Dry cracked earth with a chamomile flower

Soul Tectonics

I feel deep changes rumbling within—quiet tectonic shifts deep within my psyche. Thunder rolling in my soul. Every now and then the surface quakes, ripples fan out so quickly they are easily missed. So quick—like the flash of a silvery fish in a deep, dark pool the color of night.

I’m aware that I’m in the crucible of an alchemical process. Soul alchemy. Burning away what’s old. Wreckage. Trash. Dead stuff. All that mind clutter. The pine cone bursts open in the piercing heat. The whole forest on fire, burning up the dry, dead stuff. The catalyst. The spark. Then the raging fire. Waves of fire rolling. A cleansing, horrible sea. Over lives. Through ourselves. Our hearts, souls, razed to the ground. Unseeing, unseen, a seed takes root, burrowing deep within the now fertile soil, rich with the remnants of an old life. The stuff of past lives. Old selves like dried-up stalks of grain, brittle and loose in the wind. What nourishes remains. What deadens, takes up space—waiting for new life—vanishes, transmuted.

(Photo by Алексей Мойса on Unsplash

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