Feel the swirling madness as it rises up
from my belly, and into the great pit
of fear and self-doubt.
Hold it. Bee with it.
The craziness just is.
Yes, it is within me and yes, it is outside of me.
Can I forgive myself for all of my perpetuation of it?
For how I've simply emulated the disconnect and rage,
the refusal to move and act?
Because that's what this now comes down to.
My mind wants me to do what I've intuitively done for years - dancing in community,
being in Source, listening, waiting, a slow forward crawl.
Yet, my body commands otherwise - "sit and build, channel your internal
into an outward direction," she says. It's a chaos, this flow - churning the liquid thoughts
into a cohesive and nutritious butter.
"You" text me an invitation to run away today to build intentional community elsewhere.
A tempting offer especially as this storm cycles, faster and faster. My roots here are thick and deep however, just like the Grandmother tree I was only moments ago sitting in.
"You" press me hard on my soft edges, saying "I need clarity, Cara," and my response
is, "I need to bee free and wild - this is a mandatory way forward in our deeper connection."
I call "you" and you eventually arrive - bearing the markings of masters and spiritual healers who are doing their Earth-based work right here in San Diego now. We laugh and I serve us, making food in a warm kitchen. You too are a masculine embodiment of all of the craziness of imbalance and force that has brought us here, now. You "randomly" mention a person I recently wrote about. "Stay away from him," you warn. Can I forgive all of us for how we've fallen victim and prey to the menacing threat of oppression and violence?
And, I feel it all ~ rising up from my loins, a roar begging to be unleashed and to set ablaze our ancestral whimpering of complacency and apathy. Then, you walk by. "There you are," you say, as I sit perched in my trusty spot. "That's your place, so I allow you to it," you call. "It's ours - I prefer to share," I call down from my nest. "When I have my home, I will have 5 acres and grow trees just like this one on it," you say. The tears well up in my eyes, my passion transmuting any of my remaining rage into compassion. "YES!"
"Your" name says it all, "REGAL."
