Yes, the tethers of our bodies are linked like so many dandelion stems in a springtime wreath, our tendons and muscles and bones are pieced together with the softer parts we’re made of, a promise of completion if we remember to weigh in the soul and the heart. Yet, we turn against our birthright once we’re old enough to realize things like materiality and time, as if they matter, as if we can truly know them, anyway. And though we suspect the world is expansive (after all, we’ve glimpsed bliss during walks beneath emerald canopies and while holding the hands of those we love), we cling to our mental prisons, those whispers that mind is against body is against spirit is against mind are always right there. But what if we could surrender and allow our luminosity to burst forth like stars, our realities collapsing like flimsy illusions? Maybe we’d find ourselves flying naked from our mother’s wombs once again, our fingers grasping, our legs kicking, our eyes blinking with the initial weightlessness of being, and maybe we’d also finally find what we’ve been looking for all along, ourselves.
Juliana Crespo is an English teacher at a high school in Bloomington, Indiana, where she also lives with her family. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in North American Review, Literary Orphans, Flash Fiction Magazine, Mothers Always Write, Mud City Journal, Ruminate, Fiction Southeast, and OTV.
Read some more of Juliana's work here.
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