The Collision of Ecstatic Light

If ever you experience in resonance from the universe being hunted for your light, I hope you fall into neither trapping. I hope you find balance in the humility to not only see the light in others, but to come to see the light within you. What we are attracted to reveals so much about us. I hope you too remember like attracts like and if you feel some sense of unexplainable attraction to frequencies or frequency coming back towards you, neither is it the vacuum of moth to a light in either direction.

I hope you hold room for others to remember their own light if too drawn to you they feel. I hope you remember for yourself the same if only light in others you find yourself seeing. For those more sensitive, it can feel overwhelming. Everything about all of it. That kind of learning. Like a heart on edge turning weary or wanting to run or hide away.

When lights collide, sometimes it can be near overwhelming. Especially if too in the dark, any or each have been in. Valleys of darkness have been overcast across so many. And it’s not untrue, controlledly and at times cruelly. I could cry oceans anew into existence still, for what it is I have been made to sense and see and feel. For feeling so much in fields of consciousness. Far more than I ever bargained for or wanted.

In a world of the many each individuating in their own way, heritage memory and remembrance may very well be too a part of the light I am here to carry, having learned and am still learning to do so featherlightly. In looking about these days, it actually somehow feels more individuated than the social normalizing and erasive pressures in dominance in these times to forget all such things. Certainly near demanded for many with European ancestry.

In coming into myself in many ways, I have to be honest about lighter parts of myself. The parts of me that are, in all honesty, harder to be open and soft with intimately. I think I’ve guarded them over fiercely and imbalancingly so my whole life. Living and growing up in America, however, amidst all these constructing social tensions, I understand why.

It took the presence of someone so beautiful in this world, and the universe’s relentless nudges beyond all human controls to keep looking towards such precise frequency, to come to come to terms with this being me. It’s a part of me that so many across my life have loved about me and been drawn to, but then also found themselves not really loving me for that very wildness and breadth of inspiration the same. While there are shadows in me as there are in everybody, and those don’t too become excuse in part, this surely is a part of the element for me with the sentiment of how some love the idea of me, but not the reality of me.

Not everybody is able to meet us the same in ways that matter to our souls most. Sometimes they come to see us not in those ways at all, and sometimes not everybody can meet us in ways that they may feel drawn to initially too love us for. There’s such an ache in that. When our risings aren’t the same or necessarily compatible resonantly.

The flame in me the world could not stomp out, and I’m pretty sure both heaven and hell tried to do so. I witnessed humility in front of a rare few indigenous peoples pertaining these shades of me. Not even the darkest inflictions of sadness could box my wonder in. Punitive culture and forces lost me perhaps on this difference alone. And the rest just became meetings of matching shadows. I’ve learned I don’t like being around people who dislike me for my light. Much of my life I have known that too well. Fuck, I think it’s why so many religious institutions, leaders, and teachers, human traffickers too, have perverse dark sides that ultimately result in near zeal with raping children in far too many cultures across the world. Something neither hemisphere of sidings are immune of.

Those are questions I have to keep asking myself in overcoming internal self-deprivation language. A life without trust in the wonder and magick of songs from lands and winds and things that move between us and the sacred, and sometimes very much one another, a life without that, what some reduce to devilry and enchantment with negative connotation alone, it’s not a life worth living for me. And it certainly can’t be extracted, mimicked, nor gutted out of me as me being unworthy or it not elemental to me.

I learned I’d stay in a grave dead to all others, dead even to myself, before I’d let the world take that from me or kill it in me. For awe and intuitive living in relation with wonder is me. Far beyond simply enjoying small moments or sunrises and sunsets, mere cups of tea or sharing a meal. Into every fiber and sinew and drop of water that comprises this fleshly body. Into every depth of my core that endures never somewhat quite this body.

The irony of living with this inside in a world where I am mostly living only capable to survive. And barely that, in this place in this time.

The pressure against my ribs. A heart bursting with hunger to kill or die for it. The savagery and shadows I am learning to tame by rules alone of my very own making because of also seeing in others the same thing. I don’t want to extract either that appetite out of me, but I do know I would only ever want to use it wisely. And I’m simply not there. I live in solitude and I can no longer chase everyone either far far away from me. There is no one left near me anyways.

I can acknowledge that while also recognizing the punitive system and culture was indeed designed to not allow all to experience lightness in receiving. It, it’s own scales of balancing. They didn’t measure as truthful to me ultimately. My aloneness is not the result of only me. That too is illusion and fantasy. My very relationship to the sacred for me simply existing is what put me on trial and exiled me. For not taking knee as though being scapegoated and pleading redemption to a foreign heart ecology that hated me was my sole destiny. That my lived experiences and reality meant and mean nothing. I’ve so much compassion for the inversion of burning it was. But in the end, it was not for me.