instinct

"It occurs to me that you don't often get to witness growth and change. I respect the instincts of a molting lobster, hiding out while it is raw and vulnerable until it becomes tough and resilient once again."

~Joan Anderson, A Year by the Sea

she opens one eye at a time to limit the amount of sunlight rushing into her vision

it could be quite blinding and she has acclimated to the shadows

not wanting to see too much, for fear of overwhelm and piercing loss

she has been hibernating

building up walls that promise protection

in order for her to take a breath

but someone, somewhere, has always been trying to pull her out

with guilt and threat and misunderstanding

putting a timeline on healing, on shedding, on changing

she knows now that enough time has passed

and sometimes time is not what heals

sometimes it takes courage to wake up to the sun

even if it is only one tiny glance at a time

she moves out into each bright moment

touching on the thoughts that say

"wait...you aren't ready, it's too fast, it's too bright"

she wants to hunker down in the dark again

that is where stillness lingers long enough for her to taste mystery and divinity

she doesn't know if she can carry that with her into life in the open

she wonders if she really knows herself

and if she can carry on without having her walls, her protection, her shadows of safety

only in answering the invitation will she know the answers

and so she moves to where she knows she must go

and she does so with courage in her heart...on her sleeve...out in the wide open air

she breathes