I have a writing group in my town, full of amazing women. I started the group with the purpose of going deeper in the work through writing, but none of the people who came are in the work.
We have been meeting for two years now. Nothing about it was what I'd expected.
I feel shy talking about it for some reason. Shy about admitting that what it is for me, among many many things, is an opportunity to hold a space, to be a leader, create a container in which growth can occur for each one of us, in very personal ways.
The funny thing is, mostly I write about the work.
Where I am in it, what my struggles are. Whatever.
Lots of love poemy stuff to the Divine.
This is something I wrote last time, directly related to a dream I had where I was in a Pathfinder with the Animus with no skin.
( The prompt for the writing group was "To find me still in the doorway.")
***
All these years, and whooop, there's a new ledge to go over, an ungraceful drop. I am grateful for the challenge of leaping.
When I am with you, I feel like the inside of lungs, bathed in blood and sunlight, phlegm an tears. Spongy scillia moving, curious and impolite.
You love me most when I'm inside-out like this.
Skinless and not pretending.
I want to re-create you inside me. I want to wear your neck as a necklace, your scalp as a hat.
I love when you whisper in my heart like you do, all light blue velvet and warm water. I asked you to come and it took me this long to get to where you've been waiting. So patient with me, so good-humored.
When I tell you I am sorry it's taken me so long to be with you like this, to lay with my skin off and head in your lap, it hurts so much. I feel sorry from the deepest place I have, and the hurt I feel makes me scream and shake, makes me happy and terrified.
I don't know what anything is, or how to live in this world as I am. I just know I want to be with you, and I can feel you here, wanting to be with me. I need you to show me what to do next.