To reach the summit we must face the extremities. At times it will feel barren. As barren as the womb that no longer carries a child. It will feel so desolate. The losses so great that we cannot speak of the suffering. We try and bury it. As if that will bring some relief. The cold then sets in. The cold, stark landscape, mirroring back our emotionless state. Settling deep into the heart, frozen blocks, so rigid, they appear impossible to thaw. Untouched thoughts, unspoken words, unlived dreams. We reach a point where we recognise that we will not survive much longer in this falsehood we are living. We have to deconstruct in order to live our truth. The fire starts slowly, building up to the hot flames that lick at the seat of our unbridled passion. Warming up the walls of our hearts. Searing heat, burning all the hurt, the pain, the trauma. Scalding our tongues as all that was comes up for release. And as the flame trickles down to an ember, we look down at the remnants, the ashes. What is left, but a shell of who we once were. The waves come in sweeping the debris to sea. The water submerges us, drowns us, cleanses us. So clear and refreshing, shedding clarity on where we are to go. Guiding us to accept that at times we may feel that we are sinking, but if we allow ourselves to surrender, to trust, we shall flow with the current and arrive at our divinely chosen destination. As we near the summit, we feel the glow against out exposed skin. The sun greets us with joy. The unprecedented relief at making it here. Looking down from above and knowing that we would not have made it this far with so much holding us back. We had to lose some of the weight along the way. All that was holding us back had to go. And it's OK. Now we see it is better than OK as it all begins to fall into alignment. To reach the summit we must face the extremities.
© Sonya Robertson 2017