sacred and profane

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day…

who remembers when this practice, this journey i’m on is a wild one. a real wild one. circle emotions, dancing in spiral. cellular beings bumping into one another, leaving parts and smudges of themselves on the other. opened awareness, awakened sense, remembered hurts, pains, and traumas. split wide open.

is that where the profane lives?
is this where the sacred embodies us?

way deep down below the depths of our bellies? through the small intestine caverns and straight past the wake of large intestine and colon. into the vastness of our hip bowls, way down deep into the muscle and fascia and tissue. is this where the sacred and the profane reside, sitting nestled side-by-side, creating comfort for each other, brother and sister, way down there all alone, where it’s dark, peaceful, and no boogie monsters can jump out at you. consoling each other, befriending each other, keeping each other nurtured, and well, and alive.

the sacred and the profane.

when-where is it that they rise to the surface. at times when the self creates opportunity for a solo mission, for deep dives and rescues. profanity in an instant, then too is it that the sacred is still left nestled in a sinewy mess. or, is it they always come in pairs, always travelling together no matter the mission, or the excavation, or the destination. do we leave them burrowed in pussy, open, swollen sores atop our skin, easy to reach for and available from the top of the menu selection: the bosom of the banquet selection.

my sacred and profane, this seems to be an accurate picture of my own sacred and profane. profanity easier to reach for than the sacred; the sacred slips through my lips with ease more times than not, direct draw from the belly of the ethers above. yet too, there is not one without the other. there cannot be a sacred without a profane. in my experience, the more profane my life becomes, the clearer i am able to see the sacred all around me.

yellow kayak against baby soft, brown sand.
sacred.

baby owl screeches to brother owl in the forest, mama owl swoops away to distract me from her brood.
sacred.

sunshine strokes and laps at the dancing freckles upon my skin.
sacred.

baby deer with mama doe meander past my window munching on sweet salal.
sacred.

firm, cool steering wheel under my hand, open road ahead of me, i feel the hum and purr of siarah, my rav4, where her rubbery paws meet the pavement.
sacred.

bees continue to buzz around me in circles, in the forest, walking down a path to the beach.
sacred.

birds begin to flock in unison, in rhythm, in perfect divine harmony.
sacred.

brilliant blues, gorgeous greens, radiant reds, blaze into my eyes, saturating me in new and exciting ways.
sacred.

the smell of cedar through the forest, salt water air sticking sweetly to the hairs in my nose, rose blossoms wafting sensually in a garden.

wild.
open.
free.

the sacred and profane are a divine harmony.

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