In the Soil of My Becoming
Sandy Clarisse
Within my dark inner landscape,
the victim in me quivers in fear.
No safe place to land,
no warmth or love holds me near.
A childhood void gives rise to my inner prey—
fertile ground,
feeding predator and prey alike.
Seedlings of the “enabler,”
from the raw soil of fear, she sprouts—
her nature, the perfect nectar
for the “extractor”—the taker—to feed upon.
“Enabler” and “extractor,”
both wounded—both craving sustenance,
both longing for nurture.
The enabler’s need to keep me safe
hinders my growth…
keeping me small.
Like overgrowing weeds,
she traps my voice,
weakens my boundaries,
threatens my inner safety,
erodes my trust in self.
A ground fertile and wild
for the predator’s prowl.
My soil of fear…
Once cultivated to chase “external love,”
becomes the “extractor’s” dry-sucking feast.
The “enabler’s” vulnerable nectar—
malleable, passive, self-emptying.
The “extractor’s” selfish taking—
sheep-masked, ensnaring, leeching.
Predators, within—and—without,
dimming my divine light,
draining my innate power.
Yet—
within this ground of loss and erosion,
quicksand and mud pools,
aimed at keeping me submerged,
keeping me paralysed… depleted—
Resistance begins to take root,
gentle cracks appear through the soil…
slowly awakening my divine guardian—
my—emerging—goddess!
The goddess of my soul,
Oh, how her roots run deep…
anchored in my soil of love.
With a love so fierce,
she emerges from the cracks in damaged earth—
earth of the enabler, the prey, the victim,
earth, once fertile for the extractor’s feed.
She rises, with this earth still on her hands,
their stories, now her strength,
woven into her essence.
The goddess is me.
Standing, unapologetic—
rooted in my wholeness,
my resilience,
my self-honour,
my authenticity.
Here, now—
in the soil of my becoming,
"I AM"