Just a flower blossoming in Brisbane, Australia. Photo by Anna Krjatian
"She contemplates her past...
Endless threads, bottomless hearts filled with nothing but hate, greed and spite.
But If the world were kind she would not grow.
She contemplates her future
Filled with the things she dreams of, a simpler life, a simpler time
But If things were much easier she would not learn.
She contemplates her now, at this moment
She hangs on to hope, that it will be ok.
She tries to make peace with her past
But she knows she's travelled far.
Her feet hurt, she's tired.
A tear escapes, for joy and pain, for love and hate.
For life's paradoxes.
For She knows greatness lies within her, but she still she does not see her path.
She travels blindly - but she travels - and for now, that is enough."
Written by Natalie Turner
There is a saying: "Pain pushes you, until a vision pulls you." It was a while ago now, but pain and confusion pushed my friend to send me the message that you just read and it then inspired me to write the prose below.
Though she was little, she was fierce, and many feared her, not because she was mean or horrible, but because she was real, because she spoke up about those things many were afraid to scratch the surface with. She stood her ground and sometimes that meant standing alone: isolated, forgotten, neglected and rejected.
She was exciting and fresh and illuminating. She was also intimidating because in a world where so few know what they want, she knew exactly what she wanted. Everyday she worked towards manifesting her dreams and waking them up to become a new reality.
But though she was fierce, and though she was strong, and always did what she had to do, she was still little and she sometimes longed for someone to comfort her in her moments of weakness, much like she would comfort others.
Her heart was always full and ready to give, and she yearned for someone to return the sentiment and help her grow. She was strong and fierce and independent: intelligent and skilled and worldly and yet, yet some nights she would cry herself to sleep. And though she knew she had to be this way, she would sometimes silently pray, longing to be just like everyone else: longing for a simple life, with simple pleasures.
Being real wasn't always easy for her, because being real never really is, which is why so few chose it. But this was the only way she knew how to live.
And because of this.
We can use our pain to bury us or to fuel us and others. After all, our life is simply a choice and our choices ultimately define us. What legacy would you like yours to inspire?