The woman always believed in alchemy. She felt possibility surging through her otherwise dormant existence. She wandered her days wondering when it might awaken and she could release it into the world.
Though she didn’t understand how to do it herself. She expected the alchemy to arrive as a moment rather than an evolution. As if, when she finally unveiled its' mysteries, she could look back at the launch pad.
The truth about transformation is that it unfolds a level of wisdom most are uncomfortable with; the woman was squarely among those uneasy about accepting a new plane of existence.
Alchemy is an unveiling of sorts, providing vision to what was always there. It required acknowledgement of current shape and desire for something undefined. There was a sense of stickiness to the whole thing: one had to crack the shell, to escape the web of what was safe and familiar. One had to come to a space where they could turn and face the reality they were in and then choose not to lament, choose not to wallow in the comfort of the familiar but rather leap with the impulse of possibility.
You see, a seed does not self-pity the dirt, the darkness; it’s sprouts; it grows; compelling itself to change with direction unknown. It finds a way to its given value. It feels across the unfamiliar and dives deep into its being to become. Day upon day it accesses this great knowing - without questioning or proof - until one day it finds itself in full bloom.