I have crawled under the flap in SouLodge for the next five weeks, or longer, judging by how long it usually takes me to go around the medicine wheel. It is time to swim down deep in the shadows, stir up the mud, let it blind my vision and ooze between all of my bodies. The form of my grief and shame and regret is that of a blob. It is sticky, black, tar-like and warty with pockets of gaseous and noxious bubbles. It covers my light, hides my smug superiorness. It traps my capabilities, squashes my confidence that everything is going to be alright. I blame it for all of my unhappiness, lack of confidence and lack of faith. I refuse to take responsibility for it. It is an aggressor and I am weak in its presence. I succumb. A victim to it. It numbs me and then I judge silently in my head. A harsher critic has never been known.
Owl came to me this week with messages of deception. Layers to peel back, with the prize of the centre nugget of truth revealed. Hornet and wasp have built my female warrior armour to take each one of these negatives spoken and alchemize them down to their own centre nuggets. It is going to be a long, and very interesting, autumn.