“You are double fire,” says Kokomon after the drumming meditation. “Your father is fire; you are double fire.” I do not ask him what he means, my bones know: I am more powerful than I believe. I can protect myself. It takes a long time — decades — to understand this. I am not stuck. Only the thinking keeps me so.
The more I give away, the more I give away. The dam is broken. What do I actually need? Not the gold silk tango skirt, though it’s pleased me for ten years. Someone else can dance in it now. Not photos of folks who disrespect me. Yes, I allowed it — also for decades — but no more. Not hard paper drafts of books that are better now for feedback and editing. Not a see-through top from an abusive mother.
The rain pours down, but I am hot. I strip and step outside. I am washed clean. Power to the Shé.
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