just after a meditation session

I feel like writing. I sit here, silent and still, opening myself one door at a time. With a silent flourish, I am throwing myself open – to the universe, to the muse, to the magic, to the words… and I am waiting to be overcome and flooded with them and their variousness.

Every being within me is opening with synchronized clicks and whirls. Latches slide themselves open. Locks drop out of place. Lost keys are found and hinges swing freely. My eyes, my arms, my body itself… every fold of my flesh, every half-born idea in my head, every green vein, every fragile tear, every eyelash on my eyes seem to be opening wider and wider… welcoming the change that is to come… welcoming the world that is to settle inside me soon… for it is somewhere near, I feel it close by… a newness, an entirely new, unimagined soulfulness… a new soul… I hear it whisper to me in those moments between sleep and wakefulness… I see it from the corner of my eye, slipping away between the folds of white linen clouds and wisps of air before I can turn to look at it completely…

Perhaps I am not ready yet. But I am opening. One pore at a time. I am opening.

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