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What’s most present for me when I sit down to write (the blank canvas being who you are responding to — a reflection of you)?

What immediately surfaces are the many, many fears I have around self-expression. I feel an intense obligation to be silent. To write about topics that only touch the surface. To keep others happy. To not disturb the status quo. Lest the serene pond be disturbed.

There’s a deep fear that there’s no place for my Truth here. For my Soul. For Her. I see so clearly an intense need to be loved and accepted. And then, I also see…

A wailing woman. Hair pulled back in a blonde ponytail, eyes shut tightly, tears pouring from the corners, and her mouth wide open. Sobbing. Screaming.

A rage of emotion gushes forth from the depths of her being. She’s on her knees. Her body lifts and lowers from sitting to kneeling as rage pulses through her. Her right hand in a fist, clenching her fingernails into her palm. Her knuckles are white. She pounds the floor. And then she beats her fist into the air, outraged.

She sobs. She sucks in the air beneath a shuddering lip dripping with snot. Her face is red. Her brow is wrinkled in on itself. And she heaves again as she enters round two.

She screams. A deafening roar like a mountain lion in the heat of battle. This time her hands slap the ground. Palms meet the floor with the force of an earthquake. She leans forward on to her knees and hands. A primal force moves through her, down her spine, and out her root chakra.

She screams of anger now. Fierce as a momma lion. Roaring, shrieking with her entire body. Only to return to deep, heaving sobs heavy with the burden of blue emptying into the void of darkness. She collapses.

A few sobs sputter beneath her pouting lips as her moist face makes contact with the earth. Strands of hair stick to her cheeks. She lays on her side in the fetal position. She gently cups her knees to her chest. One arm stretches out and back beneath her head. And the other rests gently on her side. She shudders again.

Waves of electricity flush through her entire body. And she sprawls backward with the other arm going free above her head, her knees still closed together, but her back flat on the floor. Her heart — open.

Anger, rage, frustration, and fear flicker through her core. She releases a deep sigh that undulates from her solar plexus and out through her mouth. She sees the last of her fury escape as fumes in her breath. She rests.

Eyes closed. Arms out. Heart open. Legs together, she still protects her vulnerable creative core. It’s too fresh. Too new. She feels the stirrings in her belly. The energy engaged and activated. It starts to move back and forth. And her womb feels heavy with life once more.