was meant to plop on a beach, eating a piece of fresh and sticky fruit, any given day of the year. To live a little more wild. Feral, almost.

If I could, I would pack up and move tomorrow.

I am constantly looking up as I walk, to the sky. Anything to remind of expansion, that the planet is big, and what lies beyond is bigger.

How curious, that I should find myself tethered in this life. Bound, for awhile, too and for a magical little boy, sent straight from the stars.

Perhaps that's why I have lived so many lives here. Married. Divorced. Maybe that's why I have lived so many places, after leaving my childhood home. The home that disappeared after, and would never be an option to set foot in again.

Snippets, vignettes, with different partners, different times. I have already been so many people. I've died, and been reborn again and again right here while living. Maybe, before this round on earth, my bones knew I'd be tethered, and I made an unconscious cosmic contract to live...in bits. To always be new. And each path is the right path. Every time.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

I don't regret a single life.

Perhaps, what I've been looking for...a place to land, simply doesn't exist. Words I wrote in my early twenties while living in New York pop into my head, "I move around the world to find my home, and I still can't get it right."

Maybe I'm not meant to ever land..but just to evolve, and evolve, and evolve...constant motion...like the water I seek. Constant chapters, dying, and being reborn.

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The Responsibility of Sensitivity

I posted the first part of this on social media, but was working on a much larger version here. It's finally done. Here you go. 

It took me years to understand my sensitivity was my language on this earth, and that there would be no stamping out my essence. It took decades to learn it was my superpower.

I get to experience this world with vibrancy. With a bottomless heart, so full of love to give that it feels too big for my body most days.

My superpower means that I say yes more than no, I am not afraid to swing big, to miss, to burn it down, and to try again. I only know limitless, and I want to feel it ALL.

It means full out, head first, and there is no room for lukewarm or half-hearted anything.

It means I am okay with jumping first.

It means I am brave as hell.

It means I am the softest warrior you'll ever meet.

And it means in this life, I'll never be half-alive.


* * * * * *

I remember reading a quote years ago that said, "If equal affection cannot be, let the more loving one be me." I remember thinking how terrible that sounded. Only recently have I begun to understand what those words mean, and how beautiful a concept it actually is. Now I hear it and think of my sensitivity, and when I think of my sensitivity these days, a new layer to my understanding of it is emerging. One that has a few themes, like patience, and limitations, but is truly about responsibility.

The responsibility and ownership of highly sensitive feelings.

I think back on many times throughout my life where I was left waiting for a pice of the puzzle to slide into place. You see, I love hard, I make my mind up quick, and am prone to tunnel vision.

This means, when I'm in, I am in. I want what I want, and I love you/it to the bones.

This means I've often been left waiting for the other party to join me in the jump. This applies to everything from a romantic partner, to an RSVP for an event, to a career endeavor. And I am not a naturally patient person.

This means, I've spent a lot of time in my life feeling like someone else held the cards. As I'd wait for them to make up their mind, or what felt like to "choose me", I've often feel helpless, swimming in a sea of giant feelings. I've asked myself why my fate often feels in the hands of the other party, and why this theme had recurred through my life.

Only recently have I had a revelation about this, and that is the one of responsibility.

I am built to know my heart.
I am built to jump quick.
I am not afraid to feel intensely.
This makes me brave. 
It's unfair to grant someone power over me.
Nobody gets to govern me, but me.

Maybe I want, love, and long at a higher frequency than most, but nobody asked to be the captain of my ship, and if I turn myself over to someone / something beyond my control who never asked for it, that's unfair. That's a pressure they've never asked for, and most likely are unaware of.

My responsibility for my sensitivity boils down to this: fully owning the depths at which I swim, and going there willingly, unharnessed, regardless of what the other side should ever choose.

Here I am. 

I vibrate intensely, deeply, fully, and you can swim here with me -
should you choose to.

I will never be afraid. I will risk. I'm okay with jumping first.
I'd rather try and not get what I desire than never know.
I'd go to the ends of the earth, right now, today, easily, for my heart.

