Dear [whatever you’re letting go of],
It feels uncomfortable to begin with gratitude, and yet here I stand, humbled by the truth of this moment.
Thank you for provoking the forward motion of my infinite spirit, in this finite human experience.
This earthly ego may not see your intention in real-time. I surrender to the spherical retrospection of time and offer this gratitude, even prior to my own understanding.
Thank you for guaranteeing that I will not fall asleep during the movie, or miss my exit, white-knuckling the wheel of this closing chapter.
I am so much more than the sum total of what has happened to me.
I invoke the power of this Full Moon to eclipse those experiences with my current truth; a truth forged by the fire that is burning my heart as I type this.
I invite a bright white light into the darkest recesses of my psyche.
It’s time I see there is truly nothing under the bed or behind the shower curtain.
I am alone in my own essence, yet I am not lonely.
It is up to me how I choose to fill the cavernous rooms of this house. Who stays, who goes. How I distance myself, and who I keep close.
So, thank you. Not for what you did. No, that part hurt. And if I’m being honest, it might even scare the shit out of me.
You forced me to look under the bed.
To invite the bogeyman to tea.
To unravel the parts of me yearning for fresh air, like a plant growing towards the light, contorting its vines to face the window, waiting for sunrise.
I relinquish the safety of static.
The suffocation of comfortability.
I require no further proof that I can weather whatever lies ahead. Been there, done that.
I dance in collaboration with this energy and kindly request that growing does not have to mean suffering any longer.
And so it is.