Description
Our psychic shields lower, in our tiresome states, and in those weary places we reflect on whether we have the strength to shelter ourselves in repose. Rest, we must. Our waking hours would be hindered if we could not find tranquility in slumber’s prose. Our pathway through the shadows require our soul’s rest in order to usher in a new dawn.
As the umbrage grows, we’re enlightened to define the mysterious shapes whose undead carcasses haunt us from their graves. Whispers of childhood memoirs composed in the recesses of our minds begin shapeshifting into embodiments of entombed emotions we thought had been cremated long ago.
Pain approaches in slithering anticipation, accompanied by paralyzing dread. We recognize its madness as an adversary attempting to seduce us, further spiraling us to greater depths of isolation.
Our instinct for survival cues us to reach for twilight, because shadows can’t survive without the sisters harmonizing duet.
This meditative ritual is not meant for absolute extinction, but rather for contemplation. If we allow ourselves to plummet into oblivion we fail the apprenticeship of shadow work. We must not settle for ending the narrative just yet.
You see, in the blinding light of day we fail to see the details that tell the greater stories of our experiences. It is not the shadow that conceals us from the truth, it’s the deception of light that damages our ability to see clearly. Shadows simply, and effectively, reveal a smooth path to metamorphosis where we blossom into the beauty of a deep red rose with all its aromatic medicine. The shadows, our salve and sedative to ease our transition, reveal the true full embodiment of our story that can heal us. Our chronicles, as written in first person, don’t always portray the bigger picture. When the sisters of light and darkness mingle in shadow’s concert we experience and witness an opera of storytelling that invokes a wider range of emotional wisdom giving birth to insight and recognition of the greatest non-fictions ever told. These are the Great Halls of heroes where we’re enchanted by the depth and richness of the journey.
This choreography of elements is our memorial to honor every detail of the journey. We acknowledge the reality of our pain as we enshrine it in mortuaries of marble, give testimony to the joys of the past as we lay our dead to rest in ivory satin lined coffins of mahogany, and hold sacred space for the grieving we experience in the transition. But our end is not a mere penny dreadful. It’s the birth place to the hopes of our sequels where the saga becomes rich with depth, compassion, and understanding. As we prepare for returning through obsidian portals we anticipate the future and we imagine how we can creatively influence character development to make our lives healthier and more vibrant.
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