Hello Grandma, is there wind in heaven? Lately I have been feeling a new kind of wind. A gush of impressions, this type of wind full of ideas of who I am supposed to be, suggesting I do and become something different.
At times it comes so violently that I struggle to know what to try to hold onto and what to allow to blow away, letting go of what no longer needs to be mine. It is freeing and scary, two feelings that seem to impose the other, and yet both are flying at me with the same force.
For years I have been searching for this new wind and I am ready to establish something different for myself. Yet, I forgot that with wind comes rain and debris, uncomfortable counterparts to change.
I have prepared for this wind for half my life, I have to trust that through the storm I will hold on tight to what needs to stay mine, and let go of what no longer needs my gasp.
At times it comes so violently that I struggle to know what to try to hold onto and what to allow to blow away, letting go of what no longer needs to be mine. It is freeing and scary, two feelings that seem to impose the other, and yet both are flying at me with the same force.
For years I have been searching for this new wind and I am ready to establish something different for myself. Yet, I forgot that with wind comes rain and debris, uncomfortable counterparts to change.
I have prepared for this wind for half my life, I have to trust that through the storm I will hold on tight to what needs to stay mine, and let go of what no longer needs my gasp.
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