Weightless, I feel held, swaddled in a fuzzy cream robe. My toes are free to wiggle about, my long auburn curls free to bob, my soul free to fly, eyes soft, cheeks gold and smooth as porcelain. Not a pain, not a worry or regret. Shoulders nimble, back limber as a daisy’s stem. I stretch, face up forever tugged in the direction of the sun. I am available, willing, ready, embraced by life.

My insides squirm, I have no idea what’s next. The twinge in my gut says “Oh yes, life, unwrap my robe, pick me up, dangle me over the cliff in all my nakedness, hold me snug, wash me in this electric tingle, this zing of being, this pizazz of fully living.”

Whispers from those who think they know best trickle in. I’m led indoors with the others and given treats if I sit and stay. My bum is planted in a one-armed wooden desk, the seat slick from generations before. I want to be outside, to stretch towards the sun. I’m taught the ways of the world and sent off to march in line. As I keep up the pace, one foot in front of the other, I imagine my future in this scheduled charade.

I do not want manufactured security and its sepia tone, that boring porridge of plain oats. I will not consume the same ol’ slop every day until my whole life has dwindled. I want the story I leave behind to be “She lived! She laughed! She was a friend to all, every species, everyone in all their shades. She stretched the limits and did life her way. She left nothing behind, she slid through the veil, hair frizzy, heart full, eyes bright, face plastered with a mischievous grin.”

Obedient, no, that is not who I am. I will not sit tight and knit security blankets for my friends. Safety can kiss my untamed hind end as I make my mad dash into dazzling bright light. I am willing to fall and get scraped up from a slide. Sure, I sometimes get frightened when I roam far from the herd, and see the raging tiger of society barreling my way. My bare toes dig into dusty dirt, eyes wide, teeth clenched, lips pursed. A snarl rumbles in my throat. Come get me, come on, let’s wrestle this out. Come! Give me all you’ve got. I will scrape and scratch. I will pound my way out with a wrecking ball of a war torn heart.

When my cheeks are pressed against the crook of two walls, it is “go” time. I will not sit in a corner and ask for forgiveness. I stand tall and turn around. As a peaceful warrior decorated in the battle paint of freedom, my eyes focus on the way forward. My shoulders back, I take a slow, deep, breath.

I will not go quietly. I will not listen to lies masquerading as truths. I will not wait for a knight on a white horse. This cage of conditions begs to be broken and left. I will not lap up that drab porridge. Fairytales are lies meant to keep me in line. The raging river calls.

I dive head first into the wild river of feral life. A shriek escapes my lungs. A chill rips up my spine and shivers my neck. Naked, my back bows in bliss as the sting of this wild river prickles every inch of my undomesticated skin.

I will not go gentle. I will not be tamed. I will not step blind, into the dying of my light.

Epilogue:
I cherish my editor. She and I bumped into each other in a tiny town in Newfoundland. Six weeks later we met for a second time in Nova Scotia and I waited out a hurricane in her home. We shared meals and conversations by candlelight, and long windy walks. Now we keep in touch through the editing of my blogs and articles. We had several exchanges about this blog. Because of my wandering lifestyle, she extrapolated meanings behind this piece that I hadn’t intended. Below is a sneak peek into my sharing with her, which also might open up more for all readers:

To me the underlying thread in everything I point to and write about is freedom of mind and freedom of being. We all have unique desires. And that is the spice of life 🙂

We can live in one spot and be completely free. Also, some people move about quite a bit and are not free at all. The “charade” is not referencing moving around or being planted. Instead, my take is that the “charade” is the social, economic, material, and mental conditioning that binds us up, and can keep us from the experience of aliveness. The “slop” is what we are fed and told to do. Working a 9-5 job from a heart space of loving what you do is perfect. Working any job because you are conditioned to do it that way, or made to, that’s where questions arise.

To me this piece points to the cultural behaviors and beliefs that we are indoctrinated into, which begins as small children, even before we’ve learned to speak. As a society (and as individuals) we are so conditioned to be conditioned that we know no other way. There are glimpses when the veil lifts. We see what has been done and we realize how trained we are. The question then is: “What now?”

After reading this, consider re-reading the blog and notice if it lands differently for you.

Would you like a partner to dive in with? Imagine coming even more alive, living without fear, and/or letting go of pesky habits. Through one on one explorations you’ll find a new sense of freedom, stress fades away, and all sorts of possibilities take center stage. If you are curious, send me an email and let’s have a conversation.

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Photo Credit: Daisy Dewdrops by Martin Hetto; Plzeň, Czech Republic