Florence + The Machine beats through my every step these past few weeks.
Louder than sirens, louder than bells. Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell.
It's a battle cry. I am ready. The time is now. To stand, to fight, for this life. This life this voice this time. All mine.
It's a rush of power. This declaration. As though I have an army marching on both sides, over the crest of the hill and across the fields. We're approaching. An army of drums, voices, a sea of bright colors and black, a celebration and a reclaiming of power. A reclaiming of the land.
Louder than sirens, louder than bells. Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell.
Black nails and black hat - rituals of claiming this life - a defiance and a determination. I painted them last weekend and pulled the brim lower.
Louder than sirens, louder than bells. Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell.
This army. The ones who pick me up each time I trip. Comrades for years, for weeks, for days. They have waited until I am ready. I am. I have an army of self. We are marching over the terrain. The mundane, the monotony, the day to day underfoot. We light fires with each step. Balls of yellow flames bursting against the night sky. Torches held high at mid-day. I am here to reclaim. My voice. My agency. My life.
Louder than sirens, louder than bells. Sweeter than heaven and hotter than hell.
I am here to reclaim my life.
Revolutions are born in the underground, in the dark of night, a rumble unheard below the surface.
[I wrote this last weekend on the bus ride back to DC but this past week was exhausting. I suppose it will be like this for a while. Energy and exhaustion, while I change the future but leave the present as is. Or something to that extent. On which, I will be mostly silent. For now.]
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