On Memories and Choice

I was thinking about memories, what we hold. What our ancestors hold for us, what the Great Mother holds for us in her bones. The rocks and stones that lay beneath our feet. That no matter how painful or terrible some memories are, how we carry them is up to us. I choose to carry mine in beauty and strength. So for this post, I stand next to the water. Amongst rocks. Breathing in the air. Feeling my fire. 

My choice. Always. 

Standing  

In the ruins

On the stones

That hold your memories

The ancient 

Or the ones from yesterday 

From time to time 

You will fall

It is inevitable

That is when you look in

See again what you may want to forget 

Where it hurts

Where you feel torn

Bloody

And ragged

The last place you want to look 

Is most often the place you must

In the darkest part 

Of your own shadows 

In the deep well

Of your own pain 

You gather your courage about you

Like steely armor

Or a soft shawl 

You will face those stone held memories 

Crack them open 

Hold them in your mighty hands

And whisper

You are part of me that I own 

But you will never own me