16/02/2023
Go outside. Take off your shoes. Breathe sunlight through your crown. Feel honey trickle through your neurons, dripping from vertebra to vertebra.
A ray of violet bathes your furrowed brow, washing away the pain, transmuting anger into useful joyous fury.
Rays of golden song-bird yellow massage your throat, healing grief. The clenched bud of your heart softens in the glow of ancient forest green, and 1,000 perfectly wounded petals unfurl.
Knotted thorns in your belly disentangle with a fragrant breeze, the whisper of the name of the Goddess, and you notice the rose that was already there, blossoming in silence.
Now what's this, fermenting in the cauldron of your hips? Your weary disappointment, turned to purple wine.
Breathe out now, through the soles of your feet, or so it seems,
the sunbeam passing down your spine, shattered into many-colored ecstasy, as through a prism. This is how you give birth to the rainbow.
And yet for the surrendered, who have no choice, even light is not enough, beauty is not enough. There is a wilder, more holy secret. Bows of healing do not shower from the sky, they gush from the earth below.
Give birth to the rainbow, percolating from compost, glow of bone splinters, mushroom spores, song of the earthworm. Give birth to the rainbow, treasure of the dead, gift of darkness. Selah.
For we do not exhale through our naked feet, we inhale, breathing loam, pouring dark energy upward, diastole of crystalline detritus.
We gather tiny relics of our ancestors' flesh, still warm in embered sacrifice, and fling their swirling ashes into night. They are the stars.
~ Fred LaMotte https://yourradiance.blogspot.com
[Art: Kristin Kwan https://www.kristinkwan.com/]
