I realize that the Orphan has come to feel she is an anomaly on this tear-stained Earth, so distant from the path of her Truth. Where is Soul? Orphan wonders, as she shape-shifts into the cocoon, swaying in an ancient melancholy ancient in the very marrow her bones. Laced somewhere in the cottony clouds? Written on powdery parchment? Or in the graphite shadows, of the cave’s charcoal hieroglyphs? Or as a flinty fossil anchored in Earth? 

Is that which imagined, intangible merely an abstraction, less real than the World story of concrete unfolding before her? I see that she still has Eastern Sage wisdom at the core of her being as she dives into Western Ocean with my essence of Oversoul, a great departure into deeper understandings, still wary, rightly so, of the danger lurking in this wandering, reasons into the weaving of a protective cocoon.

Orphan, engendering her creative Soul, gathered the fecund intricacies, from wild indigenous South, energy to shift from caterpillar adolescence to butterfly adulthood—of passionate imaginings, the itching of an exuberant evolutionary voice—a radicalization lifting the veils of daunting hypocrisy. Readying Self for the South-West journey to face the obsidian dragon threatening her existence, this Shape-Shifter enters the the Oversoul initiation.

To reclaim an Eco-humanism, Orphan rests, to let the moss return to the horizontal path, circling to wholeness of this vertical, mythopoetic part of the journey into her Rune space of cocooned isolation and separation readying a brave heart and on silvery cocoon walls, notes a sooty reflection, of corrupted Self, World, Earth, but shifts forward, with courage and determination,

In preparation, Orphan asks Mind, What shall I do? but Heart knows Mind has tricked her for some time now as the Trickster has ruled, so she lets go. The World beyond, still an abstraction of imagination, yet a future set by her embracing Consciousness—a truth that can only be known through the eyes watching the death of one way.

Then with a radical transformation into another—in time, she learns to listen to self-organizing metaphors, flowering archetypes of ethical, soulful, life-fulfilling potentials 
rooted in wholeness, not in wounds or thought pathologies but to know her solitude
to animate her imagination and see it as different from porcelain loneliness, and so, to be whole enough to honour the Others.

~ namastĂ©, Leah J. đź•Š

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