The Child

1910026_15682465407_1882_n1 The Child

Hurt. Guilt. Shame. Defeated she stays trapped. Wrapped up in a tight cocoon. Longing to be a butterfly. Free. Flying free. The cocoon, however, stays hidden shut. Broken. Damaged. Bruised. The child remains buried in layers upon layers of silk. She cries out in the middle of the night. Craving to feel, craving to be something more than what is already there.  “Help,” she whispers. “Help.”  The cries go unheard and the child remains unnoticed. All she wanted, was to be noticed, inside the tiny cocoon wrapped in layers of silk, she wanted to be valued for who she was and what she wanted to be. Free.

“Tell me about a time you were free,” a voice brings back the light. The voice takes the darkness away. The voice brings logic and erases the unrealistic. The voice is true.

Free. Running. Free. The child’s body flows through a field of green grass, a field that goes on for entirety Wind pushes back her hair. Her eyes glow. Laughter forms. Life spins by. People disappear. The child is unstoppable. At that moment as the world spins around her, she believes, she truly believes that she is infinite. Free. Free to be me.

In the stories that unfold after, freedom remains in a flow of energy around her. The child is valued. The child is wanted. The child is loved. She is loved for who she is and not want others want her to be. She was chosen to stand in the ceremony of love, which in turn binds to people together. Free. She was chosen out of love to play a role in creating something from nothing, to building everlasting life. Free. She is free. All she wants is to be free.

As fast as freedom comes, it soon disappears. It’s time to say goodbye. The child, that longs to be the butterfly, folds up her wings, and crawls back into the comfort of silk. The farmhouse. Her Aunt. Her Uncle. Her cousins. The cows. The fields. They all disappear with her. She buries them inside her subconscious to protect herself. She knows that one day, she will become a butterfly and this freedom is the strength she needs to shed her silk.

How can one shed her silk if she hasn’t been free in so long? How can she see what is real, what is right, what is true? How can she be free? Emotions flood from within. Emotions that the child cannot understand. Emotions that the adult cannot understand. Why? How? Who? When? When will she become free? Who will she be?

She knows. She believes. That as a butterfly, she will fly. High. She knows. She believes. That as a butterfly, she will transform. As a butterfly, she will be free. She will be free to see the light, breathe in the life. As a butterfly, she will see, what we all want to be. Free. Becoming free is different for everyone. The child, the one so desperate to become a butterfly doesn’t believe, doesn’t see that she is already free. She is a butterfly. Flying free. The butterflies come to her as messages. They remind her that is she free. She is free, to be me.

We all have that child inside of us. Sometimes that child is buried so deep inside the child can’t see who they are or who they are supposed to be. Sometimes it’s easy to pretend the child isn’t there. It’s easy to submerge ourselves in what we want others to see. Eventually, we can believe we are what others see. We are left, longing to be me. Longing to be free.

As we submerge into our subconscious and look past the memories and moments that were created to be created, find a time that you were free. Free to be what you wanted, as the child without expectations from others, surrounded by love and built by security. Hold on to that time you were free. Feel the feelings. Take it in. Breathe it out. Don’t let it go. Take the feeling and fly. Fly free.

 

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