the feel of bare-footed uncertainty.

by saracrolick

into the mystic

Last night I sat in a familiar place in an unfamiliar space.

I sat next to my moon—the man who shares his life with me, the daily bits, the exciting bits, the everything is everything bits—and I tried to speak from my heart but found her closing.

I rested my bare feet against the too-wobbly metal banister and tried to explain the distance between us, unsure if I meant my mister or my delicate drum. I tried to explain the isolation I’ve felt amidst all of this spinning activity—hours logged, conversations held, errands run, bodies fed and words consumed. Cycles coming and cycles going, leaving their scar against my perceived sense of steady.

We’ve been busy in this tiny house and I’ve felt disconnected. I’ve felt more space between my own person and the things that are taking place around me.

My body has slowed in its efforts to clean and rid itself of the harmful bits it has accumulated over these years; we strive together to rid ourselves of a diagnosis—of a life fettered by discomfort and restriction and sadness.

But the shedding of these pieces has clouded my once-clear intention. My path, hazed by the particles of this former, weakened self, weaves away from me and for the first time in a long time my bare feet are unsure.

And so I spoke to my moon as best I could and listened to the kindness that hummed from his heart and believed it to be true, somewhere, even if I could not pinpoint where it felt most real.

Past weeks have felt quiet and quiet makes me worry. Words haven’t poured; and so, I’ve felt a little paralyzed. Without words “progress” has the edges of a specter, as hazed as my path.

I’m stepping carefully—toes feeling for sharp edges to roll off of, for shards of glass to avoid, for the smooth spots I can rest with—even though I don’t want careful. I want to crash into the wood as rogue branches slap against my skin, as leaves and moss pad each joyful, certain bound, as my lungs and heart pump forest air. I want to yell and have the trees receive my song.

But I’ve been assured by the voices that matter most in my life—like his and hers—that quiet, careful stepping is alright at times. That finding my way through the dust of all that I am breaking free from is to be honored.

And so, I step today. I step bare-footed and with wishes in my heart. Wishes that will be fulfilled another day.

[image: discovered here]