DANCE OF THE SOULS
There's a much wider place we go, when we begin to listen. Deeply, gently listen into the stream of our own sensations. The vast field of our body, as it unfolds, and un-toils itself. When force, the need to release, wish to control, or to keep it together subsides into the same stream of sensation. Into our listening.
When a faint voice in us begins to speak and be heard. This is where the dance of the souls start.
The dance that moves the universe. For a while we come along for the ride of our pain primarily, to serve its need to be expressed, and be there for it, nurture it, live it, sometimes coil up around it, and sometimes move to the edges and beyond consciousness. Into God and the goodness of it all. If ever there were anything like edges to be found, maybe we could than find ourselves as solid.
Maybe for too long we didn't feel. Maybe because we were ripped in two as children, maybe because we have come to know ourselves as pain better, than ourselves as all the other things that we are too. Maybe as a means to scream you fucking violated me, not knowing how to protect and honor ourselves otherwise. But the question is not again, or when. We only have this moment.
So we ride the waves to ride us closer to ourselves. And with every heartbeat we win ourselves back a little more. In this instance we are.
Free.
All states are states of being. States of ourselves. Phases our nervoussystem travels through, which subsequently we travel as. And reside in for a while. Who are we to judge ourselves for it? Or the pains and joys deriving here? There's no doubt that we are all of it, so much yet to be born.
Like a garden, we move in spirals through the span of a lifetime. Growing wider, and bigger and more beautiful come spring, or a new dawn. We don't need to follow the seasons, as long as we follow our own. And we will live grey and dormant times, deep-dives, and the recoiling into our pains and memories. Until again we expand to harvest the ripe fruits of our becoming. Who are we to judge...
There's no shame in recoiling, recalibrating, in changing. But possibility, potential, grace, they all remain...