And, "if equal affection cannot be, let the more loving one be me."
No regrets on offering up my lovely bones, entire.
I'm okay with loving more.

Always.

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Turn back dull earth, and find thy center out

A plane flies over, against a little patch of blue in an otherwise gray sky. Ohhhh, I breathe while watching. "That looks like freedom." I am instantly aware of my feet on the ground, and how heavy they feel. For as long as I can remember, I have had a desire to be off the earth, and in the sky. Always aware of the restriction of gravity, and being bound.

It's simply one of those days, you see. Where I feel a bit unsteady, untethered, looking for a touchstone, but not really knowing what that means, today.

I think of 2011, when I discovered the Camino de Santiago. I knew I had been called, and I knew one day I would make my pilgrimage. I keep thinking about that now, as I spend each day walking. Pushing myself to go farther, to take new routes. Experiencing my home on foot the way I normally don't. The way I do if I'm in another place, the way I do in NYC, but haven't here. I wonder to myself, "why?"

Perhaps, for now, this is my Camino. This is my pilgrimage. Perhaps this is the time I learn how to be grateful on foot.

I walk. I press on, beginning the pilgrimage to my restless heart.




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The year of everything

There are those years where eternity is crammed into just 365 days.

Life on fast forward. One giant event after another. A year where you land in a completely different space than when you started...figuratively and literally.

With a shiny new decade about to begin...

(the energy is palpable, isn't it? It's electric. It's sparking. I can see it, thundering behind a wooden door that can barely contain it. The brightness seeping out the cracks at the bottom, and all around. It's about to burst!)

...I am reflecting on how completely my end and beginning of 2019 were. Everything I learned can be summed up in three words:

I AM CAPABLE.

This spring, and just a few posts back, I published one titled burn. Where I talked about precipice, and how I had only felt on the verge like that just one other time. When suddenly I knew my life was about to take a redirect, and change, entire. I was right once again. A couple months later my dream day job came knocking, and the opportunity presented itself to become a homeowner for the first time. Needles to say, both transformed the current state of my world.

I get to enter this new decade with so much new:

As a working mom
As a mom with a preschooler
Without friendships I didn't expect
With friendships I didn't expect
In a brand new living space that feels like heaven
As a homeowner
Without the same car
Without my old furniture
Without fighting legally for my son
Without anxiety and PTSD...or at least with hardly any left...
With true in-my-bones and in-my-soul contentment
With a changed body, one that no longer experiences the beauty of breastfeeding, but now belongs to me, altered just for me
As an associate artist with one of my favorite theatre companies
Side passion projections about to be announced, and come to fruition
With giant dreams
With a limitless sky
With new optimism
Strengthened by knowledge
Senses buzzing once more

I have so much god damn gratitude. I couldn't wrap my head around what that meant for so long. Trauma left me longing for just the bare minimum. If I learned to want just the bare minimum, wasn't that...sad? Devastating? Didn't that shrink me, my dreams, all I once hoped for and strived towards?

No. It simply means appreciating the little moments along the way up, through the journey of my rising. The small parts build the foundation. Tiny miracles are always around, in the form of coincidence, of chance encounters, of omens. Looking back, even through the destruction there was beauty.

Only I steer this ship. I am finding I have loved every part of my life that led me here, and I will continue to. Was it always there? Whispering to me all along? The undercurrent of energy saying this was all meant to be...unfolding exactly as it should...?

I've never related more to the tale of The Phoenix as I have this year. This was the year I earned my wings. I proudly stepped into the ancestral line of warrior women that have paved the way before me, and will come after me. Confidently, and unapologetically.

This was my time to become...and I finally became.

For over two years, my senses dulled. I could only see black. Now, I'm rushing toward the light, for I've finally broken...into blossom...


"Suddenly I realize that if I stepped out of my body I would break into blossom."

A Blessing by James Wright 


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Burn

The other night I dreamt my childhood home burned to the ground. I stood on top of the rubble, with other members of my family. I looked to each of them for a place to live, to be taken in. There was no one for me to stay with. Although in reality this home was sold shortly after I'd moved to New York, in my dream all of my belongings had still been in the house, and now they were gone. Everything I'd owned had burned, but I wasn't phased. In fact, I felt a relief. I could start fresh. I needed, and was attached to, nothing. Yet there was a realization of how special the walls of that home had been. What they had held was scared, and now it was gone...as if it had never stood there in the first place.

