... the only life that you could save.

By Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do,
and began, 
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voice behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do
determined to save
the only life that you could save.

Naked walls

I'm waking up with this dream image
and with my whole body silently vibrating

*

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I'm entered and filled by you

While being embraced by you

There is nowhere to go

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I have started to very gently accompany dead
and dying parts of my life out of my caves or allow them
to do their own shape shifting work of transformation. I kind of stumbled
into this phase and now it has led to doing the death lodge practices
in preparation for my formal vision quest.
I’m loosening the grip on things and people
I was holding on to and let them be their own
people again. I'm still in the midst of it.
Again and again, in most of the time friendly doses,
the uncomfortable feelings around dying surface from unerneath.

*

When I meet them, a wise part of myself is grateful - and sometimes I distract myself from truly feeling what is here. And sometimes I'm just fucking tired and exhausted from moving through all of it (whilst knowing deeply that this is exactly why I’m here and why I’m doing this journey). Having the space and time to not distracting myself from being with myself and facing the empty spaces and the unintegrated places, the void, the deaths, the old woundings, the grief and then also the simple joys (oh yes! Those too!). The preiende “breakthroughs”. And letting the existential questions arise that have been there anyways. Why am I here? I mean: really felt … why? How can I live this life BEING myself, knowing that this dance of feeling will go on till my last breath and that there’s no way around it, only through? Coming and going of people, situations, shared love and presence, letting go again, the transient nature of this game. Never ending thought processes? What is my authentic voice? I’m very tired. I’m very tired of DOING myself. And sometimes I’m so tired that I have moments where there’s no other way than letting go. And I’m facing my resistances towards letting things go and die. I’m surprised about my resistance, it doesn’t match the self image I had. ... maybe at some point I'll share my angry writings too … I guess I will do that soon.

*
So back to the topic: Everytime I really am with myself presently: listening … listening … feeling, allowing the sensations to make their way through my body, I feel less divided, more like a whole, strong and raw human being. It’s like little birthing processes.

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I'm sitting with the naked walls
of my caves
I touch them and feel how raw they are
I'm feeling every movement of my own breath from within
almost to much to bear
I even feel my own gaze touching the surface of these raw walls
I am both
I need to be very still to not fill the caves again
not to cover them up with soothing sounds, food, stories or friends.
Not now
And not with a drama party either, which also
helps sometimes to not feel these tender places

which carry
true wisdom

and which carry
the seeds
of a

true life

... the door itself makes no promises.

Either you will

go through this door

or you will not go through.

If you go through

there is always the risk

of remembering your name.

Things look at you doubly

and you must look back

and let them happen.

If you do not go through

it is possible

to live worthily

to maintain your attitudes

to hold your position

to die bravely

but much will blind you,

much will evade you,

at what cost who knows?

The door itself

makes no promises.

It is only a door.

— Adrienne Rich