Knowing Myself: Being at One with Truth.
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I made myself of the mud of the earth and the waters that run in the rivers.
I took the stars from the skies and pressed them into myself, along with flowers I had found along the paths through the great mountains and forests. The paths which the hermits and the elders and medicine-men and women walked: the sacred trails. I found skin taken from the white wolf and draped it along my shoulders, and found the lightning and thunder in the skies, which I took into my hands.
In the core of the earth, I found wisdom, which I took into my belly. I then sought to be whole, so I looked for love and lay with men and women until I could sense it… but I did not. I drank of their wine, and ate of their bread, and danced until my feet would not carry me any longer, and the sun was birthed anew along the mountain ranges. And still I had not found love.
In darkness and aloneness I drank medicine, thick and awful-tasting, from a large wooden cup, which told me only to keep looking. I let the elderly women of the tribes surround my body with sage-smoke and sing the medicine songs that had been passed down to them for generations, and yet I felt nothing. Only the eternal pit of longing and emptiness, loneliness beyond what I thought I could bear.
My skin did not feel like my own, my body, not a home. I felt vile, and rage took me as his victim. Only until I was drenched with my own sorrow and loathing did I look into the river to meet my own eyes, only then could I think clearly. And when I did so, when I met my reflection and my eyes were firmly peering into the depth of what I had brought from beyond, my immortal soul, did I find love.
I felt it deep within the indefinable essence that was my being. The one that had draped the white wolf’s skin and picked the stars and walked the paths to find other things. The one that now saw how love was the root of all things. And how it was in the small animals, and the creeks and the streams, the birds that welcomed the dawn, and the fires that licked the skies at night.
It was the people and their villages, the berries on which they feasted and the heat in which they lay with each other at night — soft moans of pleasure slipping from their lips like sweet prayers into the heavens. And so balance came to me — a graceful and gentle peace took root in my heart and my breath, how sweet! It moved in and out of me with the pulse of life.
It moved through me with the electricity of being at one with truth: creation. It felt good, and simple, and was made of love. The love that I had found. Just myself and the Universe sharing one body. Sanctuary and bliss. Liberation. Completion.
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Nynne Nielsen is a seeker, undergoer and overcomer. You could contact her via Instagram.
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