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From the roots of the tree, Let it be.

From the roots of the tree, Let it be.

This is a letter from Chelsea Hill to her fellow #Soulfire2014 participants. It’s followed by a slam poetry piece inspired by our brand new logo.

Damn. Chelsea, you’re incredible. 

You can read her words below or you can make the wiser choice of clicking the link and watching Chelsea flow.

It’s powerful and captivating. ~FC

Chelsea HillThe exposure of your wounds, scars, journeys, and hearts takes courage that cannot be defined nor determined…but simply lived.  Your existence is uniquely phenomenal and undoubtedly necessary to this world and the people you will encounter.  Continue to share your story… your soul…your survival.  Though I often profess my astonishment and admiration in writing, please know that words will never do justice to express how much each one of you mean to me.  

Thank you firecrackers…burn on.

Dance, explore, explode,

Chelsea Marie Hill

“From the roots of the tree, Let it be.” Written and performed by Chelsea Hill

I cannot be, except to be at fault, to exalt this lack of luck like a sitting duck and implode with a liability for my instability.  We assume we were at fault for this doom.  Or fates woven loom lead us to this tomb, encasing our racing minds, bodies bind, and we find ourselves to be devoid of belief that we are valuable.  We avoid our own grief, as if we don’t deserve to feel pain.   Unsuccessfully mending the never-ending unraveling of our traveling guilt. My fault. My mistake. My tease. Oh please, make it stop.  I shouldn’t feel this way, I brought this on myself, I could have walked away, I’m not sure if it was just play.  Then why do I feel this way?!  Further pigeonholed, empty souls, into a dark bliss of images amiss.  This misguided depiction, a culture built on fiction, on a painted image of a body that nobody can achieve, oh how they deceive.  And where is our reprieve when we believe we are never enough, yet all too much.  Maybe I should just go away?

Don’t go away.  Don’t run.  Don’t hide from the sun.  Put your face in the light and bite down on your tongue and breathe open air into those lungs and feel how uncomfortable and awkward and gross and strange it feels to birth your true self into the world.  Scarred, marred, wiggly, clumsy, broken, tangled and terribly gorgeous in your courageous and outrageous release of a piece of your mind you’ve been waiting to give them, deliver no quiver of doubt as you shout, I survived. Don’t hide.

Dig.  Dig so deep you weep and your tears begin to seep into the ground, adding to the well that weighs you down.  Creep through the forest of fears that left you here.  Flood the gates from underneath, and sink.  You’re on the brink of breakdown.  All around you are memories and shreds of what you dread.  Find the thread.  Find the silver lining below the pining to be what the world expects, instead respect that you’re not perfect and don’t reject your radical resilience, your brilliance that exists, twists of fate, it was NOT your mistake, you didn’t cause this pain, you partake in what you regain.  Never the same, but still the same you, moving through the forest, taking root, dilute the shattering cries with tears from eyes that see hope as you cope and climb and see….from the roots of the tree, let it be.  Let it be…

Listen for the boom, shhhhhhh….listen.  It’s going to happen.  They’re smart.  They’re talented.  They’re creative and innovative and inspiring and thoughtful and bigger than this misconception of a desired perfection which some formula or purchased powder, product, spray, natural decay will delay the aging of their beautiful skin, they’re raging…the explosion of voices, people who KNOW their true selves are on fire!  Who honor their desires because they desire knowledge, desire change… do not desire to be estranged from your skin, deranged from what’s within… but bodies on fire, respect your desire, and admire your energy as your blood begins to boil, burn, toil, churn…shhhhh, listen to the explosion.  There’s an outburst, a surge, a spark… its happening.  All around.  Tonight.  Shhhh….listen to the sound.  The sound of gathering hearts, worlds torn apart, but willing to start…a revolution, to find solutions, to stop the pollution of images in our brain that drive us insane and cultivate shame.  Instead, they came.  Came together, full of desire, souls on fire, sparks are flying, eyes are crying, we will cry out “you are enough!  You are worthy! You are breathing! You are beauty!  Keep repeating! You are breathing you are beauty, you’re alive, you survived.”  Let the spark ignite, let your desire fuel the fight, let the explosion ignite, we are the Firecrackers exploding in our knowing that we are not victimized and we will refuse to subsidize our desire to be on fire.

A forest fire is about to ignite, it’ll blow you out of sight, blow your mind, but you must be quiet enough to hear the crackle, hear the spark.  Firecrackers, making their mark…

We must start…we must begin somewhere.  Dig.  Dig your roots, dig into the fear.  There are loved ones near.  Do it here.  Let your brave be slave to the desire to ignite this forest on fire… From the roots of the tree, let it be.  Let it be. Let it be.

Pre-cursor; Firecrackers…unite and ignite.

Love. Honesty. Support. Take off the mask and let the sun hit your face. You’re not a disgrace. Move at a slower pace, this isn’t a race…the space you take up is yours. Let it be.

Take off the tennis shoes, and be your own muse. Let your bare feet play free in the grass, let your knees hit the soil at last… you haven’t fallen, you’re grounding… surrounding yourself with the love you should be given. The ears that should have listened. The tear that always glistened in the moonlight of no one being in sight to make it end. A hate note you still want to send… to yourself.

Instead shower, naked in the truth that soaks you in insecurity because you’re far from purity, perfect, and fame. You’re not to blame. And there is no shame. What you became…never the same…is beautifully imperfect. So let it be. Let it be.   

 

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