Mornings are interesting. They are our beginnings in several strides. I sit in revelations every morning, alone, in our wee woods. With nothing but the mosquitoes and gratefully, the rest of the life-giving spirits of this land.
Sitting with the opening to the wee woods this morning, giving thanks and asking questions of the trees. Amends was made between two foes. Peace comes slowly for those who search for it and live it. And yet it can be accomplished.
Two who warred are now at peace.
The struggle of duality can be repaired into balance. Confusion happens when we are not fully aware of all of our stories within our flesh. Searching through the darkness is not a quest we all embark upon. Ask a child about the dark and they will look at you with wide eyes and so much fear. This is us when we need to face that darkness that dwells within.
For many, it's so much easier to step on a box of broken ideas and promises to point out the blackness of others. I have been no different. None of us have.
Until my shadow met yours and bowed.
Not everyone wants to see their own black pits of tar that muck up everything we're aiming towards. And that's why we circle around in cycles of never ending nonsense.
So I sat with the forest and I kept the blood-suckers at bay. Those mozzies just love my blood. Don't all the parasites?
Slavic mythology: (plural: rusalki or rusalky) a female ghost, water nymph, succubus, or mermaid-like demon that dwelt in a waterway. According to most traditions, the rusalki were fish-women, who lived at the bottom of rivers. In the middle of the night, they would walk out to the bank and dance in meadows. If they saw handsome men, they would fascinate them with songs and dancing, mesmerise them, then lead them away to the river floor to their death. [Matthew DeMino]
And as the vampires buzzed around me I gave thanks. Thankful I have blood for them to feast on, that I know the plant to calm the irritations that come after they dine. Thankful that I can feel everything from their bite to their itch, yes, thankful that I can feel.
I am reminded of those who are in the midst of, or have been for so very long, throwing everything away for those things they deem 'better than' what they already have.
From the things that they create to the things they say they love,
to the things they wish they could find within themselves but struggle with daily.
They are an archetype in our lives that has always sat back and begrudged everything we've done and all that we are.
There are more than one of you throughout our lives that come calling.
Invidia, Nemesis, or it's masculine match of Phthonus?
Is that the archetype which empowers you?
By what name should I call unto you for you to hear and know that you are found out?
I understand why you are here for me and that it has nothing to do with me at all from the place you bring it on.
What I learn from it all is my prize.
I am Vesna and Morana, the beginning and end and all that is in between because I chose it.
Wishing for wants of everyone else's creation.
Seeing how others work and toil towards such beautiful harvests and bounty and the wishes of coveting you hang onto. Begrudge, bemoan, and beware.
Your projections show yourself, not me.
The time you waste is your own , not mine.
The energy you spill isn't from my cup but your own.
And every single time you attempt to take from the well of my fountain,
I recreate exponentially,
while you struggle to store what you take , syphon and suckle from without permission.
Much like the mosquito, you can't live without taking from another source.
If you could, you wouldn't be around in your annoying, irritating and itchy way.
For reminding me of who I am , and what I am here for and who I will never be.
And thank-you for showing me the darkness in my soul that I embrace rather than deny.
I'm no longer crying out for anyone to stop.
It's ok, continue.
This sad attempt of destruction is not worth my time, nor yours, but you keep wasting this life you've been gifted with.
I was once there, I will never return to that space where I thieve my own,
in spite of another.
This Summer has been so confusing as the hemispheres within me meld into one.
Inside of myself is a fierce, dark, cold Winter
while outside of myself is the growth, life and production of Summer.
And somewhere in this life I live in between them both.
And it is no surprise or shock to me that we are
drawing near to the end of the most jealous month
of them all.
Dear Juno, dear Hera, fear me not, for I am your child.
I will rise above, I hope one day you will too.
It is the simplest, most intricate events in this life that cultivate slowly to make the greatest things happen. These small weavings through time are a treasures we often overlook. Walk each moment in a way that leaves you whole and not wanting. Not always the way it goes but surely the way most rewarding, most memorable and most pleasing when hindsight sits at your feet, beckoning you to understand the lesson.
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