That Little Voice

Her Message

She was leaning on one knee, head lowered between her legs, hair, hanging to the floor, covering her face, her back rounded in complete release/surrender, her arms limp and dangling against her bare thighs.

I stared at her, riveted, trying to determine not who she was, but what she said to me.

Was she defeated, struggling to take another breath, giving up, finding no solution for her despondency?

I walked away, returning to gaze at her once more.

She remained frozen, but I sensed a shift. Her muscles hadn’t changed, she made no move, but her energy transformed.

She wasn’t conquered, but rather resting, gathering her strength to rise from the shadow of doubts, her body becoming a graceful phoenix welcoming a new reality.

She moved from one interpretation to another depending on how I saw her. What turmoil was I feeling when I gazed at her? What peaceful plateau was I viewing as I eyed her form?

Was I feeling confident, or was my mind filled with fear? She was a reflection of me, my mood, my self-confidence or lack of self-worth.

I left, carrying her to my home where she continues to show me where I am, who I am, and offering me insight to my degree of despair or assurance on any given day.

One look at her, and she reflects my uncertainty, my timidity, my buoyancy, or my poise. She is my internal mirror exposing but not judging.

She sends a message only I can read.