into the dark.

 

 

I am not a shadow chaser. 


 {photo credit Danielle Cohen}

I just don’t love the work done in the cavernous underground.  As a matter of fact when it’s my time to descend, I don’t get all romantic or sentimental about it. I do not intentionally prepare. I tent to just kick it away and then do what I need to do, get it over with, and get back up for a light saturated breath as quickly as possible.  

I worship the sun.  

The moon is everything.  But in my most organic state of being, it’s the warmth of sun light that I open my chest fully and freely to.  This is what nourishes me and exposes me to my own sense of bright action and quick burn down and re-birth.  In the light is where I can see myself best - even the ugly parts- because the deepest vibration of light isn’t all bliss, it’s intense heat and record breaking bonfire that will burn things down to ash as quickly as you can blow it.  It’s hard ass work, but it falls within my comfort zone, it's familiar.  I love fire. 

I also like bare legs and sundresses, cold beers and open windows, sticky thighs and berry brown shoulders. I adore mangos and white sand and the color my hair is under 300 days of sunshine + salt water.  I like day glow flowers and dripping, juicy berries. I enjoy taking flight to the light drenched upper worlds, because here my wings are useful. I ascend and grasp for the lightspace, often clenching too hard, never wanting to leave it. It’s where I mostly find myself living and creating my world + work. It’s my maniac hummingbird kind of place to be.  

I am not good at being slow and dark and moody. I am not good at being sensuously mysterious and pulling inside the quiet. I am not good and allowing myself to be alone in the quivering cold, the bone place, where fire doesn’t burn and there are no blankets that cover me in my clattering descent.  I am not good at paying attention to anything when I am moving underneath myself. I am too busy worrying about where the light, to occupied with looking for the light to actually see the dark, or to let the darkness blind me, or to even notice that in it all, I am still holding the lantern.

{photo credit Danielle Cohen}

I also know this is not sustainable or of the highest good to my evolution.  

My resistance in shadow work is not a fear of what I will discover.  I do not fear who I am. 

To stand in front of the mirrors of Truth is what I seek.  But because I’m human, I like the process the *way I like it*.  I like what I like. I’m not going to lie.  How and what aren't always meant to be.  

What I find myself asking is how I will show up on the outside, who will have to witness  my entire being hacked apart by shards of my own depths of mystery + grief + self undiscovery.  That instead of light, I will cast darkness, that I will swallow it whole and it will permenantantly become me.  That the animal who longs to be born slowly from me will be seen, and if you look into my eyes, I will scare you to death.   I don't want to become a darkness whore.  Or too get so lost that I love it. That my darkness will be seen as me, that I will be defined by it, that on my grave it will say Dark Sister instead of Daughter of the Sun.   That my darkness will be trendy and look cool when it’s not. That my darkness will not be loved.  That my darkness will be abandoned. That my darkness will cause great pain in others. The my darkness will fuck it all up.  I don’t want to fuck it all up. 

But the risk is just too great to not risk fucking it all up. 

 {photo credit Danielle Cohen}

Here is what I usually do to avoid all this:  marathon underground tours. I get in and get out. I get dirty. I taste my own blood and tears. I nod. I shake. I roar. I break down.  I pick up my bones. Re-assemble myself. And carry on. It’s like a race to feeling the “its all good now”.  I go through the motions quickly because I want my medicine to go down fast and easy.  

Another thing I do is distract myself.  There is always someone to call. Or a chore to do.  A kid to helicopter over. A project to take on. A conversation to avoid. A drink to pour. A cigarette to smoke. A fantasy to create. A book to get lost in.  A group to join.  A purse to buy.  And these are in their own forms good medicine.  But they also can be my poison when I chose them instead of me.  I will also quickly find a way to cover myself up to be more comfortable or placated.  But this work is done alone and naked in the forest, cold. 

I am in no way judging myself and how I have done my work. 

It is what it is.  And it is who I am.  In this moment I try and draw on temperance. Because really, there can’t be a right or wrong, just the dance of exchange, the edge of death and light.   And at this moment all I can do is continue to listen to my heart. And all that has gotten me to right here, right where I am.  And I see my life. And I love myself. 

