In the middle of the desert is a river.
At the bottom of the river is a door.
On the other side of the door lies the answers to everything.
But to open the door, you have to reach it.
In order to reach it, you must get to the bottom of the river.
To get to the bottom of the river, you must die.
To die, you must drown.
In the middle of the desert is a river.
The river is a convoluted piece of work. I had begun to see the river in late 2011. However, I wasn’t in a good place to begin my work there. My stomach was in so much pain that I could barely function. My stress was through the roof. And the thought of working with Osiris and his episode at the river were almost more than I could handle. I think he sensed this, and he backed off… for a while.
Shortly before Wep Ronpet of this year, I found myself back at the river- O standing there, looking at me. He was calling me silently, asking me to come into the water with him. Telling me that it would be safe, for this is a safe place. And only through these means could things be fixed. I struggled with writing about this for months. I had written briefly when it started:
I must take my wounds and cut them open. To allow them to bleed and to heal properly this time around. Once again, Osiris leads me back to the water, he beckons me in, reminding me that this place is safe. That there is healing to be brought, and lessons to be learned. There is no way to embrace my light without facing those who told me I had no light within me. I can’t move forward unless I completely face, embrace and own my past. I have to remove the lies and see my actions, and their actions, for what they are – as well as for what they aren’t. Unfortunately, unlike a physical wound which requires one cut and waiting for the wound to empty, this will more than likely be a lot more drawn out. A lot more painful. Much like his own mythology, this process may involve tearing myself apart again so that I may be put back together properly. So that I may function correctly and as a whole person yet again.
Thus began the second half of this Cycle. A journey to the river that is laden with crack and weirdness, but ended up making me complete again. I didn’t really know what to expect. And I didn’t know where any of this was going. But I knew that only one path lay ahead- the river, and whatever lie inside of it, beyond it. Much like O staring his own death in the face- there was no avoiding it. To run would only delay the inevitable. Better to face the fear, the crazy, and jump in head long. So I took the plunge.
It started with getting rid of anger. When O managed to get me back to the river, I had amassed a huge pile of anger. And the first step was to eradicate it- which I did through the water. I’d throw water. Stomp on it. Sling it around. Hit it. And I did so for a few days- fairly non-stop (in my head). And then after a while, I realized the anger had left. I had no more left in me for that. And once the anger left, I was able to give way to acceptance and yield to the rivers movements. Only once the anger had left was I able to actually get to work.
If there is anything that seemed to symbolize the river the most, it was a piece of lapis. Every time I would show up at the river, O would place a piece of lapis in my right hand. To this day, I’m not entirely sure what it meant, but it seemed to be important. For the first few visits with him, he’d stand with me, hug me, drag me out to the center of the river, lay me back in the water, and place that lapis in my hand. I assume the initial work was healing. Preparing me for what lay ahead. Cleansing what could be cleansed in my current state.
And then the crack really started to flow.
I went through a series of visions and mental/astral adventures where I would either:
A. Find a part of myself
B. Have stones removed from me
In the case of point A, I’d be rocketed off to some location. And I’d find a version of myself- usually all messed up looking. I’d grab my portion of “me” and make my way back to the river. When this would happen, I would have these overwhelming emotions as I would take my parts, and walk into the water. I’d get into the middle, hold on tight, and fall backwards. Both portions of myself would sink to the bottom slowly. Drowning. Dieing. Succumbing to the water, the process, the death, the healing. And at the bottom, you’d reach the door, and it would open up and show you something.
Sometimes, I would see stars. Sometimes pain. Sometimes I’d just light up like a Christmas tree. It really depends. And each time is a little different. No recollected piece ever reacts exactly the same.
In the case of point B, usually O would be with me. Sometimes he’d cut me open. Sometimes a pre-existing orifice would be used. There was a time when I was sitting with him at the river. My stomach was killing me. I was frustrated and in pain. And he is standing there, looking at me. And all of a sudden- BAM! He just.. shoves his hand into my stomach and slowly pulls out these black shards that look like obsidian. One by one he draws them out of me, and then shatters them. And after he has pulled out what he can, he drags me into the water, where I fall back, sink, succumb, die, and the door would open.
The process- its similar every time, yet it’s different every time. Slowly but surely, O was helping me to find the pieces I had lost of myself. He was helping me to heal them, eradicate what I no longer needed, and merge with myself. He was slowly making me whole.
And then I hit a bump. A huge bump.
Other parts of this series: