“When your eyes are tired, the world is tired also. 

When your vision is gone, no part of the world can find you. 

It is time to go into the dark, where the night has eyes to recognize its own,

so the outer horizon of the unknown is now in dialogue with the inner horizon of the unknown…that deep and dazzling darkness inside of you.”   

-David Whyte

Where are we when “no part of the world can find us?” 

Some traditions call this existence of excavation and initiation, the liminal. Some call it purgatory (for the living,) some call it simply, living. 

My tired eyes have filtered my vision–the world is tired also.  When I move through this tired-eyed version of living, I am initiated not through fire, but some other golden serum.

The world feels like honey.

Not the luscious,  sensual,  drippy, goldenglue that binds us to delight—but the process: the honey being made. 

Where are we when we are being made through initiation?

Where are we in the relentless transport of nectar from pollen spores?

Where are we in the breaking down into the simplest of sugars and sounds, no other utterances except that of three-word sentences: I am sad?

Where are we when we step into the call of constant fanning, as winged guards in striped uniform–the never-ending duty to wing one’s wings so that we answer nature’s call to evaporate any last ounce of unnecessary form until ONLY the sweet gold is left?

Relentless pursuit of evaporation with those fanning wings has my eyes tired, my core stiff. 

I am guarded and guardian in this place.

I am winged creature and the call to wing in this place.

I am the goldenglue and the process of fanning into creation in this place.

I am the simple sugars and the breaking down in this place.

Nothing can enter here—except “the darkness with its eyes to recognize its own.”