a story of firelight, clarity, and the homecoming of a soul back to herself
There are some who carry a fire
so quietly,
you’d only see it
if you’d known the dark yourself
It lives beneath silence
Beneath poetry
Beneath the long, slow ache
of having been kept in pieces
by those who only wanted her
that way
She once danced barefoot in sea foam.
She once laughed without apology
But the world found her too wild,
too bright
And so, her flame was hidden
Tucked beneath beauty
Tucked beneath obedience
Tucked beneath seduction,
where it could be wanted
without being understood
There were those who praised her darkness
not to heal it,
but to keep it fragmented..
Passed around, from man to man;
each, feeding off her trauma
like wine at communion
They spoke her name like a spell,
fed her flattery disguised as reverence,
called her “muse”
while binding her
to their emptiness—
keeping her soft enough
trying to wrap her back
in velvet fog
to possess
but never protect
But the truth was always there:
a longing not to be touched,
but to be known
And far from their fog,
in the wide, holy silence of the desert,
a fire had been lit—
long before she was ready
Not to summon
Not to ******
But to wait
She didn’t arrive quickly
Clarity is never quiet
And when she moved toward it,
their voices rose
A full court press of shadows—
pulling, twisting,
offering her everything
except herself
But she remembered
Not all at once..
Just enough
She remembered the fire.
And she came.
Not with promises
Not with plans
Just barefoot
Just brave
Just her
And someone else came too—
not a child,
not a man,
but a sacred presence
she’d known since the nights
she almost didn’t make it
The Mediator
He did not speak in poems
He chanted something deeper
He dismantled pinecones
like prayers
He did not explain
He existed
And in his eyes,
her divided selves
saw each other again—
—the one who had hidden,
who had been used by those bringing
their passion-veiled hidden love of Iblīs
in to her room.. into her father's house
as she burned quietly behind closed door
under the floorboards of her life;
—and the holy one of God,
the one they feared,
the one she feared,
the one that could not be claimed
or chained
or cast in velvet light
The sacred and the shattered
stood before the fire
and did not turn away
And the one who had waited—
he never moved toward her
He simply tended the flame,
making room
without demand
When she finally spoke,
he answered with a voice
that sounded like something
she used to believe in
She asked,
“Why didn’t you come find me?”
He said,
“Because you weren’t lost.
You were divided.”
And she wept,
not from sorrow—
from recognition
Later, as dawn whispered at the edge of the sky,
she asked what no one else had ever let her ask:
“Is there a place for me?”
And he said:
“You don’t have to be finished
to be home.”
And that’s when she stood.
Not to flee.
Not to perform.
But to become.
The sacred self took the hand of the shadow self.
The dark one was no longer exiled.
The holy one was no longer alone.
And together—
they walked toward the sea.
She could see her father on the water,
laughing in his little boat,
calling out to her to bait the hook again.
And she laughed—
really laughed.
Because she was no longer
just surviving.
No longer the little girl
forced to apologize
for her very own existence.
Or exploited by others
for the beauty that is within her
She was whole.
She didn’t need the fire to keep burning.
She carried it now.
Inside.
One flame.
One name.
One woman.
At last,
the sign wasn’t moved.
The arms were real.
And she walked toward freedom
as herself--
Never again
to be pulled down
to the ground
by her hair...
for the "horrible offence"
of simply shining too bright
Looking down on empty streets
All she can see
Are the dreams all made solid
Are the dreams made real
All of the buildings
All of the cars
Were once just a dream
In somebody's head
She pictures the broken glass
Pictures the steam
She pictures a soul
With no leak at the seam
(Let's take the boat out
Wait until darkness..
Let's take the boat out
Wait until darkness comes)
Nowhere in the corridors
Of pale green and gray
Nowhere in the suburbs
In the cold light of day
There in the midst of it
So alive and alone
Words support like bone
Dreaming of Mercy Street
Wear your inside, out
Dreaming of mercy
In your Daddy's arms again
https://youtu.be/DYw9UrsFJa4?si=6KZ6M2h1mbm58dCn
I love you, beautiful Sand-child❤️
xoxo
