Waiting in Discomfort

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Blooming is uncomfortable. It is a slow messy business of tension, pressure, and waiting. My teacher Iris Mae Misciagna (@brazenmae) spoke of this recently and now I am seeing it everywhere I look.

Can I hold my own growth with the grace of this bud?

Can I see my own divinity in this moment of tension?

Am I not also this slowly budding flower, reaching for some space to expand into my fullness?

Will I survive this restriction so that I may be stronger and more brilliant?