Waist Lake

Collapse.  Flowing downwards and outwards into a puddle.  I can feel the essence of me, wanting to release, to flow down into collapse. Icy blue, clear liquid.  Strangely (or not so strangely) reminds me of vodka.  Liquidy, but viscose.

I fear that to let go means to collapse into the other.  To fall apart, let go of all the boundaries and containment, flow out into a puddle, and let someone else contain me in.  The ache for the comfort of someone else’s arms to scoop me up and hold my essence together.  It gets awfully tiring holding it all together myself.  I’m too weak, too fragile, too small.  I’m the ethereal myth.  The glass unicorn.

To hold on means striving, willing that essence strictly upwards.  The fear of letting go is immense, and I wasn’t even conscious of it.

On one side, there exists heated red energy directed upward; it is controlling, containing, holding.  Constantly moving forward, learning, growing, facing the battle.  There will be no collapse!  The opposing force is liquid, clear blue, wanting so very badly to fall down to earth, to be let go of, to spread out.

In combination.... First one, then the other. Back and forth, back and forth, until the edges blur.  A misty purple appears.  Heat flowing down one leg, cold flowing up the opposite arm.   From upward and downward, they meet in the middle, and go – outward.  Suddenly, I have a lake encircling my waist perfectly contained as if in a big white ceramic bowl.  A lake in a bowl, and I’m in the middle.  Suddenly, I realize, I can let go without collapse.  I can spread out within my own containment, without needing to become a victim and make someone else pick up the pieces. 

Floating on my back, propelled around the lake by my legs, kicking lazily.  My arms behind my head, nonchalantly.  And for the moment, I like being all alone in my lake.