What if this healing I hide demands a voice?

Healing does not happen in the body.  
It does not happen through treatment. 
Healing happens when we give it new meaning.

The symptoms that I’ve been trying to hide from the world

the ones that
take me down for days or weeks or months
keep me from going out or buying new things  
stop me from pursuing love

are signs of my birthing new earth.  

My whole belly is full of humanity
all its beauty and all its sludge
in one  glorious mix.  

What if my struggle is not my struggle,
but a spiritual warfare that all of humanity is now engaged in? 

What if my real body - the one beyond all the symptoms -
is burning out all that is dead?

What if magic exists?  
And by magic, I don’t mean the kind that manipulates and lies, curses or destroys.  

By magic I mean love
because that is the only magic there is.

What if this healing says I must show up as my most vulnerable self?  
No longer hiding away saying, "I feel fine. Everything is okay."  

What if the symptoms never go away?  
​They may never go away.  
But that is not what they say.  

They say, "Speak. Tell them about me.  It is not about you.  It is about all of humanity."

What if it’s not about me?  
That changes everything.  

- originally written July 25, 2017

​The fortress walls were high but they didn’t stop those who wanted to reclaim their superpowers. 
 
Our powers had been stolen long ago and stored on a square cartridge in the file cabinets within the cement-walled warehouse, which resembled both a castle and a jail.
 
The cabinets flew open and the people began to search for their cartridge. None had labels, names, numbers or other identifying markers. We ran our hands along each of them. 
 
For some, their hands automatically stopped on top of the cartridge that belonged to them. Their fingers of their own accord grabbed it. 
 
Others saw a vision of their cabinet and the precise placement of their cartridge.

Most knew by gut instinct. 
 
With cartridge in hand, they began to assemble in a circle. One by one they were called to the center of the circle. Assisted by the elder known as the Loner, they reunited with their superpower. The cartridge was held to their chest, then it effortlessly dissolved within them.
 
A light wave rolled through their body and from an organ emerged a symbol of their unique superpower:
 
A torch from a stomach
A rainbow from the heart
A sword from the kidney
A book from the liver
A waterfall from the skin
 
Celebration erupted. People threw their arms up in praise, dropped to their knees, laughing and crying and dancing.
 
My cartridge was in hand, still not yet assimilated within my body when the faceless men in black came. 
 
They fired their weapons, shooting red beams of light into the crowd. 
 
Those that had united with their superpowers began to fight back with fire and waves and rainbows and swords and books, but just being newly born into their power and taken by surprise, their aim was off and soon they were arrested.
 
I snuck away to a darkened room and dropped to the floor. I shoved my cartridge on a nearby bookshelf, behind a few dusty cassette tapes and crumbled papers. 
 
​Just then, a faceless man entered and pulled me up by my neck. My feet barely touched the floor as he dragged me out. 

I felt a jab in my left forearm: a syringe. A hot liquid shot up my arm and when it reached my heart, I awoke knowing this was not a dream at all.