She nibbled her thumb nail. She knew she should stop herself. Twas an old habit that seemed to creep back into play when she was worried.

Or scared.

Or upset.

At the moment she was a mix of all of these things and more. Each thought and emotion a whirling dervish wrecking havoc within the confines of her chest.

She wanted to write. She wanted to free herself of these chains that bound her. She wanted to seize her own life back from other peoples hands. She wanted to live outloud the dreams she had held onto since childhood. her own secret truth.

She wanted. She wanted. She wanted.

Reaching for her pen she finds something worrisome.

Her ink well was dry. No words would find their home on sheets of white that lay surrounding her. A paper fence.

A voice called to her. A resonance so soft it sounded like a whispering breeze.

“The ink is within your heart.”

Looking about her she noticed the shimmer of a Being kneeling next to her. Love and compassion and strength radiated from this beautiful creature. With each breath she took, glittering waves of energy filled her chest, filled her mind, filled her ever waning spirit.

“Within your heart you have the ink you need to create who you wish to become,” the gleaming presence insisted. Not with anger or shame. But firm with determination that she see the truth for herself.

Slowly the Being took her pen, placing it within her hand and guiding it to her chest. Before her eyes, as she dipped the pen nib to her breast, the vial filled with deep red ink.

She was afraid! This cannot be good! This cannot be right!

“But I will die! If I use all of me I will die.”

“Oh child, if you do not use all of you, you never truly lived.”

Holding her breath, her trembling hand held the pen as words released themselves in whirls and flourishes upon the stark bright white fence of paper. Flowing and ebbing as she dipped within herself over and over to continue the sinuous flow of creation. Each thought poured from her pen like holy oil, the ink of her soul anointing paper and hands and body and mind.

With each press of pen to chest to be refilled, she realized that never did she run low on the ink of her heart. Never did the worry arise that this brazen endeavor would end her.

For all of this WAS her!

Each line and scratch and mark and smudge and perfectly imperfect stain was more truly her than any mirror could have shown.

For her true beauty and potency was only able to be realized when she let go of the fear she held onto. For how could she hold onto her life if her hands were full of worry.

This would always be her gift. To be able to dip within herself to find the strength, the nerve, the “ink” to be who she needed to be.

She wanted. She wanted. She wanted.

Encouraged and loved and guided and with her own strength as the catalyst…

She received.

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