To cling fearfully against these familiar crumbling walls, or lean into thin air and windward ways- this is the decision, again and again, cycle upon cycle, layer under layer. Destruction lies ahead either way. That is her way- to dismember, dissolve, deconstruct. For she is both fecundity and barren lands; leeching the last drops of moisture from desolated ground, ferocious in her thirst.
But her destruction is a sacred one, not reckless violence for the sake of violence. No. She is tearing down every falsity, every illusion, every hidden hurt that becomes just one more excuse to retreat from the knowledge of Who I Am, and Who I Have Always Been, in any and all lifetimes.The fluttering I feel at my core is the first subtle movements of recognition beginning to grow and take hold.