What is circling in me?

Written by: Jillian

a confetti storm of messages
about fire
volcanic eruptions
lightning strikes 
of illumination
prophecy
revolution 
and sacrifice

sit, then
at the center of the hurricane
and let all the pieces settle
the notes dropping at your feet
one, then another
message upon message
galvanizing and confounding

sit then
and wait for the one that falls in your lap
read that one first
and then?
always the question of what to do then

just lean back and watch
watch the ember crawl and catch
feel the heat take hold and let it move you
where it will
let it open your throat
and use your voice
if you stay at the center and give the fire your hands for its use
somehow the work will start to play
with fire
with the joy of burning brighter and hotter
than the sun

sit very still at the edge of the fire,
feeling the press of its heat on your shins,
watching the blue at the center of the flames,
and wait for the message born out of the burning
the one that rises and then falls in your lap, 
a bit of still-hot ash with writing on it
a piece of the mystery revealed in a few words entirely for this moment 
that only you can decipher:
read that one on a searing inhale
and let it settle in deep
let the fire of it seed itself in your belly, your gut
and offer it the use of your body, your voice,
as its vehicle and chauffeur.

Here’s what might happen next.
You might find yourself wandering sidewalks, looking for feathers
or writing a letter you never thought you’d send.
You might feel compelled 
to look up
to buy a ticket
or board a boat.
You might suddenly fall asleep, and in sleeping, 
dream a new dream
of a new way forward
that only just now seems worth wondering about.

What might happen is
the courage to dance off that cliff you’ve been staking out
flirting with
or you might just decide to reinvent yourself on the spot, inside out. Starting now.
You might, there’s no telling.
And when you come to the next question, or the next full stop
sit again at the fire, ready and awake
or ground yourself in the eye of the whatever storm rages within you
sit again and again in still quiet waiting
for the next message to come and perch on your knee
and whisper its mantra 
its operating instructions
its fairy tale
its one small new thought
into your ear.
Don’t stand up
don’t get busy
until it does.