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Photo credit: Wendy K Yalom
So, you signed up.
That means you get to laugh until rivulets run down your legs.
That means you get to run towards certain death with a wide open heart, giggling.
It means you get to lose yourself in eyes and arms and scent. It means you get to hurt so deeply you cave in upon yourself. It means
you get to turn to ash with rage. It means you get to feel unworthy unloved, unclaimed.
It means you get to pile on the illusions of others until you forget your name and wander around rooms alone, until you shed them suddenly one afternoon while splashing around in a smooth, cold brook.
It means you get to weep in Hawaii as the sun rises over a volcano as an elder sings, the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.
It means you get to long so ardently you burn yourself up into pure light.
It means you get to draw and paint and splatter your experience into tiny dots, minuscule, deliberate brush strokes or wide swaths of bright, messy hope.
It means that you will forget that you signed up for this.
It means you get to live. And it is your choice how you will do that.
Choose fire.
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