Friday, August 24, 2012

PBP 21: Quiet ('Typhoon')

I really tried to write you guys a factual account of shadow work for Q, for Quiet, because it puts you deeply into your own head, but the past week has been the equivalent of living in a meat grinder of stress and terrible feelings, so instead I gave up and wrote a metaphorical account of shadow work and how it feels. I hope you like anyway.

~*~



I am in the eye of the typhoon.

The waves swirl around me, and the current tries to drag me under, but I won't go, I see the shore and aim my compass for it, but the storm gives no ground.

I am in the eye of the typhoon.

Upheaval, the waves overtaking and claiming, over and over. The roar of the winds sobbing over lost ships. All of these things converge, in the center.

I am in the eye of the typhoon.

Hands, fingers, tedrils of foam and seaweed wrap around and pull, dragging and ripping open. My insides are spilled to the dark water; bracken let free. Black water made of salt and sand and 20 years bad luck, unleashed back from whence it came.

I am in the eye of the typhoon.

All rivers converse here, and though I can't see I know this. There is no separating us. I was born of She and She born of me, a symbiosis of the senses. Her, our waves are trying to drown us, whispering of untold stories beneath the waves.

She tells me, let go, child, I Will sing you melodies in the old tongue, and when you wake you'll be so much cleaner than you began. Let me cradle you and in your rest take what you cannot have.

I am the typhoon.

The selkies will sing melodies to their children of our power, of how we rended ships and sails and sent their bannermen to oblivion. They will tremble, and love us both, all at once, judge, crone, executioner.

I am the typhoon.

~fin~

{Image from cruisecritic.co.uk}

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