As Spring arrives, so do I, again.  The leaves that died off grow again, the seeds of new growth are sewn.  My feelings start to flourish, and what have I harbored all winter.? What have I shed?  How healthy and vibrant are my buds of spring?  What will they become, the thorn or the rose? I feel the need for both, both very real and relatable to me.   I am raw and it shows.  Vulnerability and new life mixed with old residues feel both exhausting and exhilarating.  The point of letting go in space before the my feet have landed. I’m so open I hurt and god what a relief.  Winter has allowed me to hide and hopefully self-reflect in more quietness than spring allows.  For me what blooms? All my triggers, whatever died is still very much alive. I will reap what I have sewn and thank god.  My hope going forward is that I have spent some of this years hibernation getting to know those triggers better, exploring and exposing them to the new early sun.   How do I now react to them?  The same? Do I now know AND recognize them when they bubble up? Do I face them and find the place from which they originate?  Draw them out of the cold darkness and into the light where love is waiting to set them free. Vulnerability comes to me only in glimpses and so I hold it loosely  like I would sand for as  long as it will stay.  Until the season changes again. Until the summer heat brings to full growth the things I have planted  Until the thickness of humidity bring about my restlessness asking me to discover and welcome all the pieces of me that I always knew and can now touch, dissect, and know in myself and therefore know and love in others.  That I and be fully submerged in every of my feelings without reacting to them. Rising above, reaching for the sun in growth and openness as will nature again this year.