Liberation

On my birthday, I wrote. 

I am 38. And I am a wise old wild child. 

This was my liberation statement. 

I yearn for liberation…from costumes, awkward interactions, and inauthentic actions. I want to be naked in my raw radical truth. I yearn to be everything, and yet nothing. Oh, how vague and vulgar. I yearn to be free as the fleeting flowers. Free as the fleeing feathered geese. This is the wise in me. And this is the wild in me. Liberation is a peak, a perch of earth, and a ragged nest of spirit. It is a place where I need no validating word, no smile, no nod even. True liberation is found on the inside. From there, it burns. I am the liberation I seek. It is the song sung from the marrow of my pure and ancient soul. 

And so again I say goodbye to the push and pull of social media. And so once again I say I am hidden in the solitude of old life. I can tell you that I drink joy every night. But you don't need to know that. You don't need to envy me. Nor do I need your envy of me.