Tempting Transformation at a Train Station
Sometimes transformation comes in sudden vibrant bursts of revelation, and sometimes transformation creeps up around forgotten corners and in unexpected moments. Today, transformation billowed in on a spring breeze at an Appalachian train station.
After a winter of weaving as a recluse I seem to have finally wrapped my head around the idea of a new year and sent a grief-filled goodbye to the year past. A year of mother woumbs witnessed, felt, and re-woven. A year of towers crumbling and translation tangled and knotted.
While resting and waiting at a train station for my hubband who always refuels my heart, I reclaimed the bliss and unexpected blessings of the year that broke me and rebuilt me.
Blooming friendship with soul family that sees and values me as I am, instead of for what I can do.
Remembrance of soul bonds I once didn’t believe I deserved.
Dissolution of memories falsified and fractured to reveal experiences of play and joy and power.
Anchoring of the Astral and Earthen roots of MacroSymposium: the macrocosmic business expression of my soul’s brightest boldest dreams.
The weaving of a deeper Ward & Reclaim of my soul and that which is intimately and intricately mine.
My recommitment to practicing imperfection, playful presence, and artistic celebrations:
Like nurturing my green thumb and growing a small foliage forest (even if it has to be hidden behind a bookshelf built-in cage - kept safe from ravenous cat chomping)
Growing my hair out for the first time in a decade and rocking a queerly magnificent mullet - simply because I can
Traipsing through the woods and portal hunting in the mountains to soothe and root my soul
Painted simply to paint and bought sketch books with no plan but to create
Napped on my back porch and sung my sorrows to the neighborhood birds
Took myself less seriously (which comically and cosmically reclaimed more of my authentic soul authority)
So it was while percolating and pondering over these playful but potent power restorations that I realized how much transformation I’d unexpectedly tempted into my blood and bones and being. How much had transformed in the moments I was napping under my primordial portal projector and convincing my anxious programmed parts-of-soul that my solitude wasn’t silly but sacred - not lazy but luxury reclaimed.
The texture and tone of my transformation was tiramisu temptation and tinsel tenacity.
So as the train rolled through a shadow-veiled tunnel and my happy handsome hubband arrived home, I glowed with joy, my heart felt lighter, and I found that my hope for the revolution of humanity burned brighter - all on the other side of a billowing spring breeze of transformation at an Appalachian Train Station.
How would you describe the texture or tone of your most recent transformation?