TITRATION

I’m grieving the death of my Mother. Not the one who birthed me, in her living being and body. But the one that lived in my dreams.

I treasured a lovely image of her, the one I designed in my sleep. It kept me enclosed and warm in womb-space, protected from the elements, but also, from breathing life itself.

I kept this lovely picture of my her hanging in the sacred rooms of my heart, but the reflection of her likeness was simply a cherished ideal. This myth was written from avoidance of the infinite well of my own, personal, maternal love.

This happened after life activated a systemic upgrade; while I traversed a totally and seemingly unrelated cryptographic maze of pain. Then, and only then, was I catapulted through a sacred threshold. A threshold into the mystery, and into love.

As I continually waken from the dream, I oscillate from falling back into the field of fables, and my growing capacity to accept reality; compassionately titrating both the deep sense of loss and the deeper-rooted sense of freedom, and possibilities.

I have the code now. It is based on original ancestral instructions imbedded in the cosmic spiral of the infinite. It’s a simple key that unlocks the mystery, and gives access to the soul.

The key is simple, yet the code must be remembered, and remembered, time and again. The remembering must be lived as real, through the limbs of the body, arms and legs, extending outward but stemming from firmly planted roots.