I was laying in a steam room, far less steamy than I would have liked, waiting for it to pppppppssssshhhhhhhhhttttt and fill with steam. I waited. And waited. Stared at the wall, and waited. The room was warm enough for moisture, just no steam. I stared up at the ceiling, quiet and somewhat irritated. ...Just breathe... It's my mantra for patience.
The ceiling was filled with droplets of water, like constellations drawing out water pictures on the tiles. They were filling with water, growing fuller and fuller, clinging to the world that, for all intents and purposes, has held them tight and close. I stared, forgetting about the need for the room to fill. I was preoccupied with something else - my own silent encouragement of the droplets to let go. They would have to let go sooner or later, they were just so full - clinging to the cold, heavy and strained. Let go...just fall. I held out my hand. Drrrrrrippppslish. See, I caught it. Another one fell beside me and hit the floor. I expected it to just run or puddle on the floor, but the Earth it fell to had become so warm in my wait, that it just ppppppssssssshhhhhhttttt...steamed up in evaporated glory, and began it's rise back up. And that's what happened when no was there to catch it.
Sometimes, the hardest part is the fear, and the letting go. But the fall, the fall is just letting the wind rush through you before you come back to the Earth. Sometimes there is someone to catch you when you fall, and sometimes there isn't - but there is always the point of rising and getting back up.
I am grateful for every time I got back up, and for my own evaporated glory. Ppppppssssssssshhhhhhttttttttt.
