There's this little child inside of me -
she likes to push people away, especially those her Spirit needs in order for her to evolve.
"Leave me alone," she cries, "I don't want to be connected with you anymore!"
She's miserable, as she mistakenly lashes out at all those who she desires,
yet equally fears.
Most don't understand her love language - it's backwards from a
lifetime of neglect. What she really means to say is, "Come - let's go deeper
into this labyrinth of play and imagination."
There's this woman here, too -
she understands that her defenses are merely her ego's resistance to the burning fires of transformation.
She exhales, deeply and on a long sigh, wondering when her surrender will be complete.
Bowing deeply, she submits, as she humbly acknowledges that she doesn't know
the way and asks for assistance. "Please, help me," she motions with her palms upward, to the heavens. Most don't understand her dance - it's slow and deliberate, like a Tortoise across the desert. Yet, what she's really saying is, "Shhh, there's a tale that's already been told. To hear its tune you must once again learn to listen to the stirrings of your own, unique heart."
There's also this Crone -
she gathers food from the yard, plants seeds and diligently tends to the soil of our Souls.
Her intuitive wisdom always knows - you can not hide your actions from her. She reads your body, your eyes and your movement like an Owl scans the pitch black night. All senses delicately attuned.
You can not fool her, nor pull the wool over her eyes. Sometimes, she plays dead. Other times, she portends apathy. She is like a cat in the night - lurking in the shadows. Your illumination is merely a form of echo-location - she positions and steadies herself to pounce, sometimes, and, other times, to stalk. "It's a jungle out here, you know?"
There's a dream that's unfolding, as well -
below a towering, giant Serpent yesterday, I shook. "I'm afraid," I imagined I cried, as M. led me back in time on a Shamanic healing journey. "No! You are not," my beast spit back in my face, as we re-met on a dirt mountainside as an early spring sun headed west over the horizon. M., on the other hand, saw the snake and I spinning and gliding along a gold-dusted dance floor.
There's a destiny that is ours to claim -
my inner child wants to run and hide from it, yet my adult self is malnourished from rejecting the indelible kiss that the Universe has marked us with. Meanwhile, my Crone just laughs, uproariously. She smacks me in the back of the head. "Just keep baking the cookies," she replies, after I ask her how I can womanifest this song that loudly beats in my chest.
There's a me in a you and a you in a me -
we know our names, well. And, we're married to ourselves - in our divine union we best play our parts, as these instruments fly open and so much harmony rises out. Some call it LOVE.
I call it STORY. It doesn't matter the term, for...
There's a mystery unveiling itself.
TUNE IN.
p.s. GT ~ this post is partially for you, from our Black Friday afternoon spent together. "I'm hanging out with G today, and I don't know what's going to happen," I thought to myself earlier. Yet, "This is it!" we always both agree - "these moments, now."
You're a powerful reflection, dear sweet sister spider. Our divine alignment is all the proof I need to know that I am not a crazy ol' bat but, rather, a potent weaver of metaphor. I embrace our next twirl around this dance floor, called life.
To Quetzalcoatl and beeyond... xoxo.
To omens rising and our shared divinity, too.
