Well, isn’t that just like you.
To plant me firmly on the ground with all my convictions in tact and access to all those holy surfaces — close and glowing.
Swaying and touching and feeling alive without trying.
I sensed it was illusion — the taste of perfection and alignment for days on end.
The pouring out at lightening speed, the gathering of the seeds, overflowing out of my arms.
I heard the footsteps coming. The familiar trepidation of every single thing.
The shadows looming over my hands while I decide what to do with them.
I search for the previous harmony I knew and I find only groans.
I am called to be nameless now, it seems.
To widen my depth of field, and witness the dissonance and parts of me I’ve disowned.
I sound like myself to everyone else but me.
I crave freedom from melancholia but she wants intimacy.
So isn’t that just like you…
To place me in the trenches of previous selves — and softly call me to consider new picture frames for their broken smiles.
They are smiling because they know it is good.
That all is well.
That we need not fear.
It will become clear, again.
Write through it.
Even when you feel betrayed by language. Because it refuses to capture your restlessness. Because you are being asked to die, again, and you thought you were done with all this.
Write through it, for you and no one else.
Do what must be done and listen to Curtis Mayfield when he sings “be thankful for what you got.”
Be kind while you’re working it out. Read the words you wrote for yourself when you felt clear. Gaze at your navel if you must, for it is the point of severance, the place where you first experienced separation.
But remember, the cord broke so you could be born.
See how Christ breaks the bread and tells you to do it in remembrance?
Because we always forget.
Remember your own breaking, and how it brought you here.
Remember your birth, and how many times it has happened before. When you thought it might not.
Remember me.
Till next time,
And this skin... we wear... feels foreign, heavy and thick....
Sure, it is us. It is ours. It is my own flesh.
I thought we, I, was over this. You sweat & I bled to shed it.
We barely crawled out of that mess. And, oh... didn't they celebrate? Something about a Phoenix, it was hard hear with a mouth full of shed & ashes.
The thought of my bones collapsing thru that old me, listening to muffled cracks beside you all those endlessly grueling nights and infinite sour days... discarding the corpse ...I get a clammy cold, slimy chill under the loosely draping skin-suit that's on me... again.
How, really, are we back here?
Remembrance is a big theme energetically on Earth in this time. We’re all being called to face the spaces we’ve abandoned for fear they couldn’t be loved or put together in a way that makes sense to others. There is so much grief that accompanies remembrance because we suddenly remember the ways we’ve been let down by others and have perpetuated the cycle by letting ourselves down as well.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve found the energies of the New Year to be the flames of transformation—whoof! In the best *and* most uncomfortable ways. I’ve found comfort in the saying, the only way to get through it is to *go* through it, which is exactly what you’re writing about as you witness the dissonance. Just writing to let you know I witness your journey and I know *exactly* what you’re going through. 💙
Also, the energies are set to settle soon. They’re just shaking us up to get the crust out of the corners so we can live and love from the purest of vessels.
If you haven’t yet heard “The Waves We Give” by Beautiful Chorus I feel you’ll resonate with it! 💙🩵💙🌊
Sending you lots of love!
Xo,
Spirit