Kissing the untameable..

I am.. I am.. I am.. awakening, impatient to try my newly blossomed, long-in-the-making understanding. Accepting it is not time for the glorygloryhallelujahloveyoulongtimes meeting my soul is blissfully readying for, I choose to welcome another kind of meeting now instead. Fleeting, perhaps, yet still there is treasure to be tasted in all such. And why should it matter who else that one has danced with before me? The alchemy of two is never repeated. Who am I to define, to analyse, to judge? I didn’t step that beat, I didn’t lay that fire, I didn’t go on and grow fine strong plants once the ground was cleared by the sweeping of the flame. How can I ever know how it was, how can any of us define what unseen gifts were gained and still later harvested, who could ever claim ownership of any action-reaction sacred fuelled meeting of spirit to spirit? Who’s to say it will even be revealed in this lifetime? All I can be sure of is every moment spent with another, whoever and however, is medicine for our souls. Truly, whatever pain or joy it brings to the physical, it is blessed by the soul.

I am here. Now. Myself. And I am thinking: I am open,broken open, deliciously whole. I am tasting the salt of my wild dreamer, and I am drinking sweetly in the possibility of welcoming, of celebrating, of declaring divinity, with this body of mine. Lost and denied so long, so very long; so many times I chose shutdown to survive, and neatly flew from my fire, severing sacrum and finding solace in the concrete dark of disconnection. Survival was my name. I could not do it differently given the chance over again. I could only do what I have done. I can only do what I am doing. Naked, raw and bleeding, with small steps and gentle touch and determined intention to stay present; to feel what there is to be felt; to allow it to sweep through me savage in its pain and and rank in its imprisonment and find myself in hacked up pieces all on the floor. And regroup. And not shut down, not turn away. Still not turn away. Refuse to turn away. I will stay present. Else they will not rest easy in their cradle graves, they will twine in my every action, and breathe their bitter into my sacred honey medicine. The only way to love them, to leave them, to transform them, is to witness what was, and honour what survived, and then rest these ripped, scarred wraiths so gently in the earth. That fertile soil, hallowed ground in the centre of my womb cave. So many bones, so many screams, so many forgotten violations. Rest. Rest well, rest, my darling wraiths.  Let the light witness you and the dark heal you.  All my blessings to all of us, always.

And now, after long, long working, dreaming, sand mountain climbing, spiral dancing; now, something new awakens in the sacred site of endings and beginnings. The air is spiced with promise; the untameable is kissing the back of my neck and sending a new song rolling down my spine, twining my hips and cascading down my thighs all the way to the beating earth below. The wild arises, from deep within; phoenix emerging..

I do not question her.

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