A writer fabricates a narrative by linking events together. Every story is coloured and defined, a comedy or tragedy, depending on how the writer interprets events and the connections between them. Without this, there is no story, only a landscape of disparate words. A landscape that is broad, infinite and mysterious, just as our inner landscape is one of divine magic and mystery.
To accept that inner magical landscape, we must abandon the idea of making any sort of connection between one idea and another. We grasp nothing.
Opening ourselves up to the mystical landscape of our soul and its wordlessness, that is the greatest healing.
Words don’t go far enough. There’s magic in words, they are spells, hence ‘spelling’, but for deep healing we have to get beyond words and into the abstract. We need to bypass the intellect which gets caught up with words. What’s called for is a deeper, wordless knowing.
That’s the kind of healing journey I’ve been on, the kind that heals from within, the only holistic healing there is. The kind that teaches you that everything exists inside you, everything. And it’s no longer words, it’s knowing.
When you’re reborn through that kind of healing, you are born to yourself. You are your own mother and you are foetus and newborn babe all at the same time. You are all that you ever were, are now and will ever be. Nothing is the same from that moment on. And there’s really nothing left to say.
So it is, this is my last post. My blog is ending here and now, this website will soon be taken down. Those who need me will find me, the universe will take care of that.
One day, there may be a new website, but right now, nothing more needs to be spoken, nothing is waiting to be said. I have entered that inner, magical landscape and from here, I am learning to paint my truth without words.