By Ashley Gonzalez
Light trickles through cracked walls, dancing with dim shadows over dusty floors. My eyes follow follow follow, Spirit hollow hollow hollow, cleared out years ago by cold hearted foes and rows with Self and Other. Lovers of mine turning nickels into dimes. Phase One. Phase Two, dimes back to nickels, ripple fickle trickle down to status quo. Phase Three, nickels to rusted pennies, thrown over backs like trash out familiar doors.
So I search with torch for lost treasures under couch cushions, alongside gutters that sputter on rainy days. Sometimes I feel the glow of inspiration within without. Soul boundless groundless, both Here and There. Inflation flotation, take me with you in Flight. Ignite my fire, my ice. No price for Freedom, but let’s get our definition of Freedom right. Not Freedom-From, which limits with boundaries of conduct, right and wrong, old worn-out songs. But Freedom-To, knocking over boundaries by getting to the Root. Dominion over Self is the fertile soil now and always. From this we expand, evolve, revolve with Purpose and Truth. No truce. No fountain of youth. Just head in the clouds, spirit moving wild riled underground. No age no cage, just one big beautiful stage.
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Ashley Gonzalez
We each carry different wounds, but the most painful ones all have something in common—they damage our interior concepts of worth and lovability. The good news is we can always find our way back. In the simplest sense, writing helps me remember myself back home, reminding me what substance I am truly made from.