Don't pass by me: Who goes slowly goes healthy
There is a fine balance between shyness and true expression. As if in a bit of a conundrum, I go back and forth between befriending stillness and the gems inside me that open only when the darkness underneath is stirred to view what's lurking beneath.
The words of a song remind me,
I swear that I can feel you creeping underneath my skin. It feels like heaven to me sometimes.
There is a quality of light within the dark—a yin/yang.
I can feel a side of me inside reaching out for expression, asking gently to not vaporize the energy of the expression into an emptiness. Don't pass me by, it asks. There is much to be learned in the dark that I so easily hide within the armor I've built like a child building a sand castle.
Sand is a good metaphor for this armor. It is made of rock, symbolizing strength. After many years of weather it can harden to an impenetrable substance, but if air continually moves through the tiny spaces between each grain, the wall can easily be knocked down. A simple symbolic hand can do the trick with one violent strike. Alternatively, I could douse it with my essence in a waterfall, or a slow drip to eat away at it slowly.
A soothing Italian proverb leads the way in my life now:
Chi va piano va sano va lontano. (Who goes slowly, goes healthy and far.)
Take time with the precious gems that have been in the dark for a long time. Once they see the light, they do not acclimate immediately. They need time to adjust and evolve into their new form, with light shone upon them.
They can become like a dream that I’ve always imagined but could never reach. Not until now at least.
© 2014 R.E.L. Copywriting