"taking it in its deepest sense, the shadow is the invisible saurian tail that man still drags behind him. Carefully amputated, it becomes a healing serpent of the mysteries. Only monkeys parade with it"
- Jung
Mona ser, siempre, todos. Para mi? Me, which is not you? Well, yes, and no. Polarities and Biverses. Me releasing words so that I can sleep a little better in a sea soaked bed.You catching words up in the exhales of a sleepy town so that upon the turning to your bed you find a malevolent sunshine of the mind. Phantoms, todos.
Cycles, cycles of the solar plexus, of certain centers in the human body. Cycles. All happen accordingly--divine plan. I do need to start meditating. I do. But will I?-- with all that manifesting generator energy swirling up and down by spine which alights others up in a most pleasurepain kind of way. Probably not, I've got work to do. Whistle while you work. Wait while you work.
I'm revisiting my shadow fairly often. I lunge into it when I am in my pain cycle, where my vision gets picture-framed and fungal striations color my lens. I see reels of every lover past, present, sometimes future and I cringe and grit my teeth and shake from my core. Collapse over, anger raw like viscous syrup, mahogany pools collect around my long pink body. I wonder, Why?
And my lovers, many, feel this pain twice as intensely as I do. For they've never felt it before. And I do this rainbow-castled pain to hope on a cyclical timeline, since I've been born, maybe before. And its a blessing and a curse. Both and. A wonderful, hilarious, ironic, intangible suspension. I get to know you better than you know yourself: through my wave.
And with the clarity of phantomMare, You get clarity too. That's the brilliance of it. It is my duty to ride the hope to pain wave out...and at the beach once thought a mirage, we can all slumber in blissfullness. Until, of course, the next wave. Reciprocation happens, when we are being authentic.
Ah, but authenticity. The Not Self rages in this superficial layer, the caked and rotting skin of our species, le societe. But there is a suspension forming, of those beings awakening to authenticity, and those asleep. All we need is suspension. All we need. Peace on Earth is a real dream, but impossible without its faithful amaretto, War. All at once, all Now. Suspension.
I'm terribly tangential and with no place to go. But I leave it thus because I often have selective attention towards all Other, and myself. Sometimes even to my shadow. But my shadow is important. So is yours. Ignore it and you're all out of whack, embrace it and you've found suspension.
Blame it on my equilibrium.
It all happens accordingly, and you learn to wait to respond, and in that waiting you breathe, and in that breathe comes a movement of energy, and in that movement of energy comes a new synaptic pathway, and in that new synaptic pathway, comes a new 'lization on how to respond. Ad infinitum.
I have new eyes, same Eye, new growls from my inner oven, and a new lover to devour into gold.
LOVE,
M .A. R
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