Sometimes, I see her spring forth from my own shadow on the wall. The image of her escapes from my own outer lines of existence, and she is me and I am her. Her hair is wild, her eyes fierce, and her presence gentle and knowing.
Other times, she whispers to me in the soft breath of my sleeping children. In and out, in and out, inhaling and exhaling. It is a deep knowing of gathering close and letting go.
She is there in the complete fullness and orgasmic contentment that comes from smelling the earth after a good rain. She is the leap in my heart upon hearing thunderous waves meet the shore with intensity and drive. She is the instinctual knowing and accepting of the water’s retreat back to wholeness. She is what lures me to cover my warm flesh in the life of the earth’s soil in effort to feel my pulse and keep my senses tingling.
She is the desire in my rotating hips as I dance and make love and birth life into our realm. She is the opening of my soul, the potency of my dreams, the deepest knowing of self.
She is the unrelenting urge to create and the demonic drive of knowing that I must carve out time for solitude. She is the lonely road of self work, self realization, and self love. She is both the calm in a glass of dry red wine and the burning rise in the chest during passionate debate. She is comfortable holding space for it all, as it is, with no need to turn away from what is seen.
She is the vibration that enables my voice to be heard.
She is the potential of the highest peak and the unrivaled certainty of the valley low.
She is the instinctual wisdom in season, the gravitational pull of the moon, the beauty in discovering and accepting that which shifts and changes.
She is my sight in the dark tunnels of life.
She is the untamed love that keeps me trusting.
She is the reckless abandon from what dreams are made of.
She is ancient stories carrying the wings of the soul.
The heartbeat of humanity runs through her deeply ground roots.
She walks with ease, treading lightly, but brewing storms when the message is not heard.
She is the vehicle which takes me to the heights of integrity. She insists on living in harmony with my inner knowing.
She is the art of letting go…the wisdom of embracing what is…and the courage to let it all be.
I see her when I stare at my naked reflection in the mirror and open my eyes to understanding and love.
I hear her in the crackle of fire, the softness of a breeze blowing through my hair and the emptiness of a desert night.
I smell her in coiled dreads, in the scent of fresh picked herbs and in the afterbirth of my children.
I taste her in the divinity of chocolate, in the orchestration of a lover’s kiss, in the wild tang of a summer berry.
I know her when I know me.
My truth is simple. My truth is whatever brings me closer to her breath.
Jessamyn Turgesen is a truth seeker living in the mystical desert of the SW. She feeds her life energy through imperfect photography, writing, conscious parenting, and exploring the extraordinary in the every day.
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