I've often documented my dreams, and the visions that have come to me in the in-between here. Some I understand the meaning of right away, and seem almost more real than reality.

This one makes sense. I've been in a state of emotional purging recently. A lot of gunk has built up inside me over the last few years. Trapped in me, I've been living with the sickness of it. PTSD, and anxiety. Physical manifestations that breathe down my neck daily, and dull my sparkle. Only recently has it started to pour out, mostly in the form of tears. This is unusual for me, to have bouts of crying. Sometimes full-on sobs. I have been in fight-or-flight for so long. I've had to hold off on letting it out due to the battles I've had to fight, raising my son, and simply not having the time. But lately it's leaking out, ready or not.

This isn't a bad thing. The webs are untangling inside from around my brain, and heart. The water from my tears is cleansing. "Make space. Clear the way." It whispers..

I have had a sense that a new page is just about to turn. The next chapter is so close. New players will enter, a new stage is set, and life begins, anew. I see white light where I once saw no color at all. I feel warmth right around the corner, coming to me from the opposite direction.

I have only felt on the verge like this one other time. I searched through my old posts until I found it, and wouldn't you know it, the date was February 2013 (here). Exactly one month before absolutely everything about my life changed in a million ways I never could have seen coming.

Is there a shedding of the skin every six or so years? I laugh to myself, remembering that every seven or so we literally become new people, as every cell in our body replaces itself with a new one.

Of course. 

I hope I'm right about this precipice. I have no reason to doubt. Everything I once had burned to the ground. I need nothing other than walls to house a sacred space, where that ends up is TBD.

But I stand calmly on the rubble.
A clean slate.
I don't feel loss.
I am not empty.
There is a hint of spring in the breeze.

I wait...

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Soulmate is too weak a word for him

A friend of mine posted a link to this poem a couple days ago. Wow.
Those last two paragraphs! Those last two lines! 

perhaps then this is to be your fate
in every life you live, every form you take
you will meet a boy with blood on his tongue,
a despairing glint in his eye
and you will love him, scars and all
oh, as you have never loved before.

it is not always love at first sight (it almost never is)
but one way or another,
he always falls for your quiet humor, your unwavering spirit
and you for the way his eyes dance when he laughs,
for the shuddering strength in his hands.
before long, you do not remember how it was
to not be his.

now in some lives, you resist his pull
in others, he strays from the path
one wretched time, he dies before you meet
and you spend the rest of that life aching and incomplete.
sometimes you die with him, content to your last breath
sometimes you are torn from his side too soon
and only the stars bear witness to your gasping pain,
your dizzying ruin.

some souls are bound together,

so the poets say,

but you and he are more than destined, more than merely bound—

your love is not just written in the stars,

it is woven into the fabric of the heavens, the essence of the cosmos. 

the two of you are, i truth, but one: 
one heart, one spirit, one intrinsic soul-
it is not that you are fated to be with him, but rather 
fate has not the audacity to keep you apart.

— soulmate is too weak a word for him, Amrita C (via tumblr)   

Sometimes I feel as though I was put on this earth to love him. Sometimes just being here, as the one who loves him, is more than enough. I am satisfied. I am overflowing. I am full. I am content. As if this is what I was made for. Meant for. 

~DM

At this very moment.

leeds, UT | 4.17.2015 


She used to come here to escape. To try to mend her broken soul. Heart shattered, she missed him terribly. She hoped that the farther away she got, maybe the easier it would be to forget he'd existed. But the truth was, when he tore through her world he changed everything. Left her in flames.

She spent so much time looking at the sky here, and teaching herself to find the beauty in everything. She had to find a way to live in the word again, and to see the good. And when she did not find it at times, "at least he's given me new eyes with which to see", she'd think.

She was open to the omens in a way she'd never been before. She was thankful for her new eyes. But just as she was resigning herself to the fact that he was lost forever, the universe stepped in, not done with them after all.

