There is still so much growing to do, ever deeper and darker. I thought it would get lighter. Easier. Knowing-er. Wisdom of experience would grow my beautiful wrinkles, lines of laughter would chase away all insecurities and petty follies and fancies of adolescence and youth. Instead they rear up, those ancient horrors and wily snakes. Snake charmers, I become hypnotized, mesmerized again by the desire, the rejection, the “I am not wanted,” “ not funny enough,” not interesting enough,”
As opposed to the embrace of the light of who I am in this incarnation.
But what I want to tell you is about the dream I have of the crone, of the knowingness flowing out without restriction, without critique, only with discernment born of all that is known in every cell of the earth's being, transmitted through our existence of solid body.
I ask this of my soul. My spirit sister who resides with me/ in me/ of me yet who I ignore all too often. You know what I speak of. I am asking to listen.
What am I made of?