Death is always seen with awe, as if the great devourer that destroys everything. Well, actually it is. But there must be, because life has value. There is physical death, but I fear the most emotional one that destroys a human being from within minandolo before his body disappears. But there is also the initiation death, to cross the narrow door if you want to pursue the path.
Moreover, the Womb of the Goddess is the cradle of rebirth.
My descent is obscure, difficult, more so now that after the earthquake. I do not seek comfort. This
my virtual diary is a place where I leave, like stones to mark the road at night, my thoughts.
There are slow, deep changes in my life, which are gaining ground as the plow that needs to be ripped up the land and turn it around if he wants to prepare the seed bed to the right.
And I'm here. I do not know how and then it does not matter.
Life is a flow day after day of this timeless eternity that stretches up and down the spiral of time, embedded, such as wires, in the web of Wyrd, which, as Argante says well, which fortunately had in my life, we need to become Weavers as well as LAN.
Here, the lady who sits in the frame in his dark cave and beats time with the rhythmic beat of his cards is the one at whose side, sit down, now, the darkness, a darkness that frightens, which collects and preserves, in the silence regeneration, which is the wounds and healthy before returning to light. Fruitful
descent at all.
0 comments:
Post a Comment