Pointing South

I am letting go. Of a lot of control, control of rythm and planning and food and of how people see me. Opening up, showing my creativity, the healing, the vulnerability. Mostly I give things time, the process is more important. How things are in motion rather than the fixing of those things. I follow.

We are the happening, we let it happen. Step back, let it happen. 

Six months ago, I still had a plan - I am at the end of the map I once drew or the map that was drawn for me by my family, my schools, my society. The end of it... Free? A heart beating fast, yet strong. 

Compass in my belly. 

It is ready now, to be used without backup. No double checking. Room for iventions and detours that are not considered losses of time. Room for tracks to be dreamed up on the spot or found unexpectedly. A compass. Direction. Purpose. But no time line. No rigidity. Free.

Magical places are only stumbled upon by trust. Some people would say by chance, or even by abyident. But I believe, we know what we are doing and where we are going, in a way. A compass way. A belly way. Trust. 

I am getting towards the end of the map, slowly folding it up. I have been working for this, created this space to flow, healed for the sake of it. So now I will use it. 

Compass, pointing South. To where the light is. A different rythm, a positioning between play and vision.