Engulfed In The Beauty Of Becoming.
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Spring has broken its vertebra, cracked open its inner being, and shot forth from its roots, blossoms in furious splendor.
This grace, mystery, and glee at new warmth and fragrant air, gives rise to an abundance of smiles. It’s a romance in full bloom with life, reminiscent of a Sufi dancer, a Rumi-inspired wanderer, or an accomplished musician.
Secrets and vulnerabilities are unveiled in caresses under branches, a soundscape of wonderment, a delight in the shape of Buddha eyes.
But the tree was recently naked, without buds or leaves, sullen and ignored. It was unadmired and not catered to before. It has suddenly become the flutter of our attention.
No one would know a tree had in it the secret power of becoming, this arduous task to burst into grace. No one questioned its tumultuous process of arriving, regal garlands growing in its hair. No one would think months ago a tree would be born anew. But this season has always come. There is a trust in the unknown.
These forces conspire to make its destiny present so that we may revel in this loveliness.
Yet, so often we are lost in our own personal moments of hibernation, maybe spanning too many seasons. We forget we possess this same resilience, fighting through our own winters to enter our grandeur of spring.
This process of transformation may be a personal trail of tears, a solitary journey without trumpets and cheerleaders lining a golden path, but accompanied by the dim glow of candlelight and words of foregone masters.
And if everyone says you can handle what arises, they know not the chaos your soul has undertaken, nor the success rate of suicide.
Because the path of becoming, as an intentional path of living from an ever expanding higher self, a place of love, is designed for the intrepid few. The path is scenic and demanding, but no one mentions how it will break you.
And it breaks you, continuously — like a shipwreck slammed by waves, into fragmented pieces of a former self that you eagerly hoped to discard, but one that is now being torn out, ripped apart from your physical, emotional and psychic self, unwilling to give in easily, given years of shared history.
The murky nights of anarchy are the muck that nourish the lotus. The snake sheds its skin, old and dried of a former self, reveals new radiance and slithers onward. And the skin is shed time and time again to yield the beauty of becoming, a widening heart, a revised palette.
A heart, broken for no other reason than a free fall to grace, maybe never to be mended. Maybe the point is not to be repaired, but to stay broken, radiating the kaleidoscope of existence — of light, dark, pain, openness, highs, lows, the bland, salty, sweet, spicy, and hot.
Because in this process of becoming, your heart will not necessarily spill forth the goodies of a smashed piñata, full of confetti, candies and shiny things in the Mexican light. The stardust may come in the form of a barrel of tears and anguish, uprooted and outsourced from places previously marked as prohibited.
It is this unearthing that will kill you. It’s the brutal breaking of your former self. The audacity to live from a place of visibility, a place showcasing glamour and joy — if only for a season of your own becoming.
It’s this authenticity we worship in artists, and seek to present, but so often forget its power welling up, desiring to pour forth like a geyser from ourselves.
Spring is nature’s season of brilliance. Blossoms bursting out of darkness. We say, “More please, come out and play!” Fear does not keep tenderness at bay. No tree is shamed for its lusciousness as if it’s too much in our way. Every step into our own becoming is supported by those who came before.
All the seeds laid prior make the blossoms of today. In this season of your spring, let there be no more hiding of your own magnificence. May we be engulfed in beauty, and have others shout and cheer “More please!”
Radiate yourself so I may be graced and touched by your essence, and revel in the joy of your expansively scattered blossoms, full of blessings.
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Jolie Marie Carey is an East Coast native who has spent much of her life traveling, living and working outside of the U.S. Her favorite travel stories include hiking in Nepal, hiding from the law in Timbuktu, Mali, and living in a tent in South Sudan. She derives inspiration from magic in the everyday, words, conversations with random people and close friends. She believes laughter is the key to transcending all differences. She has been fortunate to teach Yoga in Haiti. As a Gemini, she is pulled between living simply, dancing under the stars, and trying to impact the world through bureaucratic means where she benefits from high-end parties.
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