February . 2024
One awake, one asleep ~
There are to sides to you
you like a moon
you like a copper coin
you with your in
you with your out.
One side sees what
the other doesn’t.
But the sides are yours
& once you know this then
you become the third side:
the one who weaves between worlds.
𓇊
February: a bleary month ahead.
Bleary like how this morning I kept hitting “snooze” on the alarm beside my bed & I did this several times before eventually I had to get up, get out from under the covers.
I feel no shame in this, I needed more sleep. I took it.
I took it even with a vibrant bell going off every fifteen minutes that jolted me awake. That damned jolly alarm bell saying: the morning is all light now, come on, let’s get up, let’s get going. My heavy hand pressing a button to shush it until later.
But here’s the thing: I had the most vivid & strange dreams in the bleary patch between the morning bell & the heavy hand of sleep.
Something about tobacco flowers out in the old garden, I see them from the broken kitchen window & I am showing them to Adrian’s little sister.
Something about my mother saying to me in the yellow light of a room with cupboards “si moi” & I telling her that makes no sense.
Something about one half of my front tooth breaking & falling out & there’s nothing to be done about it, nothing but to leave it like that—half a moon in my mouth.
𓇊
I don’t need to dissect these right now, I think the point I am trying to make is this:
If you were to treat the year like a creature, then this time of the year (Imbolc, as many call it, Candlemas is another name, etc.) would be the bleary time. The time when deep sleep (winter) is jostled. When we become conscious that it is time to really wake up soon (spring). This is when we sit smack-dab in the liminal & are aware of it & so these strange things swim up to us. Things like tobacco flowers, mothers, moons in mouths; a broken window, broken French, a broken tooth.
When we are conscious of the subtle patterns in our lives. When we all of a sudden are made aware of what has previously been hidden from us. When the lightbulb of cognition is lit. Then, then: there is this beautiful work that happens—integration. We change. Or, we get the choice to. Once we know, we cannot un-know & isn’t that something?
Integration is the product of our own, individual weaving. I imagine we have a great loom within us—each of us, our own loom. Mine is made of cherry wood & the hands that work at it are well worn but nimble.
Integration is an act/action, as is weaving. And you need supplies for it. A framework to weave upon (your own understanding) & threads to weave with (information from your internal & external realities).
This month, you become the secret third thing.
The woven.
𓇊
It won’t happen overnight, it won’t always go smoothly, but it will happen & go all the same.
The key is: you must still balance rest & quietude with that damned ringing of the bell. You must stay steady & not rush.
There is much to integrate right now, you’ll understand the why the what later.
Stay bleary, friends. Just a little while longer.
𓇊
Now, onto the almanac…
Enjoy ~
T A S T E
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