Marta Luzim’s Writing the Wave: Small Beats of my Heart – I am Alive

The flower voice.
Despair, winter is.
Earth depressing me.
Damp earth, body able to respond
How to open
Cold light of early spring.
Raw wind of the new world.

I did not expect to survive
I didn’t expect to waken again
Remembering after so long how to open again.

The body of demons sat on my chest. They ripped my heart out and blood spat across the sky, my blood, my soul…they laughed these demons, depressed my body down into the cold mud earth. Their spiraling eyes drilled through my heart and twinkled in a despair that they delighted in — they were on a suicide mission and wanted to take me with them into limbo hell land.

I screamed from underneath the piles of mud, twigs and tar. I pushed my feet against the solid cursed grounds. I screamed at the fat, torrid sweat of the demons and said, “You won’t defeat me. No matter what. You won’t.”

They thought they left me for dead. I wasn’t breathing. My pulse stopped. I froze in my own terror…and yet behind, and under, and beyond, a slight pulse beat against a tiny vein that had turned purple; plumped up my inner ear, my third eye and my fangs of survival bit into the fruit of knowing. The beat kept a slow pace, a slow rhythm that sang to me, that awakened me to resuscitate my own being. I wiggled around in the close, suffocating, confined death of me. One could barely see that I was fighting, battling for a new life, a new body, a new spirit. No one knew. No one heard the fury of my driving, furious, fierce scream of guts and stink. No one heard me cry out for light. Even cold light would satisfy me until I could find the heat again, the passion again, the God of my loins again.

The new opening was a spot, a speck of, a small prism of shadows, of old warriors bent over in grief. But I followed their footsteps, out of my grave and bathed in their journey. I knew they would show me the way. Soon, I entered into a field of battered crimson hearts and wilted butterfly wings exhausted from the winds of time that blew across the field all the ancestors who had died before them. The whistling song of resurrection came from my lungs, my belly and I awakened, I rose up and said, “Yes! I want to live.”

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