It’s been an exhilarating week. A rollercoaster of emotions and messages sliding like mercury from a broken thermometer across my bathroom floor. The temperature has been hot, but since the thermometer broke I can’t tell you the degree. I can tell you those little balls of quicksilver searched and found my cracks and went to work—cracks in skin, in ego, and my spirit, determined to bring me the poison I needed to alchemize my wounds into embodied soul.
Mercury, poisonous to mitochondria, damager of cells, dissolver of silver and gold—all our lineage longs to leave as legacy. Poisoner of children and those who gorge on sashimi; quicksilver to the alchemist, shapeshifter, able to choose solid, gas, or liquid at will; transcender of heaven and earth, life and death, all the binaries that keep us from Rumi’s field out beyond right-doing and wrong-doing, where we could meet and sit down in the daisies and just be grateful we are even here on Earth at all.
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