ALL THE WORDS

I have had ALL THE WORDS lately. It's been sort of awkward.  I go from not having words, to having so many that it overwhelms me and is possibly sort of overwhelming to be on the receiving end of.  I'm writing everywhere. Here, my old blog, my journal, a reflection practice, a gratitude practice, a side-project I'm working on, a couple paper and pen journals...

The need to prioritize all the words, so that I convey the most important information first, so I convey only what is necessary because there is not time for it all, is hard -- I don't always know what the most important things are until after I've started emptying my teacup.  My teapot is spilling all over the floor -- no mere teacup can hold it.  Again I hear the echoes of any number of people -- 'you're too much!  What am I going to do with/about you?'

I need to learn to step into and own my multitudes.  If I am to be too much, then accept my bigness and don't try to cut me down into something manageable for your tiny minds!  I AM LARGE, I CONTAIN MULTITUDES.  And yet... and yet, I don't wish to overwhelm.   It is a conundrum, no?

“Trust me, I'm telling you stories. ... I can change the story. I am the story.” ― Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body

The End of the World

At the end of November, I am doing the End of the World event with the Wyrd Sisters. "Workshops on storytelling and the Tarot will be part of the festival experience." I received an email yesterday saying,

To start getting ready, if you so desire, in your meditations start contemplating the world’s end and (optionally) rebeginning. Contemplate legends and myths about the beginning and end of the world, and how those relate to your life. What are your own stories around the end of the world?

Worlds are ending and beginning every day right now, new æons beginning.  Each death brings with it the realization that each day brings the need to define a new "normal" -- and with quiet reflection of loss, there are some holes that simply can't be filled.  Space. New space to breath into.  And even the universes collide, the spiral dance twists in on itself, then out again.

Redefinition of self, no longer the hot destructive flame of burn out, but the long slow simmer of transformation, picking things one or two at a time from the crucible of personal alchemy and examining it -- is it part of the crucible, or is it part of the stuff the crucible contains?  What happens at the end of the world, which world?  Am I the container? Is the world the container? Or is the world the stuff in the container?  Does the crucible itself come to an end?

Abide - dissolve - continue.  

Calcinate - dissolve - separate - conjunct - ferment - distill - coagulate.

Teacher, in compassion, bless me. Bless me that I may cut the illusory visions of the bardo. Bless me that I may reconnect to emptiness and awareness.

The end of the world is now. And now. And now. And now.  And the beginning of the world is now. And now. And now.

I'm sure I'll have more thoughts to come.  This is just what I'm thinking about this morning...