Ascension is not an open sky,
But a walk through storms with tear-stained eyes.
It doesn’t float above the ache,
It feels the weight the heart must take.
You meet your fear, face-to-face,
In quiet rooms where shadows trace.
The trauma speaks in softened tones,
A voice you thought was not your own.
The walls you built begin to shake,
Each self you hid begins to wake.
The child within, so small, so true—
Still waiting there, still calling you.
The wounded one, the fierce disguise,
The mask you wore to just survive—
They all arise to be embraced,
Not shamed, not silenced, not replaced.
Unlearning lies you thought were you,
You strip it back to what is true.
And in that mirror, raw and real,
You start to see, you start to heal.
Love comes not as a gentle breeze,
But roaring through the shattered seas.
It finds the parts you cast aside,
And holds them close, with arms wide.
Ascension, then, is not escape—
It’s breaking open, taking shape.
Becoming whole by walking through
The pain, the past, and into you.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie Fluharty
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