Morning Musings: 27 February 2019

Ready. Waiting. Fallow yet the richly turned soil of my body navigating the waves and weaves of times past fully aligning, shedding old, outmoded, stories and patterns. Welcoming the new.

Skins shedding peeling in lumps leaving skin, raw, exposed.  Shiny, new, pink and gold hues. Dull scales leaving.  The temple opening and exposing the one that layers beneath, previously hidden.  Flecks of gold, mixed with gnarly dark patches, shamefully hidden away. These aspects of self; woven together like a tapestry of light and dark stories, tattooed on my skin. Stories from the wilds of the ancients telling of tales of culling, maiming to sow the seeds of hope, nourishing and tending with care and beauty.   Honouring the journey of all that is. Casting aside, no-thing of the self.  Nothing.  For what lies beneath is paramount for the journey ahead.

The wealth of knowledge deemed from those dark, desperate, volatile places that feel like Pele is dancing in my heart whilst Sekhmet severs aspects of my life and others to pieces.  The protector, The mother.  The father. The lover. The beloved. Sekhmet.  She who is so deeply misunderstood.  Rage against the unjust. Seeking for justice. Honour and acceptance.

These dark and seemly ‘gruesome’ places give way and give rise to such tender sensitivity, healing and vitality. Giving way to beauty.  Not beauty as one might long for, the conventionally accepted beauty.  No, beauty has been carved, smoothed, honed, earned, honoured and worked for.  The depth of soul; of speech, of connection.  The depth of BE-ing, the depths of the wounded masculine and feminine encapsulated in an ecstatic embrace each healing the other. Healing self.   Both seen, met, heard and acknowledged.

The depths of the adult scooping up and loving the sweet wounded child of long past who has until now ‘run the show’ using an outmoded and outdated way of viewing the world through tear stained lenses. Misinformed, wounded, rejected, abandoned, hiding and shy not knowing who to trust.

No, this is the beauty of all of this and more.  Of BE-ing all of self.  A re-membering of self.  The gentle courage to begin to allow all these parts to be seen.  To be loved, to be held, to be nourished. To be accepted.

The reclamation of the totality of self takes time. It takes courage.  It takes a raw, vulnerable and strong heart and a whole heap of faith thrown in.   IT takes a willingness to dance with the dichotomy of who we are.  Of life.  Of other.  It calls us to come fully back to ourselves and say with a compassionate and gentle voice. You are enough. You are whole.  You are beautiful. I accept you. I see you.  You are here.