Healed

The powdered plant bursted into my nostril like a spear,
shattering me,
tearing down my defences,
challenging my consciousness.
I could not breathe,
I gasped for air,
but my lungs didn’t respond.
My body went numb,
shivering, watery eyes,
shuddering, pins and needles all over.
I thought I was going to pass out, again.
I braced for a hell of a vision.

But no.
This time there were no messages.
No patterns.
No lights.
No images nor sounds.
Just stillness.
Peace.
Just me, whole.
In the know.
Something major… a shift.

Is this what it means to be healed?
Is this it?

To hold acceptance.
To see.
To have the memory of excruciating pain,
but not the actual pain.

To know.
To look at Truth in the eyes.
To transmute the unsolved questions,
the ignoring, the projecting,
to understand where it comes from.

To embody who I am.
To carry the wound,
to feel it,
but not bleed.

To know the darkness
and not to get swallowed by it.

To find balance.
To forgive.
To know my worth.

This is how it feels.
To be healed.