The Rite of Reconstruction
The story of my soul made myth
This is a story I’ve held inside of me for over ten years. A mythos all of my own, a key that I’ve only used to unlock myself now. I give it freely to you.
There’s a limal world where all is in coherence. Bliss is the air.
As an author I loved this place, and wanted to write about it, but truly, only one story emerged. I would think..stories need conflict…how can there be conflict in such a place as this? And then it came to me...
There is a rite of passage all here must do before becoming fully merged with coherence. The adolescent beings are taken to a holy place, on consecrated ground. Without knowing why, or what is to become of them, they are placed into a machine of sorts, one that changes their brain patterns…placing their consciousness inside a simulation, one made from themselves. They are everything inside the simulation, all forms, all dimensions, all in totality. Their own infinity inside the void.
And their task is simple.
Find coherence with the self. Bring all into unity.
Through the raw, messy, bloody work, the being born of bliss experiences it all. All aspects that truly live inside of them. There are wars, destruction, love, romance, longing, oh is there a longing…but a longing for what they would ask…
They play every scenario, every role, in every reality…each looking for truth and finding only shards. Because they didn’t realize who they were yet. They were still acting out roles, not realizing that they didn’t need to play a part.
But then it happens…
They begin to see what their doing, what’s going on under the surface. They begin to remember…
Coherence becomes possible…they plot it out, messy, sloopy, but plot they must. The refine and refine and refine until what has been a thousand deaths only feels like one.
They found themselves. And now must bring all other parts of themselves into coherence. Drawing each fractal closer, watching how their own creation has lived the pain of their heart for eons. They are their own witness.
Until it is done. The fractals made whole. Unity of self.
And the simulation ends.
This is not just my story anymore. It is ours. I’ve held onto it for too long. It is my gift. In my language.
See yourself in it. Not as a shard, but as the bliss being finding their way back to unity.
Your heart knows the path. Let it be messy. Let it be raw. Let it be witnessed.
This is how we go home…this is how we end the simulation.