I have no fear in being shown the depths of my unfaithfulness to self.
Where I’m living a lie and not speaking truth.
My hips begin spiralling in motion like the motion of a wooden spoon-handle stirring potion in a witch’s cauldron.
I mix truth and love in mine, illuminating the darkened corners where others like to hide.
The demons, unknowingly, have blessed me. My body transmutes their poison. No intellectualisation is needed when surrendering to the flow of water. No navigation but trust in the direction back to source. Soul-star showing the way.
My scalp opens into full consciousness and I see how we create divisions within ourselves. Our body a mere dichotomy from mind. We fear looking for god within our pleasure.
There, we’ll find him. Present in dark corners of ecstasy and on peaks of complete surrender. We separate earth and heaven, the light and dark cracked like a sad distinction. Dividing parts within ourself, forgetting our wholeness, round bellies and dilated hearts. Forgetting the necessity of our darkening to expand our capacity to hold more light.
The resistance that builds walls is the illusion of what we separate from ourselves. Inner and outward; dark and light; craving and fulfilment; giving and receiving.
There are no walls between these, the space between only, giving the illusion of polarity.
Tonight, the moon makes space for us to walk where the sea was. Her waning leaving vast spaciousness filled with grace. I walk between the land and sea, liminal spaciousness. It’s always in the in-between. The space between the tides moving in and out. Pause in the exhale. The exact moment when daylight melts into night. The exact moment before an uttering of words that changes everything. Empty space between thoughts. Interwoven silence.
I sit with the moon tonight and one single solitary star, faithful to its rising – a star like soul, always faithful to this moon-body.
* * *
“There are things you can only learn on your knees, or in a storm, or when the cracks in the foundation of this modern world open a chasm of uncertainty beneath your feet. Your discontent with what has been named normal is both grief and longing for what your mind has forgotten. But your body remembers. You can feel it, in the way a child’s laughter disrupts your commitment to what is appropriate and makes space for foolishness and magic. You can feel it in the way that water has taught you how to be a vessel and how to spill. Can you trace your lineage all the way back to salt? The same that now stains your face with both sadness and laughter, excited your tongue and protects your prayers. You are a vast territory of many wild bodies, melting into each other, dressed up as human. Simultaneously living and dying, shaping and dismantling, filling up and boiling over. Ashes to ashes, stardust to bone. What language do you grieve in? What is the mother tongue for that which twists and contorts your body wringing oceans from your skin? The gravity that pulls you down to your knees, forehead to ground, broken open at the altar of all you’ve lost and how much you’ve loved. Can we fall apart together? Make a commitment to search for the truth but promise to never find it. Let myths and stories be the cartograph for what is both primordial and brand new because the present moment is promiscuous like that. Compost ourselves down into the dirt beneath the dirt and tend the chthonic embers that light the ancient fires in our bellies. When the fault lines open and your mind is grasping and you don’t know where to go from here; prostrate, trade rapture for rupture. Let yourself spill and descend.” – Gina Puorro, Descend
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