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in the body.

hidden in the memories of every day you ever lived are the lifetimes that brought you here. that’s why it feels so heavy. continuity of self, the self that walked all the way to where you are now, is held as a frame. what’s too big for the mind finds its way into the body, where everything lives, at the level of identity. and when you realize that you are who you always ever were, you can feel every earned minute, every dollar, down to the cent.

you were allowed to finish what you needed to finish. now that you’ve arrived, unpacked and settled in, yes it’s quiet, yes it’s what you always wanted, and no, this is not how you thought it would feel. when the masks you wore to survive and the armor comes off, you’re just a person. skin and bones. meat on a stick. even if it’s for the first time (and it feels lighter and less) and it’s your own face looking back at you, it’s ok to not be impressed.

you come home to your farm, to your little plot of land, and you remember, “this is what i fought for.” the memory, the dream you carried inside you. and even if you aren’t as fearsome or dazzling in this sudden nakedness, the armor lives now under your skin. even with nothing left to keep you warm, even if you had to dissolve the illusions that let you sleep at night. you earned it. it’s yours.

the warrior makes himself over time. you wear the armor until it sinks into your skin. you go from heat and hammering to cold and still. the soul is forged. the gold you want must be formed, not mined. you will be the same but not unchanged. and that’s how you will carry yourself. as a weapon. trusted because it’s been tested.