On the very beginning of checking my ability to write in english I told myself that it would be the best if I'll keep it only in the section About me on this blog. I didn't promise though. I usually keep my promises. That's the reason why I don't usually promise. Vows are spoken to create complications. So Chandlers floodgates are opened, nothing can stop the flow of my emotions covered lightly in words. For now.
This is the story about the last time when I was comming back from the city. Even though my purse stayed loaded, little foxies hit my blood with their sweet charm. And I was sitting on one of the very back seats when it came. Spontaneously. With no effort. With no desire for it. I felt that weird taste in my mouth, like if everything inside suddenly swell. I was afraid to touch my teeth by the tongue. Because I knew that feeling. And I knew it very well. From the nights during the full moon, when one of my spiritual parts leaves the body. But before it is able to escape, it feels like my physical self really wants to change itself too. To shapeshift.
This might be very personal. And mad. I saw the tower in the dark, the main point for my orientation here around. Bus driver switched on the lights and I hid my face pretending I'm sleeping so he can't see on the camera how my body screams when I'm trying not to let my soul to leave me here without a fasten seatbelt. I felt my feet, vibrating and twisted, my palms in such a pulsing pain, my back skin scratched down, torn muscles, scarred heart, everything ready to explode. Lights switched off. Breath in, breath out. Out.
Faaak, I was looking into that tiny wolves eyes. She was sitting on the floor. Calmly. No bloodlust. I was wondering if this is real, because usually, as you could read on one among my old blogs about the whole spiritual adventure that is happening behind the gates of common human life, there is some kind of need. Need to touch and taste. With a smell of the chemical wedding in the air. Nice, you definitely mastered the level of being wild but still a good girl. Welcome to the painting showing myself freaked out and relaxed in the same moment.
It is said during some rituals, that wolves can never be rich. But their souls will always be one of the richest in Midgard, because they are those whose hearts are filled with the Nature in all her beautiful changes and variations. Those whom much is given. And maybe you know that Bible guy, Luke, who would tell you what is happening to gifted creatures. Because all magic comes with a price.
My today's fairytale is about deadly transformation, about a shifting which was connected nor with a moon phase nor with a dream nor with blood. I called her back inside in a meditative state of mind. And it worked. I was surprised that it actually did. I went home a bit shaky, fragile. Aware of the trigger, of the gift that I mentioned in one of my lately written posts. It may come again and, which is even more interresting, I'm sligtly able to guess the circumstances.
Hi cub, I really like you. Albeit your story is risky to say.
This is the story about the last time when I was comming back from the city. Even though my purse stayed loaded, little foxies hit my blood with their sweet charm. And I was sitting on one of the very back seats when it came. Spontaneously. With no effort. With no desire for it. I felt that weird taste in my mouth, like if everything inside suddenly swell. I was afraid to touch my teeth by the tongue. Because I knew that feeling. And I knew it very well. From the nights during the full moon, when one of my spiritual parts leaves the body. But before it is able to escape, it feels like my physical self really wants to change itself too. To shapeshift.
This might be very personal. And mad. I saw the tower in the dark, the main point for my orientation here around. Bus driver switched on the lights and I hid my face pretending I'm sleeping so he can't see on the camera how my body screams when I'm trying not to let my soul to leave me here without a fasten seatbelt. I felt my feet, vibrating and twisted, my palms in such a pulsing pain, my back skin scratched down, torn muscles, scarred heart, everything ready to explode. Lights switched off. Breath in, breath out. Out.
Faaak, I was looking into that tiny wolves eyes. She was sitting on the floor. Calmly. No bloodlust. I was wondering if this is real, because usually, as you could read on one among my old blogs about the whole spiritual adventure that is happening behind the gates of common human life, there is some kind of need. Need to touch and taste. With a smell of the chemical wedding in the air. Nice, you definitely mastered the level of being wild but still a good girl. Welcome to the painting showing myself freaked out and relaxed in the same moment.
It is said during some rituals, that wolves can never be rich. But their souls will always be one of the richest in Midgard, because they are those whose hearts are filled with the Nature in all her beautiful changes and variations. Those whom much is given. And maybe you know that Bible guy, Luke, who would tell you what is happening to gifted creatures. Because all magic comes with a price.
My today's fairytale is about deadly transformation, about a shifting which was connected nor with a moon phase nor with a dream nor with blood. I called her back inside in a meditative state of mind. And it worked. I was surprised that it actually did. I went home a bit shaky, fragile. Aware of the trigger, of the gift that I mentioned in one of my lately written posts. It may come again and, which is even more interresting, I'm sligtly able to guess the circumstances.
Hi cub, I really like you. Albeit your story is risky to say.