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  • Writer's pictureFreya Savage

An esoteric piece about stillness, bone breaking love

How much pleasured can I experience without moving an inch?

How much pain can wash over me without collapsing on the floor?

To be still energetically even in total chaos.

Still at the core, not the stillness that is loud & painful. No bracing, no anticipation.

A stillness that is spacious. That has no glue for the stories, the feelings, the pain and the pleasure to hold onto.

An inner stillness that can move very fast on the outside.

But movement that fast is only possible when the core is still.

It runs through me, over me, tickling, burning, scratching.

But like water, it does not penetrate, it leaves a residue just for a moment.

When there are no rules, no boxes, no boundaries, no expectations.

There is no need to make space. It’s already infinite.

There is nothing to heal. Because even in fragments each one is whole.

There is nothing to let go of. Because there are no walls and it is all free to move.

Boundless & sovereign.

A friend said to me ‘you’ve gone through a lot, you’re still recovering from the end of a long-term relationship, you’re very vulnerable right now’

I just didn’t feel that to be true.

Of course, that is one story, that is one that easily could fit, but that’s one that fits inside of walls.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t feel.

When something interests me I allow it to colour my stream with its essence.

Allow is not the right word here. It’s not an allowing so much as a watching it unfold. There is no allowing it or stopping it, the pull is there, it’s a remembering of my future, I know it’s already happened.

It’s a turn on beyond the mind, beyond logical, beyond thought.

Even when I know it will result in a river of blood & bones.

And on those rare occasions when someone or something reaches me it cracks open my heart.

And it’s beautiful.

Beauty is beautiful because it is fleeting, ever changing.

So for beauty to continue eventually the colours change.

For a moment there is grief, anger, sadness.

The banks of the stream crack open like a rib cage and the debris from heart sweeps through the stream now made of blood.

Reminding me that I’m alive.

Remembering that even in pieces, it is whole.

That the experience is what turns me on, even when its painful.

There is nothing to direct, change, to correct.

Then eventually the stream runs clear again.

The colours have been washed away.

But before it runs clear I can feel the urge to put up walls.

‘Don’t touch my stream, get out’

But it’s already there.

This is the stuff of liquid & gas, walls do not contain it.

Walls are futile, all they create is management & maintance taking the focus away from the experience.

Walls keep a stream small, limited in experience, a container for monotony in exchange for security & protection.

Protection from being alive.

I choose to be out in the stream, free, to taste all the flavours.

But not any dish.

Not available for anything and everything.

Unavailable for everything other than what sparks something deep.

Everything else is a no.

And eventually even what once was a turn-on, will also become a no.

It’s a sure thing for it to die if you keep it contained, if you try and keep it like a photograph in a locket.

And when it dies inside those walls, it gets stagnant, it stays with you reminding you of corpses.

This is where the core becomes chaotic, resistant, it grasps for something more, some kind of life.

Do not waste your energy trying to build walls, trying to keep it as it is.

Let the stream flow, let it knock out your heart, let the heart run free.

The inner stream and the turn-on is transient.

The pain, the pleasure, the feels are designed to move through us not to be grasped or pushed away.

Bring me to the stream of blood, pull out my bones, until I’m nothing but the void in the void.

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