words on: transition
“what color have you been feeling recently?”
“any color that comes to the sky after the rain.”
i never knew how important movement was until i felt the weight of stagnancy rest on my spirit. i never let the word “transition” hang long on my tongue until i began to taste the dust of my own bones, crushed under the mass of paralyzation and immobility.
it’s been a long time since i felt the heavy wind of movement. the still, thick air of heat and dryness never comforted me. around me, life needs to remain. i’d rather invite the thunder, the wind, and the lightning into my home for chaos tea before marrying echoes of silence and living a life of dormancy. in the paradox of my first statement - i have felt all of these things. there has been rain inside of my own room and a flood between my pillows. nights have become water-stained mornings from my own tears. but the chaos came from within: a loud calling for more, for needing change, but the loud banging and clacking of resistance forming at the mouth. there will always be anarchy where opposing forces will not allow each other to co-exist. i was not giving birth to any new winds, but sitting in the molasses of my own stagnancy. heavy. burdensome. dense. substance without velocity. vibrating in one place. it feels like i’ve cried everyday for months but haven’t moved to take action. breakdowns lead to breakthroughs only when the operative word is a verb. movement is the key to transition, and as long as we stay in our skin, we should not be afraid of our own dance, our own rhythm, our own flow.
transition is an evolution that brings us closer to our own growth. the discomfort, the pain, the unsettling feeling all act as a compass to lead us on a scenic route back to ourselves. i choose to believe that all of my transitions are fragmented pieces to a mosaic masterpiece, telling the story of my life in celestial colors. i choose to believe that my transitions are those unparalleled moments of walking alone towards the calling of a larger life. one may call it a journey towards authenticity; it feels like it’s the lacing of fingers between me and my highest self.
there is always balance in the universe; thus, transition can leave us exposed and suspended in air. my transition period has been an unraveling. the old wardrobe that i used to hide underneath, that i used to cover my scars and the truths of my past reminders, is coming to its last thread. i am exposed. i am nude. i am unbecoming and becoming. old paradigms that used to take shape of the vector image of my beliefs are shifting and breaking into sharp lines that are cutting into the curtains that veiled potentiality. tiny funerals have gathered within me to mourn the deaths of my old identities, old ideals, and old ways of thinking. friendships that once provided disillusioned purpose now drain me. yearning to reconnect with my own soul is driving me closer and closer into solitude for growth versus old ways of isolating myself out of fear. ideas within my old paradigms are beginning to rot and wilt on my mental windowsill. shedding old skins doesn’t mean that the demons of temptation cannot recognize you. every day is a test to rise to the occasion and find my foot on a new level of ascension. old bones follow behind me in an unorganized reminder of the past. i have learned that the dead are our soil.
what gives my breath home, however, is knowing that forces in the universe unbeknownst to us are quietly working in our favor, treading the waters to lead our sail, moving the earth on a perfect degree for the sun to wake us up another day, gravity in its perfect place to let the truth trickle into the moments of what we call coincidence. we always catch the second wind at the right time; the faint breath of god that we call serendipity. every moment of despair, of turmoil, is the turning of new soil for a seed to grow.
i want to get to the place where movement becomes breath. there is no more space for me in the sunflower field of desperation. to half-step with others who move in a beaten path of reactivity, blame, and victimization is to claim death over your own life. there is a lot of uncertainty that is inevitable in this realm. this acknowledgment isn’t an invitation for paralyzing self-pity or cement in our shoes. indecisiveness can become a prison, if we allow it. in my odyssey, words have uncovered themselves as lighthouses. to my mortal, limited, understanding of the magic that exists all around me, i have felt that words connect me to the unknown and the breakthroughs of my own spiritual healing. transition words reflect my power to interpret and take control of my transition, over my evolution, over my fate. if we speak faintly and without faith, we will build a paper house, and ideas outside of our current paradigm can look like a threatening flame to our home. if we use words of conviction, of belief, of unwavering determination in the storm of uncertainty, the transition words can interpret gold paint onto the concrete foundation.
and yet, i am here. giving praise and speaking life even with blood on my tongue.
despite, i am working through. honoring myself and this journey.
after all, i am building myself to conquer every goal and live a fulfilled life.
finally recognizing that i am not my circumstance, but i have the power to become the master of my own fate - the power to make decisions that will lead to my own zenith. flowers growing in my shadow as i am watering the darkest parts of myself. somehow through the smoke that accompanies the uncertainty, i am being reminded of my beauty through broken mirrors. i am transitioning into a higher realm, and not in a hierarchical way of ascending above others to reflect value, but to know myself in a deeper, meaningful way. i am giving myself permission to sit in the transition. allowing myself to suspend in thin air, but feel the depth of the gravity surrounding me. the unknown on the other side of transition can be intimidating, but our spirits can’t be seen as a star without darkness. it’s important to embrace all the heaviness, the gritty details, the flowers on the side of the unbeaten path as well as their thorns.
we are always in constant transition. constantly growing, evolving, changing. it’s only up to us to find the rhythm and dance to the drum of our own beautifully divine chaos. if we never move our feet, if we decide to stay hovering and vibrating in one spot, we’ll never know the beautiful song of transition and where it can truly lead.