She stood at the juncture; thumb out, heart at ease, tripping on sobriety. She had an epiphany. If ‘opposites’ are two sides of the same coin, they are the same thing. So maybe, god and the big bang are the same too. God must’ve blown herself up. There you go, then the god shrapnel scattered across it all. On the globe, the love/light shrapnel assembled itself thus creating life. You can see little glitters of love/light shrapnel in the peoples eyes. This is why we can not find god right now. God is in a disassembled form, but is spoken about in complete form. Complete was before, complete will be after, but now is a time for complexity, doubt and wandering. The same goes for destiny and free will. They exist side by side. Destiny is the graceful flowing life in which we unconsciously manifest and consciously perceive. Free will is the option to resist this, to choose to be unready for life, to show up with baggage, to get triggered, to forget to breathe. Free will is the option to manifest without preparation. To ask for something and then when its in your arms to question. Free will is the option to remove the lip piercing you were born to wear five or six times until the scar tissue won’t let you try again. Free will is the opposite of resolution. When you chose ‘free will’ you will surely find yourself in limbo. Still in this world but in a time and place never meant for you. Out of the universes loving bounds. You’ve shaken it all askew and it’ll take time for new portals to open. The universe is a creative problem solver, but as a mortal, the life cycle is finite, so chose life soon.
A beat-up boxy car rolls up with his smell. She’s going to Tofino to watch a storm. He suggests “usually girls are grateful to catch a ride.” She says “I am grateful” and looks out the window. She is stunning when she forgets to pack her pain. She refuses to stop endangering herself with penetrating eyes. She’s too intense sometimes. She gets dropped at many a site but never waits long. It’s night. After telling a trembling cheater she’s “not comfortable with that” nice little hug she ‘owes’ him, she walks to the beach. To a darkened steep. She descends slowly, the way she’d been asked to by hypnotherapist recordings. She huddles her spine inside the hollow of a big, sappy tree. “this tree is my shaman… this tree is holding space for me… I am safe in nature… I am here to watch a storm.” She pauses. The ocean is still. She starts to wonder how far this will go. She sets her alarm for eight hours from now and continues. “I am here to close my eyes, go inside, and see a storm. Please, show me nothing but a storm, everything I’ll need to see and know will be presented to me in the form of a storm… this tree is holding space for me.” A geometric criss-cross diamonds down the crown of her head. Hushing her. A second thought, ‘what if I come out with burning lungs from this cold night?’ After deciding it’s worth it she gathers her fingers together and starts again. The spell is much weaker now and after fifteen minutes she huddles into a warmer ball. Hours pass as she digs around helplessly in her healing pit. She has found more limbo. Calmly, but now quite wearily, she decides she needs fluids. She crawls out of her sanctuary and tiptoes to the corner-store for carbonated and coconut water, then heads back. The magic is gone, reality successfully dulled, all meaning is drained. Free will. She strolls, she sits on a swing set. She tries to forgive herself for being afraid to feel. For being afraid to heal. She follows the fairy lights into an unlocked lodge laundry room and makes a towel bed with an oven mitt pillow. In the morning she hitches to Victoria. The drivers she meets talk uninspiring topics (unlike the way up). Her vibrations are much lower now. She lets her mind go blank for hours as she and whoever pass in and out of scenes of every season. Then he asks her if she wasn’t afraid of bears sleeping in the bush. She says she forgot bears could swim. She is already wishing for silence as he explains how the island was once part of the mainland. But if you’re getting a free ride you ought to be the best company you can. So she is.
On a cold tile floor she perceives the white light bubble gum portal between their chests. With outward grace she tries to move away. Because if he were to so chose he could run head first into her being and then what would become of her? She is no horse and this is no chessboard. There are no L movements to make for which a diagonal line like this won’t reach. He pays no mind. There is plenty else going on and the air is warm. To act on only the form without the content produces nothing. So she learns true grace. The practice of viewing your destiny and knowing that as a human you will never fully be on that path. You can only move closer. This acceptance – grace.