flame.

My flame is a delicate sputtering, without enough fuel or oxygen. Every force overwhelms - from tiny droplets of criticism and judgment, to well-meaning suggestions that I should shine brighter that still feel like a sign of failure. Not strong or self assured, the flame dwindles in the face of there's convictions. Or rises in sudden defensive fury that burns loving and critical hands alike. Then shame sets in, for the drama, and even for setting a boundary at all. Another force smothering the dwindling fire and all it's passion, light and heat.

How to navigate the world with do little faith, so little hope for abundance. Instead the nagging presence of discomfort at being Self, profound pain, a constant effort to be small, avoid conflict.

I dreamt of vastness, of bigness, vitality, exuberance, and the whole world my oyster.

Rather I cringe and shy from every communication, loathe to burn with my drowning yet uncontrollable wisp of flame.

It will be a life of too much regret.