Thursday, August 8, 2013

The Offering.

I read something that cracked me open and made me cry with release just now. Needing grounding I seek my serpent Nimue. She is hiding deep within her dark cave, but I can see her face, at the front, peering at me. Snatched back into the darkness when I slide the glass that separates us. I gently pick her up, whispering to her. Recoiling her head and neck from my hand, repeatedly, she coils into a ball in my hand, determined to stuff her head under protective layers. So I place the entire ball of snake, under my shirt, directly on my heart, and feel her tasting, tongue flickering out, and within minutes she is stretched out exploring, flickering, testing every direction. She touches my belly button, soft, cool, tender, and moves over to my ribs, and under my breast. It’s warm here. She explores my collar bones at length with her tongue, hesitating, then under my other breast and down to my belly again. This is the language I speak. 

I don’t need to grasp you in a closed fist. I just need to know that it is safe to place you on my heart, and have you love me. To unfurl, explore, and taste of my essence, even when I am not there...It’s a practice, living with an open heart, connectedness, a paradigm shift in the way relationships are wrought. 

I  am precious, delicate, fragile, and a wee bit head shy. I have drunk deep of the bitter draught of disappointment, devastation, shattered hologram projections that I thought were my life.  Wrassled the deamons of depression, anxiety, what-ifs, and if I had only. 

Fuck. That. Noise. 
I  dance the firedance with fear, spiraling up into the air, ashes popping, threatening to catch leaves aflame before floating singsong down to earth.  Air fueling the burn, roar of the flames engulfing all. Clothed only in ashes as they find purchase on sweat drenched skin, trembling, primal scream, the pain, the loneliness, the doubt, the fear. The Fear. 

Fear does not get to come sit at my table unless he is willing to do the stomp scream fire dance. And afterwards fear will hand feed me tidbits, and sea salted caramel, paired with a berry rich pinot noir, overtones of vanilla, tobacco, and oak, long, slow, wet, fat finish. Because this is my fucking life, baby, and that is how I roll. I will not be hindered from beauty, ecstasy, connection, love, adventure, and full throttle sensory exploration of my amazing life by fear, or anyone. 

I can't promise you a life without hurt, heart ache, pain, or fear. But I can promise to love you completely. 
I come to you lush, fertile ground, a garden too long untended.  Bury yourself in my rich loamy soil, care for the tender, verdant plants. Drench us in moisture. “The Footsteps of the farmer are his best fertilizer” and the garden wilts without regular observation and attendance. Find a sit spot. Observe. Connect. It's Divine. With love and care this garden will flourish, blossoms ripen into fruit, and the fruit will blow your freaking mind.  Here I am:  Fierce, Wild, Open Hearted, Spirited, Abundant, Love. The Invitation and The Offering, in One. Be Brave, dear heart. Dare to explore the joy that is living, Open Hearted. I'm here, hand out stretched, waiting for you. I Love You. 

Wanna See my Snake? ;)

No comments:

Post a Comment