Jealousy is hot red lava in my throat. There must be another way, a flip side to competition, some harmony that only love can build and nourish.

For, where I used to hide in the security of another, I have found my hope. A seed of a larger dream. Lines that move like I do, watery, wet, stream. Refreshing. Cooling lava. Making stone and steam.

Jealousy must be what kept me small. Afraid to leave the warmth of a hearth in winter, afraid to travel for fear that my space would be filled if I were gone.

I am choosing to move without a map’s direction, to learn the whispers of the stars, to trust the creatures of the forest and their offers to house me. I am learning to find space that holds me as I dance.

And I am afraid, for each step of my foot breaks what was untouched, snapping twigs beneath perfect crystals of water, bending beneath my weight.

I am afraid but I move and I pray that my steps are not ever causing harm but rather showing a way, not the only way, but my way. So that all who cross paths with me might say, “Look. Look how far you’ve traveled and how safe you remain.” And when the snow melts and Spring begins again, I pray that my path unfolds before me in blossoms whose colors call me by name.