Now he is here. Her husband, holding the camera. She sees the sky in a different way now. Gone is the longing to be off of the earth and into the blue, for she loves so much what grounds her here.

Right at this moment, this is what's going through her head. And as she turns from the sunset to look at him, these are the thoughts she wants captured in this photo.



~DM

Why

With a childlike demeanor she asks the question why.
Every time, of everything.
She asks again, and then rephrases.
She will do so until she understands in only the way she can,
she will not stop asking why.
She cannot stop asking.
The thing inside will drive her mad if she does not ask.
It's a thirst, a desire, an obsession.
To know everything.  To constantly seek for truth.
To weed the make believe out of the story.
The need to know will overtake.
The excruciating need to understand.
Brain on fire, trying to make sense of it.
Of all of it, of what she is, and where she is, and why she is.
The only way she believes she'll ever know,
is to keep digging around her,
to keep prodding,
breaking,
clawing,
and to keep the why alive.

These bones.

I came across this beautiful quote a few weeks back, and it's stuck with me.  It struck me as something I would have declared was exactly my life if I'd found it three years ago.  It no longer is, but still it stayed.  I've been mulling it over and finally realized, somewhat of the opposite is now true for me.

Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I've lived.

I touched on this a few posts ago.  How can I be this young and have already been so many people? Had so many lives?

How do we hold our bones together as each year layers on?


~ Deena Marie

You.

Last night I was watching you as you talked,
and I could see around you a tapestry of everything that has made you, you.
I sensed the home you grew up in, saw your parents, your childhood.
I loved them deeply for without them you would not be you.
I started thinking about all the people that will get to know you
over the course of your life,
and those who won't.
Then I got sad.
Thinking of all the people who will miss out on knowing you.
Friendships you'll never make.
Yet I got picked.  I am rich.  I am chosen.
I am in awe I get to know you, love you, be married to you.

My muse.

My muse.  My mirror.  My guide.

He keeps me in the moment more than I’ve ever been, 

I've realized love is fragile, and precious, 

and I don’t dare to take a second of it for granted.
There is no option other than to be here, now.  

He keeps me in love with our life together.  

I find myself wanting our human experience to freeze in time.  

I don’t want us to grow old, I don’t want us to die.  

I want this.  

There was a time when I longed for anything but,
now I am grateful to be bound to earth.

I am boiled down to my essence, love.  

I am full to the brim.

I am not asked to fit into his already established life, 

instead we are two equals agreeing to build together. 

My wish for you.

My wish for you:
I wish for you to have love.
To keep searching if you haven't found it yet,
and to never settle.
To experience a love that comes easy, 
and not force a fit because you wish it would be so,
or you've told yourself you're running out of time.
I wish for you to follow your truth to love,
because that's where it leads you. 
Every time.
I wish for you to release a love,
if it isn't the right love.
It is a hard and ultimately selfless act
to cut the strings
and free them to seek their love.
I wish for you to love someone more
than you love yourself, or a career.
I wish for you to be relieved, home, made whole, by love.
To be freed and enhanced.
I wish for you to wholeheartedly believe that you deserve love,
that you are perfect and worthy
of love just as you are,
That love is not selfish and does not
have to be conditional.
It should fill you, not deplete you. 
And if it is, and if it does, then it is not IT. 
Keep seeking.
Miracles happen every day. 

Thank goodness for poets.

I've posted this before.  It's been in my head again the last few days.

This is why I love to read, why I love poetry, and words.  Bits and pieces stick with me and pop up when I need them, reminding me I'm never alone, never the first (nor the last) person to feel a certain way.  I can't think of anything more comforting.

Thank goodness for poets.

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” - Rainer Maria Rilke  

I've also recently been reminded,

"Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don't" - Bill Nye

And maybe more importantly, I've been reminded that every person we ever encounter has something to teach us.  Every one of them.

Thanks for reading.


