when called to stretch, stretch even farther
i almost forgot to remember how good i am at this thing called love, loving, and being loved
Say thank you for pain as a mysterious architect of your transformation. Thank you for being alive. Thank you for your breath, heartbeat, and body. Thank you for every moment of being. Thank you for approaching the end of your pain, for a new season of healing and peace. Thank you for sky, earth, water, and sun. Thank you for kindness as it stays in the world. Thank you for all your relations.Â
âJaiya John
the last time you stepped out of the fire,Â
you told me that you had saved a flame in your purseâ
i found that peculiar.Â
you went on to whisper
âi have kindling too stuffed in my socks and flint etched into my afroâ
i did not understand why you would choose to carry ingredients that couldÂ
burn you upÂ
like the people and places you had just left behind
âburningÂ
i did not understand you then.
now, i have developed an alien-like language with fireÂ
something about the heat,Â
the swoosh of winds against the flame,Â
the sting of smoke kissing my eyesÂ
the colour of bold bronze playing on my brown skin.Â
something about watching something consume something else, then, slowly and all at onceâconsume itself last.
perhaps, like you, i became accustomed to communing withÂ
fierce rage and ferocious anger.Â
i grew in my familiarity with fiery fathers, fleeting mothers and foreign friends.
it burned to care so i cared even more.
because ashes, at least
ashes show that something warm lived here, once.Â
i cracked under the weight of crackling flames; but,Â
i would rather have that than
the stagnancy of murky, mild swampsâthe relics of an unused heart.Â
the static state of un-courageous loving,
the fragility of fear-rooted careâif we can even call it âcareâ.
i have been praying and playing with the kindling,Â
fidgeting with the flint,Â
i cut off my hair and added it to the base of the fire,Â
watching the shy flames magnify with each dry thing that i fed it.Â
then i looked around and saw a crowd formingâwatchers not witnesses.Â
gently, i began to fan the smoke from my fire toward them.Â
as they eagerly waited to watch me âfumble this up [again]â,Â
i watched them back.
the smoke grew denser and darker.
cough cough coughÂ
they tried hard to peer through the haze and smogâpiercing was their gaze.
so, i shouted,Â
âyes, you can wait to watch me fall,
so you can know which part of this pot-holed road to avoid,Â
or so you can know how to not get hurt from exposing your heart.
but, i caution you, i warn you;
my path is not yours to take.
i will fall, yes, but that is something i am well-prepared for.Â
i also know that i will riseâravenous to try again and wiser still.âÂ
i have come to learn that heartbreak is survivable.
and my oh my!Â
how good i now am at healing, thriving and loving again.
thank you for watching witnessing me as i walked through fireÂ
and came outÂ
intact.Â
When I forget who I am, I need someone who loves me and is invested in me to hold my hand and show me a mirror, to gesture with kindness and say, âLook. Look at yourself. Look at what youâve achieved. Look at how far youâve come.â
âFariha RĂłisĂn