The feeling when I smudge is of coming back to myself. The smoke, rises. It carries away my pain. Takes it back from me. It was not mine to begin with. As I swipe it over my body, it washes me clean again. It restores me to my natural state. A state of well being. It purifies my spirit so I can leave behind the heaviness that tries to hang on me. It returns me to myself. Under it's spell, I become "ME" again. Pure. Whole. Unbroken. Enveloped in it's white swirls, I merge and am one with god and all of creation. My illusion of separateness dissipates with the smoke. I am reminded again of who I am and who I am not. All my relations.
I haven’t been here in a while. My writing has been so self-conscious lately, filled with tension over who my words might offend. Full of discomfort that I might disclose too much. The duvet of fog provides cover. Protection. Safety. Walking out onto the beach, it might as well be the moon. A strange sensation forms in my feet as they fight to find the ground. It’s like that feeling you get in your knees when you stand too close to the edge of a cliff. The fog blurs my vision so that distances become uncertain. It creates a feeling of walking on clouds, like your feet aren’t really touching the earth with each step. Gliding. Movie-like. The way vampires go. Walking into the mist, I know wher
