This Is The Year

This is the year that

I follow my magic.

A magic that can’t

Be seen or heard,

Only felt as the pulsation

Of my own heart.

This is the year that

I follow my yearnings.

My most sacred longings,

For creation, devotion,

Intimacy, and love.

This is the year that

I say to my mind,

Darling one,

You’ve done beautiful work.

Fancy a vacation?

I’ll be here when you return.

No hurry…

This is the year that

I liberate my shadows.

The clouds that creep over

My deepest desires.

My fears have grown weary

Of how often I call.

This is the year that

I stare at my courage,

And ask her to love me,

As I walk down the path

Of curious regard.

This is the year that

From flames of uncertainty,

Arises divinity.

And fills me radiance,

As I melt into joy.

This is the year that

I say to me gently,

It’s okay to be scared and electric

At the same time.

This is the year that

I trust my fantasy to

Revel in poetry, ecology,

And depth,

Is as real as the science

That tries to contain them.

This is the year that

I will not be contained.

This is the year that

Vulnerability is welcomed

Back into the room.

Attuning to brokenheartedness

Caressing the art of us,

As we cry tears together,

In tenderness and love.

This is the year that

I open to spaciousness.

Worship the slownesslyness.

That’s not a word, I guess.

This is the year of holding.

And most of all,

This is the year of integrity.

Of dropping out of certainty.

Of intimacy with mystery.

Of dancing so blissfully.

This is the year I am free.