Let's just say life has handed me a one-two punch, perhaps even a three-four punch, to the belly. It is early morning and I am in early mourning for the life I used to think I was living. In a way though, it is all for the good. Growing pains hurt but life is always changing, and it always is metamorphosing into different forms. I am taking a page from the playbook of Qeuetzalcoatl, and shedding my skin, over and over endlessly. I have wings to fly through the clouds and I slither through the dirt just as comfortably. Evolution is dependent on those with the most flexibility, those who can weather the change with the least agony. I keep telling everyone I know that change is the fire under our psyche's butt, and now, yes, even I have to live like the Pheonix through the ancient combustion of life's licking flames.
I don't think we, as cosmic monkeys, are hard-wired to like it though, seeing as we put it off until nothing else will do.
Let me just say this to the universe. I want to change, I want to flow into the new life, but I don't want to cleave myself from all that I know, in order to keep the spark of life and love that I understand inside of me. I feel apprehensive that the cold winds of this world might blow out that tenuous spark otherwise.
And that is all I will say about that for now.
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