All week: reaching outward in moments as wide, expansive,
and dry as Death Valley.
All week knowing the need to reach inward, to find the rocks
that are the anchor, not the Stumblingoverones.
I tipped right off the
edge. One toe hanging over too far on a muddy unstable ridge edge and I felt
myself cascading into the fiery tornado. Trajectory not in my directional
control.
Remembering the need to: do tasks, obligations, meetings;
numbers and words in profusion.
Remembering the need to find the ease and spaciousness to
show up for self, to ask where the discomforts are within and to offer them the
respite of undivided, attentive listening.
The hot tongue of the
fire lashed out and I stood my ground – not exactly “fight”
mode – but not fleeing either. Frozen in place, melting into a puddle of fire –
scalding even at a distance. Intolerable-seeming in the center of hot iron
brands. The lip of the fire curved inward. It paused, indicating an imminent
change of direction; then it headed straight toward me. The fiery tornado – so
rare – raged, tore, slashed its way through the landscape. A living dragon kite
eating everything in its path. A scalding monster that I thought I – or she, or
he - had put to bed. A vertical wave of destruction concentrated into the shape
we call “funnel.” Tearing through a territory – force of nature. Of hell.
Hearing the words to others: Be kind to yourself, Honor the
pain or ecstasy, Don’t give it all away to him or her or in service to the Workthatwaits, It can Waitalittlelonger.
Hearing the words from the inside out, feeling tears rise to
the surface because gratitude and grace have come again, without any effort
except that of noticing, of offering thanks.
Truly in awe.
What are these
scribblings on the page? Vertical fires on horizontal paper. A pink ink pen
inscribing dark fuchsia, maroon, the golden fear of flame too close.
Boundaries okay. A
fence to guard against falling of the cliff.
Smiling, hair aflame,
the color of Beauty except that I was tousled by the vortex and heavy winds. A
flame, gentle, slowly pulsing, the fiery face of a candle. Soothing. Healing.
Rebalancing.
All blog images created &/or photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2014 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
