Labyrinth
The maze has taken me in circles, where I’ve lost myself to dead ends and walls of brown withered leaves that—once untouchable in their height—have fallen, leaving the paths covered and the destination visible only through tangled and naked branches.
The freedom I once was blind to in the midst of my entrapment, I now see. The force that my mind desperately relied on to keep moving forward is now guided by an open heart. A map that once confused me and left me lost, with no sense of direction or end, is now full of red circles drawn around the scattered places I’ve touched and has led me to where I am today.
It’s now my choice to either sprint jaggedly towards the opening at the end of the maze, or continue to patiently explore the dead ends of the labyrinth—to touch each and every space with hopes of discovering hidden and beautiful inspiration that moves me towards embracing the fear of unknowns. I remain curious about understanding all walks of life while accepting that our differences may still lead us to equality.
We will, in fact, all end up in the same place. With all the twists and turns, this maze only has one opening. Let me take the path least travelled. Let me share my journey, and those of others.
I peek through the branches, where I’m shown another perspective at a distance; yet, I still choose to step directly into that viewpoint. I want to become wiser. I want to gaze through the eyes of those in my life. They look at me blankly.
What do they see?
Boomerang
My grasp on the worn and chipped boomerang remains strong. I prepare for and anticipate that the strange toy will leave my fingers and travel towards the stars, where it’ll slow and then delicately kiss yet another new point in the air.
This will manipulate the boomerang to be pushed into other hands, or gracefully redirect it back towards my open and desperate heart that, while once spiraling out of control into helpless laps, now twirls patiently to a peaceful melody.
This time, I forcefully throw my boomerang into the abyss of night, where it remains invisible in a dark and mysterious blanket of unknowns. I see the storm approach, and I can only hope the chaos of heavy rain and the turmoil of sharp winds will shake the boomerang free from the depths of the cobwebs in the high and twisted tree where it resides.
My back is seated against the rough bark that bleeds of sap, and my head rests on tired knees that are scraped from crawling blindly through thorny rose patches.
I’m in need of bandages, but I continue to allow the pain to seep from my raw wounds. I’m choosing to wait for the blood to dry and the skin to scab. I so deeply want this boomerang in my hands, where I’ll press it into my open heart, and while it’s untouchable, I can now see the dew dripping from its plastic and glimmering in the dawn’s sunrise.
My temptation to climb the tree to retrieve my answers remains seated in the defeat of my already aching body and soul. I remain seated, and wonder if this is a tree I will continue to return to.
For now, I stand and walk away.
Imprisonment
The broken and chipped wood fence contains the wild horses with an idea of boundaries. Seen with an instinctive eye, the horses knew they were meant to stay together in this confined space, even though they still had the choice to easily break through into vast fields, where their wildness could freely buck into the sunset.
They could be free to explore a land that offers flowing streams full of life and greenery that would surround them expansively. Instead, they remain in the safety of this slotted space that sits by a busy road, where cars speed by with passengers who turn their heads in carelessness to look at the trapped horses who sadly graze in their imprisonment. An imprisonment we all are trapped in.
The playground symbolizes a slot of time for breath, and although it maintains structure and allows for physical play and exercise for students throughout a tightly scheduled day, it also teases them with the idea that the choice is not theirs when they feel the need for a break.
When they feel overwhelmed from the pressures of school or home life, they should be in touch with those triggers and have an awareness of the need to find release. When the need to release stress is monitored, their feelings will inevitably build and be expressed in other forms.
The wildness within us may feel the need to rebel, but we aren’t always capable of keeping ourselves safe. Those who are blind to the fence that does so may wander off and break through into a life that potentially brings danger and hardships. Or maybe we grow and discover something extraordinary that the path least travelled offers. Maybe we gain an original wisdom that only those who wander gain.
Just maybe, our desire and curiosity to explore the unknown beyond the fence will guide us towards a deeper discovery of self. Maybe our support will cautiously let the fence become broken and chipped, allowing us choice. The fences of our lives may sway in the wind or crumble to the ground, but no matter what, we should embrace the spaces we choose to explore.
Where will my wildness wander next?
Sea glass
The ebb and flow of inspiration continues to brush the sea glass clean, only to push the pieces further from the wave I’m riding. As the glass becomes small and its edges smooth, the sharpness of my big dreams slowly begins to fade into grains of sand that teeter on an edge between the calm, dry beach and the crashing waves.
What once contained a message now contains the beauty of transformation. What was once trash is now treasure.
The sea glass continues to change, and the once-translucent bottle has been broken and molded into small, opaque shapes that no longer piece together to complete the puzzle.
My path can be scattered and still come full circle, where I’m able to choose the parts I want to remember and hold onto.
I collect the dispersed pieces that originated from all of what contained my cries for help, and place them in a jar where they sit in a beautiful array of colours and tell my broken life story. They tell me my path can be scattered and still come full circle, where I’m able to choose the parts I want to remember and hold onto.
I see a jar that’s waiting to become full.
First, I have to return to the wet sand, where I dip my toes into inspiration. The waves no longer crash around me and pull my body under, sucking the life from my already empty soul. I no longer choose the waters of self-sabotage.
I’m now cautiously creating footprints in wet sand. Although they wash away, along with my expectations, they remain consistent and continue to stumble upon sea glass that will complete a jar that remains half-full. As bottles continue to fill the waters, my patience finds satisfaction in the wait for transformation.
I surrender to the messages.
Queen bee
Bees buzz through the meadow of my mind, whispering in a language I try to understand, yet I know I’m only retaining bits and pieces of the messages that are meant to guide me back to my hive—a place of teamwork. As I ignore the swarm’s movement towards a home whose busy society has expectations of set accomplishments I don’t want to follow, I fly alone towards lonely desires that give me a selfish thrill of rebellion.
I beat my wings to my own rhythm, in search of the most poisonous pollen. I look to risk the fight for survival, even if it means I get sick along my journey. As long as I take my own path towards becoming strong and resilient enough to level up to queen, I’ll take the path less travelled. I want to own my freedom.
I want to be my own leader, without authority hovering, while also deeply understanding that teamwork is important. I know that listening to all perspectives with an open, accepting and non-judgmental mind, while maintaining my own opinions, is what will inspire others and attract fellow bees to help me make the sweetest honey. This honey may take a lot of work to manifest, but it’ll be worth the wait.
It will feed my hunger.
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