Strength

“You are the strongest fragile person I know.”

~ A. Gerard

I don’t know where it comes from actually. Somewhere in my middle. But also from my feet; like internal roots that climb their way upward within ~ unseen ~ fortifying me from the inside where nobody suspects they exist until they try to topple me. Then they know.

Sometimes it tastes bitter or salty, as the need requires. Enough to spit it out in the form of words that need to be said. Other times it’s a thick, calming balm that tastes like the Robitussin and molasses. When it tastes like this, I am quiet…for now.

It is green for growth; and blue for clarity. Sometimes it assumes the colors of a sunrise that insist they will show themselves despite the storm the day before laying light on all that is broken and all that will grow again.

At times it is prickly, like the thorns that an eagle places in its nest before filling it with down. The eagle knows there will come a day when it will pluck that fluff away to make the nest uncomfortable enough for its fledglings to choose flight. My spirit plans for this as well. And other times is fills me with liquid metal - shiny, unyielding, molten - going exactly where it needs to go to steady me.

On any given day it smells like roses, coffee, tar, talcum, lavender, fallen leaves, bourbon, soil or laundry detergent. It smells exactly as I need in every moment and changes like a shapeshifter throughout every day.

Most often it sounds like a voice without a voice coming from my heart and guiding me without hesitation. But, on occasion it also sounds like crows, train whistles or simple deafening silence.

And then there is the sixth. The knowing. This one never changes in the least. It holds steady. A lighthouse in the tempest. Ever-present, unapologetic, and sure.

This is my strength.