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  • In the beginning it is always frightening. You feel as if you are about to fall into something you may not get out of. What is it? A black-hole? A body of water? A swamp? You feel as if you will be profoundly changed. And you always resist change. Change, which has followed and tracked your scent through these woods, that knows you so intimately that it can predict your every move by the mark your breath leaves in the crisp autumn air. Change as Janus, stands at the gateway of your decision. With one face to the past and the other to the future he alone can grant you entry into the sublime secret of the present, where the beginnings and endings of things are one. With his blessing, peace descends upon you and you begin to forget your doubt. Your breath relaxes and you accept what lies ahead with grace and humility, because it has already happened, is already happening...

    Sometimes you meet someone who seems to affect the very quality of the air. Gravity stops and takes notice, the air thickens. Time slows, things pause and hold their breath. It is a strange time, before the fall. But you know it's coming, slowly and with the force of a freight train that you can see just barely rounding the hills in the dark moonless night.

    This is something you have never been very good at. Giving yourself away like this, giving in to that aching pull in your womb, that empty fullness that speaks of an ancient longing for a force greater than your Self. This self you have spent so many years building up, trying to fortify against the great onslaughts of change that have come and will continue to come. But it is the unraveling you really desire. It is the descent rather than the ascent, the being consumed rather than the consuming.
    You want to lose yourself to something.
    You want to fall.
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