Liminal
day 2
“Will we ever feel confident with how we begin our lengthy texts, narrations, or written tales?
It takes bravery to write the first draft and let it be, marinate, and breathe.
Don’t go back. Don’t touch a thing.
It takes honesty.
Compassion.
Sweat.”
Stretches body out from the cramped, fetal state.
Crunch, pop, groan.
Takes note to move after writing.
~~~
I’ve been paying more attention to my moon cycles in my 40’s than I have any other time in my life. Sinking in and sitting with the medicine each day offers. The somatic and spiritual wisdom that is lurking in every curved minutes for 3 - 5 days.
I have learned I am not available, come find me in the liminal.
Threshold.
“Where is my mind?” is playing faded in the background.
I am constantly meeting the edges of myself in the red tent, where the effects linger well past my bleeding phase.
Right now, I’m a walking omen or portal.
I channel the strength to stay tethered to the Earth.
Yesterday, as I drove home from a visit with family and an old friend, I began to count the restless souls I saw walking in the dusk and darkness. I stopped counting around 20.
Somehow, this isn’t odd to say anymore.
I don’t even care when one thinks I’m mad when I speak of dragons and ghosts.
~~~
And now I’m tired.
I had intended to pour out a delicious perspective on the liminal, but instead I’m going to honor the courage I had to show up and have compassion to return when I’m less winded.
Must go to transmute.
Stay brave
and Grow Wild.
Xx
Amber