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14 March 2018 @ 04:19 pm
but yes, i'm still running  
and yet, we keep walking. we keep balancing. we keep drawing from obliteration to keep us this side of it. and so i walk my path, pre-arranged though it may be, a turn here, a jog there. walking into the sun and away from it again, on the same path. in a walking labyrinth, the one traversing that path must negotiate several kinds of release.

release, the oracle draw again suggests: release.

journey on release. write about release. meditate on it.

for instance, you must release the idea that what you are walking towards is a tangible goal. you must release the idea that this effort you are expending is going to get you somewhere. you must release that there is a commodity waiting for you at the end of this trail, as all that is really waiting for you is the walk back out. you have walked a thousand steps over the course of several minutes, towards what is essentially nothing more than a different spot on the ground. and once you are there, you will turn around and walk back out several thousand steps to another spot on the ground. surrender. surrender. surrender. each turn is a new method of surrender.



the picture is a lily, dripping. nectar, though i don’t know that this is a nectar producing flora.* rainwater, then. tears. this year at samhain, i drew the three of swords. the card was from the same deck i gifted my best friend at the winter solstice my first year of college. as such, it is not a deck i can read from, but it adds this deeper layer to the draw.

and so for this journey, i enter a walking labyrinth. i circle and i turn and i twist and i drop and when i'm walking near one of the outside circuits, i take off my dress and cast it along the path. i walk through the labyrinth until i reach its center. and at its center, i close my eyes. when i open them again, when i open my eyes again, when i open my internal eyes, i look out over the landscape before me. i see clouds. i see atmosphere. i see diffused light along the edges of vapor. and i sit, i sit in the midst of this manifold release, this release of releasing, rain, tears from the sky pouring down. i look around me in the clouds. and i ask: clouds, sky, what do you need to tell me, what do you want to tell me, about release?

as in: this is an image of triple mourning from a gift i gave to a friend i’ve mourned three times over. this is an image of letting go. of letting grief have its way.

of acknowledging pain.

of releasing that tension i’ve been stowing deep in every part of me so long i can no longer let myself relax, lest it take over.

heart palpitations. dysphoria. headaches. back spasms. clenching my jaw. clawing inside my arms. hard swallows. i can't find release. i won't find release. release and i cross paths on baltimore city streets every day, but we won't make eye contact. i slouch and whine and tire of paranoia: i haven’t even been able to use brainwave entrainment since 2015

(yeah. 2015. maybe that one isn't so much a mystery, after all.)

and the best friend i couldn’t keep, whose release caused a dramatic shift, all three times, in fact?

what kind of process am i looking at?

and that thick cloud cover, those thick clouds covering any other way of being that might fall into my sight, they billow around me, they quilt the landscape, they barely move. i stretch out my hands and touch that vapor, that vapor that looks like something so much more dense than vapor. i take it into my hands. i work it between my palms, i raise it to my heart, and i let it go. [journey, 11.14.2017]
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*it is


 
 
music: syntonic research - gentle rain in a pine forest