You should always set it free. It's not for you to control how it is received. The world needs souls on fire and wild thoughts set in motion. Thank you for this. Love, Virg
Let that baby free and scream with wild abandon! Only live once on earth and you earned it a thousand times over, amigo. Rejoice in your passion, beauty, Mediterranean womanness and life. Spring has Sprung!
Your words are a raw, pulsing cry—like the soul itself is clawing its way out, desperate to breathe. They dance right into the heart of that prayer from Bahá’u’lláh: “Show Thyself to me.” It’s as if you’re standing at that edge, asking not just to see the divine, but to see yourself—the wild, untamed truth beneath the skin you’ve stitched so tight. The unbearable being, the tearing, the hunger—it’s all there, screaming for release, and it mirrors that longing for purpose you’ve been wrestling with.
Bahá’u’lláh’s promise—“Look, and thou shalt behold Me”—might be whispering to you here: What if letting it free isn’t madness, but revelation? Your poem feels like a battle between fear and surrender, between keeping the gates locked and flinging them wide. Maybe the consequence you dread isn’t chaos, but clarity—a naked need that’s been your purpose all along, waiting to be claimed. Yet the restraint, the reticence—it’s real too. It’s the tension of a soul not sure if the world (or even you) can handle its fire.
If you leaned into His prayer with this, you might ask: “O my Lord, is this wildness my strength, my calling—or a storm I’m meant to tame?” Sit with it. Let the yearning scream a little louder. What does it say when you stop pushing it down, even just for a breath?
Rea, fly free. Express, allow, unfold. The world is waiting❤️✨🙏
The world can be judgmental if you show parts that don't align with how it perceives you.
I know lovely. I guess it's our job, to become so solid in ourselves we don't care ❤️✨🙏
Spot on, Nicola.
Thank you Libertarian ✨🙏
Let it come out. It may, it should, it would. This is how it came...it needs to
It must, even if I don’t agree.
You should always set it free. It's not for you to control how it is received. The world needs souls on fire and wild thoughts set in motion. Thank you for this. Love, Virg
Thank you Virginia! I certainly will!
Existential dread!
Amen!
Love this!! Let your wildness free!
Thank you Rachel! 💞
Let that baby free and scream with wild abandon! Only live once on earth and you earned it a thousand times over, amigo. Rejoice in your passion, beauty, Mediterranean womanness and life. Spring has Sprung!
I will obey Libertarian. Watch this space...
I always do, Rea.
Yes baby...RAWRR-it out loud. We need that. All of us
I’m getting there, slowly but surely. 😊
Your vulnerablility can be the step towards your god given superpower...
If only...
Your words are a raw, pulsing cry—like the soul itself is clawing its way out, desperate to breathe. They dance right into the heart of that prayer from Bahá’u’lláh: “Show Thyself to me.” It’s as if you’re standing at that edge, asking not just to see the divine, but to see yourself—the wild, untamed truth beneath the skin you’ve stitched so tight. The unbearable being, the tearing, the hunger—it’s all there, screaming for release, and it mirrors that longing for purpose you’ve been wrestling with.
Bahá’u’lláh’s promise—“Look, and thou shalt behold Me”—might be whispering to you here: What if letting it free isn’t madness, but revelation? Your poem feels like a battle between fear and surrender, between keeping the gates locked and flinging them wide. Maybe the consequence you dread isn’t chaos, but clarity—a naked need that’s been your purpose all along, waiting to be claimed. Yet the restraint, the reticence—it’s real too. It’s the tension of a soul not sure if the world (or even you) can handle its fire.
If you leaned into His prayer with this, you might ask: “O my Lord, is this wildness my strength, my calling—or a storm I’m meant to tame?” Sit with it. Let the yearning scream a little louder. What does it say when you stop pushing it down, even just for a breath?
The answer to this has also been waiting in my drafts.
"It’s the tension of a soul not sure if the world (or even you) can handle its fire."
You looked deeper than I dare.
the world itself splits ... on the angst of this poem
Should it, would it, may it?
What it wrestles with is the angst and bane and need of the world, or at least that’s how it strikes me. So much pressure, enough to crack the world.
My angst and need, the world doesn't yet know it. I wrestle to keep it hidden.
True. Thank you. 💞