Growth

Growth is a difficult process. The layers of a shell become polished along the way. Some layers, no longer needed, but so familiar they are clung too, tugged on. To step into the light of the ensuing layers or stay in the comfort of the incessant womb of safety. To realize with wide open eyes that the layers have been climbed, that the old is no longer needed to survive. To come into one’s own is a feeling indescribable, except to see a woman—this familiar woman that appears from time to time—a woman in white and the pink of shell, standing at the crown of the large conch shell, holding another conch shell to her lips and blowing the resonance into the world, into herself. She puts the shell down and realizes that she has arrived, that there is still work to do, but it is time to take the comforts of her flowing gown off, and step out naked, to go to the edge and jump into the ocean where she belongs and to know that she will not sink because she is of the elements, and they will pull her along, keep her afloat as she surrenders to the moment of layering, of being reborn and she knows that she will visit this space again and again, for she feels it in her bones and it fills her with...