Throughout-It-All. x

Her Most Secret Desire

Yesterday, I opened as a vessel to carry-be carried by Our Lady of the Wildwood - the Goddess of Wildwood witches - during an intimate Midsummer rite in the medieval city of Montpellier in the south of France, where two beautiful Wildwood witches live.

As usual, I barely remember a thing - which is often how it goes for me when I return from trance possession - but today this finished coming through me and it feels to me similar to how the Lady felt around me when I returned to my consciousness in the circle between the worlds and cried tears of awe.

…

If, throughout it all, you fall in love, you fall through love, into the tumbling-raucous universe of it all... and if somehow you get caught up in the thorns and lost in the labyrinth... and if somehow you wander through the forest of things and lose all your words or have too many - then you are part of life. Let that life carry you. Let her eat you whole. Let yourself become like Her - fierce and unrelenting.

And sometimes She is unrelenting, horribly so. And it seems ceaseless and terrible and the thorns are no kisses, but stabs, stones that crush and injure, and it feels as if we have been betrayed, or else betrayed.

But our existence is never a betrayal, our breath is not ashamed, we are not deceptions, illusions, or smears in the cosmos. We are whole and holy. And there will never be any answer to the ceaseless horrors of the built-up rot of what humans do to humans, nor will there be any answer suitable or good enough to explain why we can love so profoundly, so wonderfully, and how we can hurt and maim and disturb the way of things...

We all inherit our lives and our living, in essence, is goodness. Goodness/Godness in the fullness of it all. Throughout it all. We are those last three words, brilliantly self-singly and next to one another colliding, making love, creating something different than before. Throughout. It. All. Is our name.

Drenched. You and I are drenched. Drenched in the hauntedness of the longing that turns the indescribable into the intimate. Be here with Me, for a while, She whispers. For a while, remember that you are welcome to stretch out and play unadorned or adorned, as if these things were somehow different. Dress in the luminous darkness of existence, dress and dance in the veils that seemingly separate this from that, but instead enact kisses and ellipses who propel us into perils we dare not ask for.

Holy. Holy. Holy. We have not been betrayed. Our incorporation is not sin. Our wholeness is not a question, nor does it demand an answer. Instead, there is a pure, vast, wild, tumbling, quickening in the heart of creation unending. And Her Most Secret Desire has always been your breaking open to behold Her-You-Us-Always. X

Photography: Ammar Jamal.
https://www.instagram.com/a_horizon_line/