Waiting For Wings

Who Am I?

I am not so brave. Not like you. I lie, evade, withhold, I harbor secrets.

I tell it like it is, then deny what’s really going on. I tell some people some things and nothing to others. I recount my past with painstaking detail and brutal honesty, then clamp down and totally evade questions. I hide out and isolate, then spill my story for all to see. Online strangers seem more comforting to me than actual friends at times. I confide in my work on the page yet not to those around me. The closet confessional. I am equally repulsed and blatantly in love with myself. It's total acceptance…with a few notes. A walking contradiction. Truthful, yet hidden in plain sight. I hold truth, integrity and some rarely attainable achievement to the highest standard, and spend the rest of my life trying to get there, disappointed when I fall from grace.

For what am I waiting? I always seem to be waiting for "that time," when everything aligns and it is all magic and flow…to get to the good part… when past crimes will be righted, forgiven and washed clean away. The start was fresh, the current stagnation mine alone. I can’t look back, yet the future terrifies me.

Bravely I plod along like some worn down pack mule, stuffed with ideas and courage, burdened with doubts and unease. The conflicts of time and money, obligation and responsibility to myself, my family and others, are yet to be resolved.

They say the road gets smoother the longer you’ve been on it. Or perhaps though the scenery and players change, some things begin to look more familiar. But not smooth. Not easy. I'm not coasting yet. No time to rest if there aren’t any laurels to rest upon.

Waiting for the me I have yet to be, I lie in anticipation with a mixture of fear and dread, excitement and knowing…it’s inevitable…it is in front of me…resistance is futile...and yet I resist anyway.

I suppose it is nature’s dumb luck to be both aware and afraid. Ah, the divine human cocktail. Part human, part clay, part pure consciousness…blood and dirt, stick and bone, knowledge and emotion, atom and cosmos. So here I am, cocked and ready, aiming high, for what I’m not quite sure, but I hope I’ll know it when it’s time. And even if I sense what it might be, there I am in the middle of it, doubting, wondering, fearing, agonizing, pushing, evading, waiting impatiently and stalling. If I could just push the “on” button and not “pulse.” Turn it on steady and go, I mean, really go freely, without stops or excuses, without delays or restrictions. Just whirl, baby, whirl. That would surely be the drink of life.

Letting go is the hardest part. Surrendering the brain, the thoughts, the baggage. And waiting…waiting for the me I have yet to be. The me that is in the process of becoming. Waiting for wings so I can take to the sky.

Wings unfurl, stretch and aim high. Lighten your burden and reach for the sky. Fly free little bird. Fly.