Poem: The Cracking Open

And here
I lie within my seed,
tight furled and tender,
my edges hard,
my gaze unseeing,
my borders taut
and small.
Then one day,
begins a whisper,
a call of something new,
a summons,
a longing that has coiled
deep within the center,
that now begins to burn.
To burn and to push
until one day,
the cracking open,
after such slow and coiled yearning,
in a rush I spiral open,
green shoots of possibility,
of knowing and becoming
uncurling and extending,
reaching beyond the borders
of what I thought I knew,
of what was possible,
of what contained my whole world.
Suddenly now,
I have stretched beyond my edges,
extended my presence,
have risen up into the new,
somehow knowing
that now is the right time
to grow beyond.
No birth is possible
without first being curled
and waiting,
small, silent, and listening.
Where there were once only
tight edges and soft darkness,
I now lift my head
into the whole world,
my eyes open to behold
the unrestrained beauty
of being now.
I have everything I need
to thrive and change.
I am rooted deep,
nourished and held.
I rise up strong
and full of purpose
and before I know it,
I feel it.
The bud.
I am gently and patiently
and wildly and fiercely
holding it up to the sun,
its edges are tinged with pink,
its heart is pulsing
with an irresistible yearning
to open to the sky.

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