She does what she loves.
Most often. Most days. That is how her beauty began, out of love.
When the seed shell broke it was to allow a more authentic layer to come through. Many times we see this growth on a vertical ladder or a staircase, or horizontally on a winding pathway. But real growth begins from inside, pushing its way out. A rupture of healing, or a soft sloughing away of the things that are dead or dying.
It is a break in the seal between the soul and the light.
The cycle is continuous. Even as she grows, unfolding into the wild, she must repeat this:
Molt like a snake.
Root like a vine.
Die and push back out of the cold again after every bad season.
She must revisit the center over and over again to discern what it is that has always been and what of that must remain. And then she must put that thing out into the light of the sun and the moon, for all the stars and the other wild things to see, because it is the truth.
