This Is the Story of Your Birth.
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It is common knowledge that you are made of stardust, but just how you ended up here is a little-known myth.
You used to hang in the heavens. Your soul proclaimed itself as such a gleaming, brilliant mass that we had to be hundreds of light years away to take you in, otherwise we would have perished in your presence.
That is how strongly you shone.
What a sight you were to behold! Can you imagine your glittering soul?
You were fire! You burned and burned across the galaxies.
You withheld nothing and saved nothing. You gave every nanosecond of every minute of every hour until the day you simply burned yourself up.
Yes, for a star knows she is not always meant to be a star, though she loves it so much.
A star risks her supreme joy of being because she knows there is a day when, no matter what, she cannot be a star anymore. She has continually witnessed others ignite and implode, so she knows: nothing lasts, yet everything is forever.
So, why not burn as hard and bright as she can? She has nothing to lose, so she sparkles and bursts and laughs in pure pleasure at her shining.
It feels so good to be a star! And to know she is a star, and to never try to be less than a star.
Perhaps she could have saved some of her light for later, you ask? Perhaps then her light would have lasted longer? No, it is no good that way.
A star doesn’t dwindle out like a candle at midnight on its last bit of wick.
When a star burns up, it is total. It’s explosive. It’s chaos.
It is most impressive to behold.
You could not ask for a more beautiful death, and therefore, a more beautiful birth.
What happens next?
Well, after you die such a death — so sweeping, so perfect, so exultant — you are no longer a star anymore.
But the core of you, this bit of stardust, goes falling, falling, falling through every layer of sky and celestial plane. You fall for a very, very long time, until finally you are swallowed up in a new cosmos.
The great, rocking sea.
You float on the current back and forth and back and forth.
It is the magic of the singing moon that begins the next phase of your transformation. The tides roll under the moon melody in ecstatic joy at your conception.
The ocean is your mother and the womb that nourishes you. When you are ready, when you have learned to trust the ebbing and the flowing, and no longer need her sustenance, she births you. The sea waters break and release you to the night.
Under the orange harvest moon, or the full strawberry moon, or the hanging crescent, or the waxing gibbous, you rise from the deep as a shadow and a sigh. Just a breath, just one note of the song your life will become.
But listen, you were not as you are now… no, not yet. Your soul was just beginning the reincarnation.
You were fire, you were sky, and you were sea. Now, you must be earth.
It is now that you are whisked away on the sea breeze to a new mother’s womb to be carried and held. Soon a new vessel for your soul is created that includes dangling limbs and chubby cheeks.
Your ancient, beautiful, wise star-self becomes a child. And in your newfound innocence, you forget the rigorous journey that brought you so far.
The extraordinary blessing and struggle of your great life will be to remember.
To remember who you are and where you come from.
And if you can remember, why, then you can shine again!
How would a star shine if she lived on the earth and not in the heavens?
Why, darling, she would shine as you!
We are the stars of the universe. Do you think our light is so easily hid?
Stars in the night sky look down and see us as twinkling lights. We make them dream just as they make us dream.
Only, we are ever so forgetful.
We grow from babe to maiden to crone. And we get confused at the confines of this world.
We witness the heavens that speak the manifest wisdom of God. We thrill at the magic and vastness of the universe, and yet here we are, so small, in these limiting earthen vessels.
“Why can’t we be like the stars?” we cry.
And in our cry we find the answer.
Give back to the stars what they gave to you. They held nothing back.
Dazzle them with your light. Dazzle us.
Remind us of our infiniteness.
You were not made to diminish.
You were made to shine. You were made to burn.
So, I tell you: If you are going to do something worthwhile, you must set yourself ablaze. Get fiery.
Stop making excuses. Start shining.
If you are looking for our permission, we will not give it. No one will give it. We could not give it even if we wanted to.
Only you can declare your true radiant self.
You have all the power and freedom. No one is stopping you. Nothing is stopping you.
If fear threatens to snuff you out, laugh in her face. She has you wrong. You are no small flicker.
There is no place for fear in a story like yours, you dazzling woman, you. You — the shooting star who rockets through this universe — never dying, just transforming, always burning.
You have already triumphed.
Glory is your birthright.
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Asha Myers is a freelance editor and writer of adult nonfiction and children’s literature. After four years living on the road — skinny-dipping in the ocean at the End of the World, and hiking Argentine glaciers barefoot — she’s learned the secret to life is to make living itself an art. But when tasked with the true alchemy of ‘turning the world into words’, she loves to bring her creativity and craft to the service of others — elevating their story and lifting their voice. She is currently based in Seattle, where she spends her days writing novels, ghostwriting memoir, editing books, and reading all the things. You could contact her via her website or follow her adventures on Instagram.
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