Metamorphosis

Thirty is the lotus flower about to bloom, the cocoon about to burst, the sacred space between the in breath and the out breath.

It is the snake shedding its skin and the oyster revealing the pearl within.

It is an unfolding. A stripping away of layer upon layer of debris and delusions. An untangling of narcissistic knots, an unthreading of embroidered half-truths.

Thirty knows not everything, but something.

It knows that everything stems from a single cell. It rejects notions of disunity because it sees the link between molecules, species, communities. It places its hand gently over a heart centre and touches the warmth that lives there. It is the same warmth that lives everywhere.

Thirty trusts the natural order of life and death, day and night, yin and yang. The fear of being stagnant is completely unjustified. Stagnant does not exist. All moves in a perpetual circular motion. The beginning ends and the end begins.

The Earth turns, the body breathes itself, life happens.

Thirty is the breathtaking moment just before daybreak. The first crack creeping its way along the chrysalid.

It’s an irrepressible feeling of hope nestled deep in the belly. It runs up and down streets, feeling courageous and free. It rejoices in its own autonomy, its own choices, its own rose-tinted view of the world.

It feels anything but old.

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This week’s affirmation: I celebrate!