November 1st

This post was originally published November 1st, 2020

You participated in your own burning.
Tied yourself to the stake and laid yourself on the alter.
Lit the match and set yourself on fire.
Burned that thing down.
Until nothing was left but the foundation.
Now a pile of rocks laying there at your feet.
You no longer recognize yourself.
The house you thought you were is gone.
Walk away, something inside you stirs, walk away.
But how do you walk away
from yourself?

You’ve been doing it your whole life.

So this time you know you must turn
Back
Back to that pile of rubble, your life you helped to destroy so others would not feel uncomfortable here.
And suddenly you know. It had to be this way.

Over here, this was the rock that you thought would save you.
This was the one that helped you fit in.
This was the rock you ran to when they came and laid claim to your life.
And this was the one you held on to when they took him from your arms-
so little, smelled so sweet, nothing left now but his fragrance in your nose, his tiny foot on the deed,
the essence of one they said you weren’t worthy to keep.

Fingers crushed in the judges chambers. “Is anyone forcing you?”
A warning squeeze.
“No your honor”
you choke on your own lie, you open your mouth and drink your own poison.
They give you a pen, it’s shaped like a rock.
You bleed your name onto the page and lay that babe back on the alter with all the other parts of you.
Once you give away your own flesh in agreement that you are not worthy, it pretty much seals your fate.
You will give away your own self piece by miserable piece in exchange for another rock.
And another rock
And another rock
Until they are stacked here in front of you like a tomb.
You’ve built your life on these rocks.
You gave your life for these rocks.
You worried over these rocks, filled your bags full of these rocks, they demanded to be carried because they were only rocks.
But you built
an alter.

As you stand in front, the invitation to lay yourself down and light that match one more time.
Here is a match.
Here, some tender kindling.
Here, lay here.
You built this. It is yours.
You stare at that pile - your life.
It is nothing now but a pile of rocks.
And then one by one they dissolve.
Rock into feather
Lighter than air they float
Away
Each one. Swirling above you, you reach for them
Up up up
Until nothing but a heap of compost remains.
And then you see it. A tender shoot
Digs it’s way, not from the ground, but into the soil made rich by the fire and all that remains.
Roots.
branches.
Thaw. Spring. New.
Leaves. Feathers.
You are rising. You are no longer the root, the soil, the rock, the tree.
You are the feathers, sewn together with sinew, muscle, bone.
You are the canary.
You are rising.
Canary Rising.
Tell the truth now.
Go