What Rises

What is this that rises up from the souls of my feet? 

It is the lives I have lived, fighting and clawing their way back toward the warmth of my heart.  Pulled upward by my will on rope made of light, they get caught in the crannies behind my knees and shoot forth in a sharp pain wrenched free while I’m climbing the stairs.  Up, they get tangled in the web of my pelvis made from memories of terror.  The longing to be both loved and set free slings arrows from hip to hip.  And like a belly ache rising, shaking free of the cobwebs, the light glitters upon touching them and turns them into melting rays of sunshine.

Kissed by the blood pumped from my heart, pushed by the bony fingers of will, these pasts get caught in my throat, trapped there by my mistaken impression that my words must control them, lay name and claim to them, in order to set them free.  A cough.  A sharp whack on the back.  They move upward again, rising fast toward the sky.  Their reflection in my third eye shines like prisms of rainbow light, trickles down through my body a waterfall of healing.  They rise like a geyser through the top of my head and spew forth toward the cosmos, no longer held stomped down and trapped beneath my being. 

Set free, they travel like seeds blown on the winds from the dandelion, flying onward toward home.  There, they will fall and be buried in the loam made of consciousness.  Taking root they will grow full and powerful, dreams raised on starlight that will dance in the heavens, their existence complete, filled with light and transmuted.  Like fireflies they shoot through the skies then, one by one, return to sprinkle down upon me their beauty and magic.  Return to the source.  This healing.