I am light, I am the brightest vortex, vacuum of intensely hardcore light- And I know I can't ever be void of that light, and the expression of it can't be snuffed out, it just can't, there is that wise being in me that knows all these truths and yet I wrestle with it all, struggle who will pin who to the ground. So I sit here and just wonder, how to say all this, how to write through this, how to show up.  Because there is so much I don't know. And that is what I have to dive into. 

But what I do know?  The divine journey down is about all that I love, even what must be destroyed, it's because of love. It’s what stirs the hot cauldron of my passion, it's the messagner from brain to heart to breath. I am unruly about this life and how I must live it.  I am committed to my path, wherever it decides to take me. So when I reach into the unknown cold of the earth, I do so because I unconditionally and insanely love myself. And every single thing under this sun, and all that dweels under this ground. I love the people I am directly dialed in to and the web that weaves through a million wheels beyond and beyond that and even further.  I do this all because of Love. And because I am ready. To midwife my way to mystery. To take it slow. To feel it all. To not give a shit what it looks like, really.  And somehow know it's going to look just as it should. 

The Hermit was my card for the year.  Upside down.  It is the day of the Moon.  It is the day of the wolf who has a witch in the woods for it.  It is the day where I say yes to waiting it out a bit, not running from the dark ocean tidal wave, but waiting to see where the spot is that invites me under.  To follow the rattle of the mermaids bones.  To begin to taste the black salts of the lost an anciet sea. To know that the seasons of the soul and the season’s of the earth are not separate but also know that the timing isn’t always so obvious.  Even though the sun is hitting against the window hard right now, my season is the dark black-red center of the Earth.  

{photo credit Danielle Cohen}

Maybe the center of the earth and the center of the sun are the same thing anyway. 

This work can be quiet or loud and also some form of both.  It will happen in a cave or in the middle of warehouse party or on my couch or wandering vast fields of flowers. It can be in a therapists office or at a vision quest, or at the edge of the forest.  The work of the dark can both hurt like hell and be ecstatic, orgasmic, crucial to joy.  And so this time around I am going to say yes to it’s invitation, the gesture that it’s time to really take it slow, to spend the entire night undressing into it, falling back upon, letting it carry me.  I am going as slow as I like to make love. As slow as I like to give birth.  As slow as I like to wake up on a chilly winter morning with a fire that crackles and icicles that barely drip. 

I don’t even know what it means. But I know I am being called.  I know the whales came to me, to bring me back with them from land into their sea. Their kisses will be my protection. There is a truth on the other side of that water line that is begging to meet me, greet me, and slam me further into myself.  

And you will see my light. You cannot forget it.  My certain kind of fire, that only I can impress against your skin, will always be there.  The kind that won’t burn you but will remind you of your own kind of spark, that only you can light.  And you can only light it if you loose your matches for a bit, bury them in  special spot along the way down.  You’ll know where they are.  You’ll be able to find them any time you need.  

It must be the Way, right? Or there is no right.  Just this rite. And if there is something else, I don’t want to know. Because this one was mine, all here, splayed out, with no name or no meaning, but also a declaration, a creed, a splash of this moment.  And so there it. And there it must be.  There it will be. 

{photo credit Danielle Cohen

There are tools this time around, that will be my medicine: 

*Intimate and healing photoshoots with Danielle Cohen of Be Seen Photography- whose ability to witness the transformation is stunning and artful and compassionate and true. She met me at the moment I was saying yes to the darker side of the moon kind of healing. 

*Voice lessons.  Because as I venture quiet, I must know more and more what my voice will be like when I return and also how it will sound with a moutful of soil. 

*Casting my circle.  I don't ask for help or support a lot.  But I have a circle. And they see me and they got my back. 

*Astology stories with Kaypacha.  Because he's the real deal and his videos are such wonderful tools to take in and remember that we are bodies moving on this never still earth within a galaxy of luminioius stars. 

*22 Mysteries in Arcanum.  Each and every card speaks a story of my soul.  And stories are the only way I can figure out where I am. 

*Hot as hell baths.  Because water. It's the best next best thing to love. 

*Angel's Trumpet Flower Essence. 

*bones in broth, fires in hearth, letting myself do nothing, making a mess.

*the river. 

*Saying goodbye.

*Saying hello.

*Crying.  Because again, water, and salt. And the sea.  It's all me.

*Knowing it's all Beginning.