We are all born unfinished. Like the seed, caterpillar, stone, we are un-hued and naturally require the work that pulls, polishes, and sets.
I witnessed my Son in his frailty; a Time Traveler arriving in our temporal reality. Me being his host, welcome young Man to this trip we'll call your life.
I remember you speaking to me, telling me how draining it was to arrive; how it was easy to sleep, to stay between both worlds. but the love we shared served as your guidepost. the lamp you followed to your corporeal beginnings came from our heat, my voice, the touch.
I witnessed my Woman in her distrust; a Goddess walking this earth. You challenged me with your myriad tasks. All designed to destabilize me, all designed to prove that I was worthy of you to open up. And I did. I remember you telling me how you didn't want to be hurt again. How it was too much to let go. But we danced. Slowly, with soft steps, and with a rhythm that is uniquely our own.
I see my Self in my unfolding; Stumbling through the basics. Bopping my head on the obvious. Having to re-learn that "Yes, Abner, you're back in school." "Yes, Abner you need to learn this in order to move on." "No, Abner it doesn't matter if you've done this in the past, you need to do it now." I look for shortcuts and ways out, only to remind myself that there is no other path for me. No other space for me. No other moment than the one I create/embrace/accept.
The Existential Terror of Battle Royale
2 weeks ago