lost in the forest

I've been dreaming of horses again.  Last night I was riding, a long way.

  It is a fairly common thing for little girls to love horses.  I am not alone in that camp.  And I managed to obtain one, against most odds.  It was the only real bliss I knew of and so I set myself to that bliss, and maybe some great fortune added itself to that determination and one day I found myself in love with a grey mare named Synara.  I knew it was bliss before I met her, but the reality outshone my fantasy.  Even in freezing cold and deep snows I would go to her, when I was sick, when I was tired, when I was forbidden....I went.  My devotion was natural.  I didn't mind spending hours teaching her to shake my hand or hours learning to post a trot.  It was love.
True, undying, unconditional love.
    Even after there were boys, even after there was money, it was always about the equine.  There wasn't a boy alive I could love as much as that bliss.  My heart was already captured, the promise of romantic love or children were nothing compared to what I already felt.
  And then.
I was careless maybe, or naive.  The greatest betrayal I have ever committed was my first.  It was against her, against my own bliss.
    I began to calculate the logistical reality of travel and having a horse.  I put it off for a while, I left home and kept her.  I came back and reunited.  I left again.  I came back.
   One day I said something that was misunderstood by the friend who kept her, and adding to that my lazy nature of paying people on time....I was far too nonchalant about money, being a spoiled child still....and I lost her.
     I let my bliss go.

         I cried for years over that.  I have betrayed myself many times since then, and it's all just been paltry heartbreak compared to that first one.  
  I've been running for years.
Mom and Dad figured that I had a wanderer's nature.  They knew I'd leave as fast as I was able to.
  Synara, they believed, was their ace in the hole, she would keep me home.

When I finally left my country, she died.  And I was free, in a way.  Tethered to no bliss.

To ride a horse is to be free and autonomous and locomotive.  It is to be merged with natural power.  To be on horse back, to really be on horse back is to combine absolute independence and freedom with absolute merged oneness.  That is the promise of the horse, that is the bliss.  Every wheelbarrow of shit I hauled, every mane I braided, every riding book I studied was in service to that divine superpower.  

   The horses in my dreams....they are like promises.  They are like lamps.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep......

attachment

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay. 

Robert Frost


 But it hurts only if one needs gold and cannot accept green.  Therein lies the trouble.  Needing what cannot stay, attachment to what must always fade...it is so romantic, it is so dramatic.  And the fire inside me has striven for this all of my life.  It's tiring, but I've had so much energy.  Right now I am wondering what I would do with all that energy if I weren't trying to attain something I didn't have or trying to change something that I already have or trying to hold on to something that is fading.  
        I. Don't. Know.  
Amazing.  I'd like to try and see, but I am not sure how to go about that thing, if it's even something that can be gone about.  
    

yoni

cunt.  Cunt. CUNT.

Another lesson from the Melissae.  Not one I could read about or listen to like a lecture, but one that I had to be dipped into like a honeybee into flower pollen.  Yes, so I can carry it back to my hive and dance it's truth in lemniscate patterns.
   It was my one year anniversary of the night they held me in the magical betwixt and between and I allowed my own voice to open my own heart.   I was baptised.
   On this anniversary, I began to dance lemniscatically, naked cunt around a white owl and a white horse.
I began to spin like a top, stumbling and learning to trust my feet while spinning.  For several minutes I went on spinning until I came to rest on the floor between the white creatures, dizzy.  And that is where I found myself.  Awareness started in my cunt, my womb, my low back, my pelvis, my belly, my hips.  It spread out to my knees and my hands and my shoulders and head and feet.  Me...I was spreading.  I was intoxicating myself.  I was the center.  I am the center. And then I found you.  All of you.  All of you.  But still myself.  And still all arising from the center, where it all started.....cunt.
 
   Not as in "I HAVE"  
But as in "I EMBODY"

Then, when I REALIZED what was between my legs, when I KNEW it, then the tears came.  Now they come again, just to remember.
   Such profound gratitude.
SHE LIVES
SHE MANIFESTS
And then I know.  The healing from the masculine I experienced in England was like a first step to understanding a depth of what lies between and within the two energies.
   The feminine is chained as she is because we are afraid of her.  We are afraid of the manifested life.
The reality of what can happen if she is protected enough to MANIFEST, we are afraid to even contemplate.  She may consume all of us, every one and every bit.  
  So we chain her and rein her and she is SO ANGRY.  But anger is not her true nature.
And so, I have experienced the wrongness of how she is chained from fear and how she rages against the chains and how she is frustrated that her true nature cannot be revealed while so ensnared.
    It feels like a paradox.  I have experienced masculine energy which invisibly provided a protective barrier to the feminine, and under those circumstances, the feminine was able to manifest as is her nature.  He did not judge her or contain her against her will, but held space.  What the masculine does so well.
 
  This is my attempt to explain what I experienced as mysterious and incomprehensible.

This is an infant attempt at healing a deep wound.

I glimpsed the perfection of the yoni.  I perceived it as source.  And from that, I was able to see everyone I could remember as myself.
      My singing yoni sang the world into existence.