Тысячелетия сменяли друг друга. Краски спали. Душа тосковала по ним, а они – по соприкосновению с холстом. Словно языки неровного пламени, мысли и чувства обретали форму, борясь друг с другом, рождаясь и умирая, трансформируясь, совершенствуясь, исчезая, и возрождаясь. Лишь в глубокой тишине, и лишь обняв доселе устрашающие тени, возможно было узреть божественную искру, горящую невечерним светом в глубине сердца. Тем временем, всеведущая душа оберегала вековечную молитву – связь всего живого со всем что было, есть, и будет. Краски ждали дня, когда душа вновь заговорит.

The winter was still lingering, but my life felt permeated with the aura of forthcoming spring. Accompanied by strong Western winds, Persephone brought a bouquet of cosmic forces – the energy of fire instigated the destruction of all that was meaningless, and planted the desire for deep purification and transformation. The energy of water awakened and amplified the long-dormant intuition and inspired the effortless acceptance of change, while tuning me in with the frequency of oncoming currents that were to take me where I was meant to be. The energy of air allowed me to soar up and leave everything behind without looking back. The soothing energy of earth spoiled me with the abundance of love, reconnected me with my truth and gradually restored my center. The invisible forces reignited my connection with myself,  corrected the direction of my life’s compass, and helped me regain vision.  In wonderment, I felt the mysteriousness of the process, yet my inner being was calling to trust and follow the compass.

The winds were blowing with the full might. I had sensed their force earlier – what seemed orderly lost its structure and meaning in a matter of days; what looked like a formidable castle turned out to be the house of cards that collapsed at the break of the dawn. Everything became small, everything became past. Everything became a dream from which I instantaneously woke up. As with our ordinary night-time dreams, we are sometimes not fully sure of the nature of reality in the seconds upon waking  –  we even may not be sure who we are – we need a moment to remember the role, the script, the theme. As we collect our senses, we know clearly that a dream is a dream and it is in the past…We go on with our duty.

Similarly, it can happen with our “reality” – when we are forced to wake up from an illusionary life to a new world, yet having no script, no theme, no prescribed role. All you have is you, a new you, who broke out of a dream. The dream is a bygone era. I am to cut the cord, I am to let go completely, I am to fly up high and to see the world of my former self from above for the very last time. I am moving on. Moments ago, having no script infused fears and discomfort, but as I soar higher, I find both the overwhelming freedom and courage to face the unknown, to write my own script according to my own vision. I realize that time has come to learn to trust, that the battle is over, the fight with myself is useless. The path of self-betrayal has exhausted itself, it has revealed the meaninglessness beneath the dozen gorgeous, glowing masks. It is a point of no return. It is a skin that must be shed. It is a blessing that must be honored. Yet, in the moments before I soar, the heart is filled with outpouring gratitude – everything is dear to me, everything is a part of me, even though much of it is rapidly becoming a mere memory. As the past fades out, tears come to my eyes and I know that the best stays with me, the best will live on in my heart and someday will turn into a song, a painting, or a dance. I don’t have time to say farewell and I choose to disappear – just as upon waking up, we don’t dwell on dreams for too long, for the reality is calling us, the playground of life is yearning for our participation .

As I fly up higher, I leave the best of my former self to the world that remains. I see my former self crying and laughing, tormenting with doubt and indecision, searching for answers, dancing and praying, loving and forgiving. I see my former self and encircle it with the most heartfelt embrace – it was all worth it, it was all for the purpose of transforming. The memory of this gentle loving embrace will live in my heart, the rest will fade away. I am free, I am alive, and I am going home, towards the root. Yet, where is home? And what does it really mean, to have the authority to live the life that is truly mine? I don’t know fully yet, but I am set to discover, experience, and share the treasures with the entire world.

Few days later, I find myself in the field of wildflowers lit up by gently glowing, fiery rays of the setting sun. The earth is warm, the grass is soft. As I lay down on my back and gaze into the sky, I become part of the song, part of the dance unfolding in the magical moment – the dance of butterflies above the clusters of saint John’s wort, the playful flight of swallows advancing towards horizon, the smell and touch of wheat, and the all-encompassing blue sky rimmed by the golden embroidery. 
The winter is over. The old skin has been shed. I am alive.

Мгновенное мерцанье искорки огня,
взмах белого крыла, 
рябь на воде от первого дождя –
я рождена, во мне течет река.