Giving light

 

I dreamed about my body.  About what I have left in my works, especially at the beginning of this path: the body with cracks, crevices, hollows, sprouting seedlings, rooting trees, nesting birds in wounds.  About my body.  I looked at my thighs, from which grew branches, boughs, young seedlings.  They grew wider and larger, tooking away my access to light, so I began to trim them.  I was worried, that I was causing unnecessary pain to this forest feeding on me, but with each branch which was cut, I felt, that I was closer to myself, that I was coming back. Finally, I managed to pull out one of the largest, woody stems, gently pulling a long twig out, it settled deeply, but its roots were poorly developed. When it was taken, I've  started with the next one and next one.

They left deep, narrow tunnels to the bones, filled with light now.  And I felt, that these branches were the source of pain, not physical, but the one, which lies hidden under the bones, under the marrow, which strangles in the throat and presses on the chest, which bends us in a half and prevents from raising our heads. Trees growing on me gradually had been taking me away. Pulling them out, I left deep holes, there were so much empty places in my body as my flesh itself, roots took almost half of what was once mine. I stared at my thighs punctured like a swiss cheese, and I finally was able to breathe deeply.