I began to face my demons out of necessity, only after having exhausted all other possibilities.

Well, God says, it’s better late than never.

I shiver in my heart the way some people shiver in a lake. I cajole my brain open. I can hear my pulse extend toward madness. Dare I trust? I have put myself out there. I hang wet and cold on the line in the frigid March sunshine.

Yesterday, I felt power soar through my blood. “This is ego,” I managed to think as I felt my large muscles course and bloom with the knowledge of my talents and abilities. “This wonder drug feels amazing!” But I knew, even at the time, that acting on it could be dangerous.

When I told Christopher this, he said that he’s learned to accept and feel his ego, but also—at the same time—to feel his own wholeness. He said that anytime he’s acted from pure ego, “I’ve been rather narrow.”

“We can be assholes,” he also said. “But we have a choice to dance with the energy in a new way.”

Both Christopher and I have felt into pure power only recently. We’ve arrived at the present from the “less than” side of the equation. (I am less than human. I am less than normal. I am less than others…you get the picture.) So to arrive into the full wild ride of my power was new. And I arrived without fear and with less anger than ever before. It was like anger in balance. Useful anger. Still, I arrived narrow, and I could certainly have been kinder in the interactions that flowed.

So, I recalibrate. Any and all power is energy that can be used for the good. But first, sometimes, we have to embody it. We must say, “Fuck yes!” before we can say, “And how can I help?”

I woke up this morning to the sound of Christopher and I whooping and laughing. Since I lay silent and alone under covers in darkness, I took this “heard” laughter as a good sign. The adventure begins!

I’m feeling like all I do is take up space use resources. I’m feeling that I serve no useful purpose. My next thought is that beauty and art reflect off the water as off pools of glass, and I cannot help but create. Maybe for this, my blood deserves its rich supply of oxygen. Maybe for this, I can breathe and open my vast bank and, as sea levels rise, fill the safety deposit boxes with jewels and use all of it and all of me to nourish the world.

There’s nothing safe about this place anyway, though I feel kind of secure in my green fleece jacket and my pajama bottoms. My bosom overflows, though I’m small-chested as we come. Still, there is enough of my milk to fill the Nile and bring food to a vast city. I can’t help it. It’s who I am.

But enough about me, child. Who are you and what do you have to offer?