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The Truth

I'm committed to my truth.  To discovering, to following, and to living my truth.  This hasn't always been the case.  Simply because I didn't know any better.  I didn't know how many layers my truth was under, or how to find it.  I knew I wanted it.  I knew I was unsettled.  I was searching.  But for what? A current of dissatisfaction always running through me.   At times the volume was up and at times it was barely audible. But it was always there.  

The truth cannot be forced.  I've said it before and I'll say it again, sometimes the truth looks different than others want it to.  In the beginning, it might even look different than what you want it to.  But guess what? Your truth is yours and yours alone.  What is true for you is what matters.  Your personal life is yours.  And guess what? It affects nobody else.  And if it "does"? That's because you no longer fit into the role/view/image they've assigned to you, and that's their issue to deal with.  It's not about you.  

You owe it to yourself to be the best, most authentic version of yourself.  I cannot stress that enough.  I.  Promise.  You.  Everything will fall into place around that.  Relationships change around you and so do your reactions.  For the better. 

Again, the truth cannot be forced.  Sometimes it takes years, or the majority of a lifetime (or maybe it never happens) to peel back your layers.  To rid yourself of "what should be".  You can trick yourself.  You can be in denial and not be aware of it.  You can let fear hold you back.  You can stay in a life that's stagnant, small, because your not sure that if you jump that the universe will be there to catch you.

I promise you it will.  A wise friend of mine told me, "the universe will rise up to meet you every time", and it's the honest to god truth.  

Leap.  Just leap.  

Tune in.  Be still.  Be quiet.  When you sense something is off, it's because it is.  When you sense something is right, it's because it is.  No matter how small.  No matter how many times you shrug it off, or explain it away.  This is where we trip up.  This is where we convolute the simplicity of life.  Because we tell ourselves we are a certain way, with a certain role to play, and life must go accordingly.  When things don't "fit" we try to dismiss them.  

Don't.  That's your truth knocking. 

No one can tell you your truth.  They can only tell you their opinion based on the role they've assigned you to their own life / world view.  You owe no one an explanation.  Who is anyone else to tell you what's right or wrong for you? Who is anyone to stop you from growing? From living? From escaping restraints, and falsehoods? 

Finding your truth is a messy, destructive process.  It is not without ramifications.  It is not without hurt.  You will hurt loved ones along the way.  You will break your own heart.  

"You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens" - Rumi

Open it. 

Thanks for reading, 

Deena Marie

Instagram: @deena_marie

twitter: @DeenaMarie

FB: /TheDeenaShow

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I left my world...

Poetry is the most magical, comforting, teacher I have.  Through words that bleed emotion I learn who I am, and that even when I am positive I am the only person to go through such trials and tribulations and that no one else could possibly have a life like mine, I learn that I'm not.  And that is everything.  I can crack open, and let my emotions bleed along with the words when I'm not yet ready or able to use my own. 


I left my world
to be with you
I had to escape
without telling anyone.

I know I left broken hearts
and I suffered for that
but nothing compares
with the suffering of being away
from you.

Today everything is happiness.

Being with you
in different cities
where nobody knows us
and forget our
boring
locked
past.

Walk in the woods
enjoying the sun
the rain
the wind
and the snow.

Today everything is happiness.

-Axel Marazzi


Tweet me: @DeenaMarie
Instagram: deena_marie
Facebook: TheDeenaShow

Write as if you were dying.

This article from the New York Times was sent to me yesterday by a fellow writer, poet, and all around fabulous lady.  I'm so glad she thought to send this to me.  My brain has been spinning ever since.

Read the full article here: Write Til You Drop by Annie Dillard.  While many sentences and paragraphs jumped out at me, what hit me most were these: 

There is something you find interesting, for a reason hard to explain. It is hard to explain because you have never read it on any page; there you begin. You were made and set here to give voice to this, your own astonishment.

Write as if you were dying. At the same time, assume you write for an audience consisting solely of terminal patients. That is, after all, the case. What would you begin writing if you knew you would die soon? What could you say to a dying person that would not enrage by its triviality?

It's funny (although it's actually perfect) that I just read this because my brain had just bee trying to form a little snippet of poetry similar to this idea.  Something along the lines of, "I want to give you everything.  I want to show you everything I have, and everything I know.  But I'm afraid that if I do, I'll have nothing left for me."

