Excavation

Some days it’s so desperately easy to be happy and others it’s like when was I ever happy? There doesn’t seem to be a middle ground. This is exquisite. And excruciating. Beautiful. Painful. Expansive. And so, it’s both. It’s all. It’s growth. It’s breaking down. It’s recognizing patterns and saying no, I’m not going to do that anymore. It’s creating someone new. Or unearthing her. Excavating her like an archaeological ruin. With the tiny brushes gently removing layers, years, millennia of dust from bones. Of expectations from dreams. Of rules from souls. I’m outside on my terrace in the fresh air. Wind blowing through my citrus tree under the glowing moon. Party lights have come on as clouds are drifting over the moon. And I’m here. Suspended. Grateful. Patiently brushing off the layers.