From the above the Sun sends a final blessing to illuminate and honor those vows made. The alignment and process within the semicircle from Winter to Summer. He passed the first station at the entrance to the celebration of his return, though the days were dark still and winter came so late, threatening to freeze the fragile flowers in their first attempt to break through the cold grounds. We don’t call them Snow Drops for nothing. They are magical little beings, pure and white, and you are really not allowed to pick them. Their souls truly cry and haunt you in your dreams if you do.
The prayers and blessings followed and fueled his further light from the direct opposite at Spring, when calls were noted, and action was taken.
They manifested violently at the next crossing into Summer, echoed their message at dawn by Solstice; in the annual meeting with the gatekeeper, though this time I demanded the keys back to MY house, but still the open bleeding wound made life the final test of awareness towards everything that needed to fall away. It took away everything, left it there to grow wild and made the space a perfect fallow field for everything that was to come. After. In those days I forgot what to imagine what could come after.
The healing began. We forget that in the days closest to breakthrough, it can be mistaken for a breakdown. The night is always darkest in that final hour before dawn. And true healing hurts the most just before the process finishes, because it brings up the memory of the initial wound to be cleared and released.
I went to the place of Power above the River. Twice. Summoned by Blue Kings. Carried across the Water by The Dark Lady who everyone fears and misunderstands.
We forget to trust our journey by the slightest sign of friction and big waves that rocks our boats. Those things that lead us to the peace of that very space between. It is the same space where nothing and everything resides. The small pause between the breath in and the breath out. In the common collective human memory we have forgotten, but that’s the dance.. to try and remember. Who we are.
It was written in stone, I saw it everywhere, and I learned that we forgot how to speak the ancient language. We have forgotten the language of animism and shamanism. The language of the Stars. The song of creation. The principles of life. I let their language in and was granted a vision in return. One I still don’t understand. Yet.
Coming closer to the space between as the jOurney reveals its steps only as I decide to honor this path. It is the narrow straits that often leads you to the big Ocean. Push through. Buck up. Hold on. Don’t back down. Trust the vision in your heart, those special dreams that come at night and lets you out for a while and be in a sacred space, reunited with loved ones and keep walking towards that time that comes after all of this. After. There is life coming. The new.
As the gate opens now, I am invited into her realms of finding balance. If balance is to be obtained, what do I still need to let go of, so I am not wobbling in my cycle? What do I not need to take with me into this withdrawing cycle that leads me to Winter? Because the days of quiet dying before rest is coming. To let things that will grow in Spring be kissed and nourished by darkness, to unfold and grow underground later. Carefully selecting those seeds. And denying all other access to come with me. Leaving it behind. Forever.
Time is always faster than we know. It’s the time coming now. The ‘After’. The cycle finishes as the new begins. As always. Blessed be.