I’ve died in silence more times than I can count. But like the resurrection plant, I never forgot how to return.
It was summer vacation, and the first time I remembered drying up. I pulled myself inward like tiny, fragile branches, my heart, voice, and spirit wrapped around me tight like a cocoon that would guide me through the wind, a defiant tumbleweed daring the world to see me come back to life again and again.
Oh, yes! I longed to spring back from the dead and share my voice with the earth. But the quiet called to me amidst the chaos. You see, the world didn’t always know how to love me. I was soft with sharp edges, daring but afraid, a soul that, to this day, burned with a spark that has seemingly sputtered out in so many others. I burn even now. I almost forgot.
It’s so easy to dry up and forget. The challenge is getting back up. The task is watering your roots so that you can spring back to life. Sometimes a pause is necessary. Don’t be afraid to take root and open up. There is magick in resurrection.
I depart with this blessing: May your spirit never forget how to unfurl. May your roots find water in the silence. May you rise not with shame, but with the dignity of the wild. You are not withered.
You are waiting. And your bloom will shake the world.
