chère douce Paris, je reviendrai un jour
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
For last words belong to last years language
And next years words await another voice.
But the passage now presents no hindrance
To the spirit unappeased and peregrine.
Between two worlds become much like each other.
So i find words i never thought to speak.
it circles around again for her now, this time with a simple intention. She has decided with extraordinary conviction she is worth fighting for, and she will fight hard. She knows from where she is standing that this story is complete now. She understands deeply that she has been the creator of her world all along, that the only one who has ever really let her down here, is herself. She knows with great certainty that from where she stands now, that she has been through enough of the not wanting that she is clearly ready now to decide how things will look for her from here. She understands that the beginning of this new story is hers to create, and hers alone. The difference is, she is unconcerned with the details, or how the things she is wanting now, will come about. She knows that all she need do is decide, and keep herself open to the faithful truth of her instinctual knowing that it will happen. Most importantly she knows now to nurture her own worth, and she won’t ever again need to settle, for anything less than. She has spent enough time there now, from here, she walks only towards her wanting. Now, when she looks, she looks not at how the world around her can bestow upon her, the dreams she envisions, instead she understands that the real magic can only ever really begin and come from within. It is here in the stillness, when she quietens herself down long enough to hear her own voice and feel her way towards what she is asking for now, that the magic happens. The rest is only details.
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
their bad advice—
though the whole house began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
‘Mend my life!’
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations—
through their melancholy
was terrible.It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
though the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognised as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–determined to save
the only life you could save.