Calling Her Home

Write from your fire dragon; write as if no one is listening; write as if humanity depended upon it, even if they never hear one word. Just write. - Husband

Those words ignited something within. Turned up the heat. Sent me searching, again, to go beyond that space between the mind and the heart, to the space that resides within the dark womb. My Soul’s home. She has felt far away as of late. I have missed Her.

Our current times have sent Her deep into the underworld. She has been cocooning, waiting to be called upon. Yes, I am speaking about my Soul and yes, I am referring to Her, as a she. And, so be it.

I am here, showing up to the call. Listening to the roar of the underworld as it prepares to emerge from its incubating slumber. Hardly asleep however. Rather, attuning in the quietude. Paying attention, like the wolf that She is, to the most subtle of cues that will resurrect Her from the collective trance. No, better yet, that will break Her free from the collective trance, bursting through the mind fuckery and claiming stake with one fiery dragon breath that burns the bullshit to ground, so something new can be born out of the ashes. It is time. And She knows it.

If not now, when? If not you, who?

Oh, the precision of discernment is called upon here. The slightest wrong move, wrong time, wrong word, wrong song, wrong gender, wrong race could abort it all, resulting in the stillbirth of what longs to be known. Hung, once again. Did she learn Her lesson through the wheel of time? Or, rather, the lessons she learned are imprinted into Her biology clenching Her throat shut with fear, as if strangled by a ghost from the far away past. Overcoming this imprint is Her salvation.

Something is eerily familiar, the patterns are the same. She is sniffing it out, remembering within Her bones, the ancestors of Her collective past. The cycle of life and death, spinning faster and faster, as she moves closer to breaking the spell that was casted many moons ago.

Remember, damn it. Re-member. Weave the tapestry of Life itself. Thread yourself into it. She knows that the human mind will never find the way out of the madness. The human mind, the ego-mind, is a place holder. Holding steady until the Soul comes home. We are in another great calamity and something about this time, feels different. Key word: feel. Perhaps it has always felt this way when humanity sits on the precipice of a quantum change?

She wants to move mountains and drum in the thunder in hopes to shake awake the Soul of humanity. Peel away the layers of illusion that have entrapped the minds of the masses and stand there, in the horrors, as the grief floods the rivers again. Bring on the tears that call Her home. Stepping outside of the wounds that scar her biology, releasing the stories that keep Her enslaved; unzipping the tightly woven fabric that has encapsulated her body. Hanging Her body over there, as she walks naked into the darkness. Unbound, unprinted, unleashed. She is wild.

From the dark womb emerges the stillness in light. Birth is an embodied experience that is wild by nature. We have domesticated birth and we have infantilized death. Frozen in fear, we have locked up that which is alive within. The call is loud, but the way is hidden from sight, behind the fog of confusion. Watching and waiting, buried behind this invisible cloak. She is being called home.

If not now, when. If not you, who?