Not like the phoenix in fire and glory,
But like the dandelion from the cracks of a sidewalk--unnoticed, a seeming nuissance,
Yet also necessary to provide sustenance for the emergence of the bees at the start of spring.
I rise from my bed, covered in the wrinkles and perspiration of a restless night's sleep,
Before the first light of the sun, eyes open but unseeing, stumbling yet thrilled for the actions to follow the planning that has happened in the untouchable realm of dreams.
Beyond the pressure that draws me to crave more sleep, more dark, more isolation--and into the world of interaction, connection, the stage of humanity in all its glitter and masks
I rise to a greater connection, to touch the silver webs of the fabric that hold us all together as we all rise from our slumber and into the alertness of our waking moments, to join together in the brilliant hum of productivity, like the bees seeking nourishment on the first days of spring.
And as I rise, I no longer am isolated in my cocoon of deep comfort of solitude...and feel the joy of knowing that it is no longer "I," but "We." There is no other; I am the bee; I am the light; I am the person sleeping next to me in love, patience, frustration, impulsiveness...I am my children down the hall, my neighbors, the roadrunners in their front yard...I am the creator and the created.
I rise from one state of vulnerability where growth and peace surround every breath, to another state of vulnerability, shrouded by armor of business suits and heels that clack with authority along the cool tiles, and can only exist with power amidst the glare of fluorescent lights...
the coverall-clad garbage collectors, heavy rubber-soled shoes softly heaving along the pavement...the orange jumpsuits of the incarcerated on work detail...
All aligning with the sounds and murmurs of other armor-clad risen.
We are the walking wounded, the most powerful for our desperation to be better today than we were the day before, when we are able to allow the growth to occur in our dark and soft cocoons to emerge again to the same battles.
The beauty, the joy of all of this--is that we rise.
We rise in the brilliance of the pure light of sun.
We rise to see the gleam in our eyes met by the gleam of others.
We rise to the smiles and the song of yearning that strains from each predicable call of "How are you?"
We rise to find the greatness of our courage wrapped in the softest places where our armor cannot reach.
We rise to find that as vulnerable as we are, we do not break, we do not stop. We re-invent ourselves and find ourselves in the other.
Connected through invisibility, understanding through chaos.
Imperfect to perfection.
Naked though clad in our cloth and painted armor.