The Journey Inward

I hear them whisper,
These older versions of myself,
That warn of failure,
Of embarrassment (humiliation even),
Pain and suffering,
Judgement and cruelty,
Danger and violence,
Of paralysis and helplessness.

They want to keep me safe,
Remind me of what can be lost,
How things will most likely turn out,
Why _____ is not a good idea.
The voices speak urgently,
Protectively, seductively.
They want to keep me safe,
STUCK.

What if I threw the "peach pits of our old selves
into the garden to grow sweetness,"
As Andrea Gibson suggests,
And fertilize the soil
With all my experiences and wisdom,
My strength and fortitude,
Resilience and grit,
Pain, Hurt, Disappointment,
Frustration, Anger, Resentment,
Self criticism, self hatred, 
And the many masks I wore?

And from that grew
Rebirth and reclamation,
Embodiment and empowerment,
Grace and gratitude,
Self acceptance and self love.

What a beautiful, colorful,
Hearty, robust, and enduring garden,
The "peach pits" of my older versions,
Would sow.