I'm wondering about all of this.  John P. Shanley says, "what you leave out is the story."  And boy, if that's true do I have a story for you.  And boy, if I found out I was dying it would be yours.  Now.  Today.  It would be urgent and it would be out.  But I'm not dying, and I'm afraid to reveal.  I'm also afraid that I'll never reveal.  Is that the fear? That I could die without my story being told?

I have more story.  All that I leave out.  My most personal trials and tribulations.

I also have what I find interesting for reasons hard to explain because I've never read it on any page.  Do I try to explain it? I thought of that last night, actually as I watched the moon for a very long time.  Why the cosmos stir me the way they do.  Why cosmology, astronomy, and science seem the most crucial and important way a human could spend a life.  What I am so inherently sure of when I'm watching the moon without knowing as fact, other than I just know.  Why I have a strong pull to leave the earth.  To see it from the outside.  Why it feels familiar.  Why I know I've been there before.  

So where do I start? 

And what do I do?

How much of myself should I give to you?

Deena Marie

John P. Shanley

John P. Shanley the playwright has the best Facebook updates of anyone.  Ever.

I didn't know when I saw you that you were engraved in me forever. Before they built the house where we first embraced, the land there waited for our arrival like a mother. I watch white clouds fall from the sky. The sea hesitates between tides. The sun itself seems uncertain. There is a gathering up of the powers. What is this finite silence that fills me with dread? It's not the future I fear. It is Now. Bring me Tomorrow.

The energies that govern us, come from us. The greater energies that we witness from our own obscurity, confirm an overarching Spirit.

When the prison is invisible, the escape may also be invisible.

On my way to you, I walked through a rare perfume. It conjured a night undone by days. What makes us too weak to forge a destiny? Why did you let me go? Why did I set you free?

What you leave out is the story.

The first daffodils escape the earth. A prison opens up its gates. Spring breaks free. That heavy heart rushes out towards the sun. You are forgiven.

What do you want? Love? You have it. Oh, you want to give it? Then do. But give it to those who want it. Don't impose your love., for love imposed is not love at all; it's pain you'd like to shed. But what should you do with your pain that's not an imposition? Jump into the sea and worship life.

7:04

At 7:04 on March 27th, Mars sent down his child to occupy earth.
Spun into solid in the form of daughter she would temporarily belong
to one Lauren and Claude.
Bursting into being, she took her first breath between screams
louder than the average baby.
This 8 lb 8 ounce space traveling freedom fighter had not one moment to spare.

What she knew instantly, was that her bones were made of poetry
and her soul of the fire from her home planet.
She was also old.  This she knew best.  She was weary and worn.
The journey had been long.

She saw children as children and recognized herself only as the wise sage
who had just been sent back, now housed inside this tiny five year old body.
As for the scar on her cheek, she wondered how it would look as she grew.
It faded and vanished and as she got older, and her old age faded too.

She began to adapt and blend into humanity and forget
that in the beginning she knew all.
Nearly forgotten were the endless summer evenings outside
wondering why she was so old and how everything was so clear,
and the way it felt as the end of the last was reconciling itself with the start of the new.

Decades passed and her youth caught up to her
with a tap on the shoulder and a seep into her skin.
She would now temporarily belong.

Her way would be lost, but she would always find it a year or two later in the same orbit
when the time was right, for nothing had ever really gone away at all.

It had only moved.
Out of reach.
For a time.

She would take the form of wife.  And in the future she knew, mother.
And along the way, the alchemy inside the vessel would match
the movement of the cosmos
and whisper with her soul to follow the omens.

And this is where the story stops.
For a minute.  Because this is all we know of it.
The journey will be long.
She is weary.  
But she will continue.  Space traveling, freedom fighting child of Mars.
Because she is young now.  And getting closer each round.

There is something here to do.  It pulls her closer a little more each day.
She temporarily belongs.  And when the final round is up,
the poetry and flames can finally dismember,
streaking the sky, moving onward and upward,
and home she goes to rest.