The Gnostic

Standing upon a mound of self, a proverbial treasure trove of light of knowledge and of truth.
Shovel in hand, thrusting it downward beginning a labor filled dig, now long overdue!

Layer after layer sifting through the dirt and ash, uncovering lost relics, bits and pieces of who she is destined to be .
Yet these are but mere fragments of a greater existence if only she wills her self to go deeper.

Sweat trickles down from her brow, hands once supple now blistered as she digs on, Growing closer to the being that lay at the bottom.
A being that has always been , though through pain and doubt with each passing year it had been cast further into silence, further into this pit of her own making.

But for a long while now it has called to her , called without words ,without sound. It had started its call with a gentle tug at her will to find self.
Now however it has taken full hold of her.

It's plea?
To be set free to return to the light ,to bring forth truth to her sight, the power of flight to her spirit.
To show her the knowledge locked within, and give strength to her weakened will.

Calling, pulling.
Dig! Dig!
Breathless and spent she has reached the bottom, staring into the eyes of this sacred being.
Molting her false self along with it's fear.

Her hidden being set free igniting the flame, truth unfurling connecting with all.
The Gnostic awakens excepting the call.