The Mystic Always Rises

 

The Mystic always rises.

As she let her soul sing her, she let go of  lifetimes worth of silenced truth missiles cemented in the deepest caverns of her soul. A voice snubbed out for centuries, for saying too much, for standing up too much, for being too much.

Her intuition and bigness restrained for centuries, but not any more. She could not be locked away, muted or extinguished any longer. Not now. Not ever again.

As she let her spirit move her, she danced right through the flames. Resentment, anger and rememberings stomped out with every blazing convulsion, sway and kick. Sensing her in the distance, one by one her sisters joined her, knowing this dance by heart.

The movement created space for their tears which flowed deeper than all of the lakes with no keys from all the ages. Soothing and cooling the burning that once enveloped her entire being. Her whole body. All of her bodies. All of their bodies. All of our bodies.

Never forgetting. But still rising, just as she planned to. Just as we planned to. Rising and rising and rising and rising and rising. Standing taller from all the sisters who came before and will continue to come again.

The Mystic always rises.

Poem by Rebecca Campbell from Rise Sister Rise

Image from The Rose Oracle