the mothership is coming.

by saracrolick

earthangel

this earth is a tricky place to call home, and it isn’t unusual for me to feel like I’m being called from faraway places, some parallel universe where hurting doesn’t hurt so much and the fear doesn’t shut this heart down.

there’s a version of me out there, somewhere, that calls across galaxies to say, “settle, child. it isn’t all that hard. you have me inside, somewhere. just keep listening and I can guide you home.”

because I have some inside information, you see: the mothership is coming. but not to carry me away. no. not like you’d expect.

I’ll stand in a quiet field at twilight—when the sun clocks out and the moon clocks in and there’s a moment when the earth forgets what colors go where—and I’ll wait to feel the shift in the trees. and there she’ll hover, out of thin air. and my heart will race and thoughts like what-the-hell-is-going-to-come-next will spin wildly, entangling themselves in my hair.

but i’ll steady my stance and grip the grass with my toes and wait for it to hit me.

and it will—WHAM—hit me. a tunnel of light so fierce and so powerful.

I’ll search for things to write down when it’s all over, for words (the right ones) to describe this light, but all I can come up with is, “it’s so fucking BRIGHT.” my arms will lift outward until I’m a human letter “T” and I’ll think for a moment that maybe (maybe) I’m a savior too—maybe a girl with freckles and really loud laugh is going to set the world free.

but as I wait for liftoff, I’ll feel my feet maintain inexplicable contact with the ground. and then, the me that’s out there, the one who whispers kind words when I need them most, will speak out, “she’s not here for you, child. but for the heavy things. it’s time to set them free.”

and so in preparation, I’ve been working on letting go.

because life can seem so heavy if you let it; the weight of the everythings you endure, building and building and building. we let these things take over from deep inside, these things that are here to teach us—maybe about courage, maybe about truth, and maybe (definitely) about love.

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