I have these words and stories churning within me. Like a wild river that has been obstructed for too long, they start to bubble up to the surface, and I can taste them. Oh the freedom I will feel when they are on my lips and in my fingertips, pouring forth into the world for anyone or no one to read. The once simmering expression of my soul flowing freely.

The words come to the surface. I feel a glimmer of catharsis. And, still, I stuff them down. For they are not fully formed, and I am afraid. They smolder now like a fire. The corrosive essence burns through my solar plexus, my source of power, and my heart – all that is love. It remains, burning, in my throat – my voice, my inner truth.

I see a light on the path. And the way is not through a perfectly composed symphony or an expertly written novel.

It’s in one spoken word. One note sang. One sentence written. Little by little I break out of this cycle of not enough and share my fire with the world. And I can start to breathe again.