The past few days I've been of low energy, probably because I have a wee case o' pink eye. I started feeling sluggish on Sunday night truth be told, and I carried myself around feeling "unnecessarily" burdened. I'm so quick to judge myself.
As I've noted in the last cycle of poems on this blog (my interruption of the "6 Death Pantheon" cycle), I've had to address a very common situation of late, that being my aversion to cleaning my own house. My boyfriend made certain choices a couple of weekends ago that amounted to manipulating us to not spend anytime at my house that weekend. I confronted him about it the next day, and while he acknowledged his manipulation, he was just as clear that he didn't like to be at my place because of the level of squalor I'm comfortable with. While I can rationalize this all sorts of ways, the thing I still needed to face was the pain of this realization, and the pain is complicated.
There's something really disturbing and primal behind my reluctance to clean up after myself. I've been doing little things over the past few days--scrubbed the kitchen floor one day, the bathtub the next, swept the floor of my 'droom today--with the intention of "sweeping the temple" as one Jungio-gnostica has described. That orientation to sacralizing the ordinary has helped quite a bit.
I'm sure that some day soon the deep, dark primal energy will make itself known inside my space, but on some level I'm creating a container for that Familios-like being to emerge. (Or will it be more like Saporis or the demon-turned-angel I encounted at the CBE workshop at Easton last August?) Having approached the broom, the dustpan, the mop and the bucket (and it now occurs to me that I need to BLESS these implements), I am enlarging my sphere in ways I don't even know. It's odd, but I feel that over the past ten days or so, as I've aligned my triple soul a la Starhawk/Thorn Coyle, I am noticing that my Sticky One and my Talking Self are blazing white. I seem to be aurically all aglow for some reason, perhaps because something true and appropriate and potent is taking root inside me as I root myself in my world--O Albany! indeed!
Today as I walked to work, I felt that everything I'm doing and that others are doing is mysteriuosly sacred, even those people who are sitting in front of their TV sets watching Beelweh-Yahzebub knows what and stuffing their faces with non-food, or those people who are actively plotting to sever us all from our inalienable rights (and to forbid the ocean from manifesting wetness in the process and ordering the desert to grow networks of hydrangea next to cactus and morning glories, and, oh yeah, forcing me into heterosexuality).
I wonder if this is how Dumbledore must have felt on his good days.
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