When it clicks

You think things are never going to change.

You feel like you are locked forever in your lowest point, Groveling forever for the right to exist.

And then they do.

Change sometimes comes like the tsunami that has been forecasted.

The old is ripped away and devastated and new life begins from the desolate earth.

But sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes change is like the tide, pulling gently on your toes,

Begging you to take a swim.

Venturing out to explore the full width and breadth and height of your self.

Sometimes it is.

But sometimes change is the soft clicking of gears as the water passes through the wheel.

Clacking along until the chaff is separated from the grain,

Milling your essence down to what is useful and nutritive.

Sometimes it is.

Sometimes it is that annoying trickle of a stream that wears you down, drip by drop.

A pestering, obnoxious wearing down of a painful spot,

Until in the course of time it is worn thin and malleable.

Sometimes it is.

Most often it is the desperate dry plodding through the desert of the soul.

Breathless, cracked lips beg for relief, but the change is slow to come.

And then by some miracle you find the right size cactus to sustain yourself.

Prickling, stabbing pain to make the change endurable.

Often it is.

Until one day you look around and the flood, tides, flow, trickles, and barrenness have passed.

You stand barefoot in your mirror and you realize you are no longer the same.

And you are proud, and sentimental, thanking the water.

And that is always.