Week 48 of 52 Imago – The Final Stage of Metamorphosis

The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.

There is no coming to consciousness without pain.

Carl Jung

REFLECTIONS

THE IMAGO

Usually when I sit down to write, I have a theme that surfaces from the richness of the Unified Field. But not today. My thoughts run helter-skelter, scrambled and chaotic… I write some words, make some sentences…erase some words and then erase everything…I stare at a blank page…then start the process once more…then I glance outside and watch the robins and then I notice a butterfly and then the shadow dance of leaves in the breeze…now it’s noon…word count 3…997 to go…I’ve been wandering through my mind for 2 hours…

I, Between2Marys, feel like these minor utterances on my blank page. Like a bolt of material or a block of marble of a stack of lumber, I am caterpillar soup. If you were to cut open a cocoon or chrysalis at just the right moment, you would see neither a caterpillar nor a butterfly. You would see a liquid, amorphous mess of imaginal cells. Cells that look undifferentiated but hold the power to be eyes, wings, legs or antennae. In biology, the imago is the last stage an insect attains during its metamorphosis. It is within this final process of growth and development that the insect attains maturity.

I AM NEITHER A CATERPILLAR NOR A BUTTERFLY

Rather, I am in this embryonic phase…

Undifferentiated Cells within the Chrysalis

between my old life where I dared not dream my own dreams and this new life where my dreams abound. 

The Aftermath of Last Week’s Post – Transforming the Animus

Liver Detoxification

Within minutes of ‘publishing’ week 47 of 52, I became so ill with fever, diarrhoea and vomiting, I was forced to lay on my couch for 2 days…full-on liver detoxification. It was as though  every stored disappointment, every stored sad thought, every stored anxious or enraged encounter I ever had with my father and subsequent men, oozed out of my pores, bile ducts, stomach and liver. Like cleaning the sludge from a polluted river, the troublesome contaminants (in the form of  thoughts and feelings) had to be eliminated. I was no longer the little girl forced to keep her thoughts and feelings to herself. Nor was I the needy, insecure woman, dependent on the approval of a man. As an empowered woman, launching her creative life, it was time to let go of any impediments to the free expression of my dreams. By mid-week, I walked into my garden, knowing it would become an expression of me. Gone were my feelings of reticence or incompetence. My path had become clear.

My Path is Clear

Similarly within the chrysalis, anything unnecessary to the life of the butterfly is destroyed by tissue dissolving enzymes. Amazingly, this highly sophisticated process , whether within the human body or the chrysalis, discriminates between that which is valuable to the new life and that which is detrimental…eliminating the detritus as part of the process.

Now, as I feel less symptomatic, I can marvel at my body’s capacity to restore and re-new itself. 

THE OTHER WOMAN BLOG

Experiencing Freedom!

As the year of theotherwomanblog nears its 52nd week, I feel the burgeoning life of a wild and free woman. As I move towards the Summer Equinox, when all species come into bloom, I have the desire to break the shackles of containment and live the ‘unframed’ life…to plan far far less than I ever have… to allow instead the call of of the wild, the instinctual, the intuitive. I will invoke the ethereal guidance and support of my Spirit Guides, found beneath my mind. If I feel drawn to a book, a person, an activity or a thought, I will not question this impulse, but instead have the faith to follow.

The collage that inspired theotherwomanblog was created in a place of Spirit. I never questioned any image I was drawn to include. And only upon completion of the collage, did I understand the importance of its message.

I am posting a day early because tomorrow I am putting my work aside and driving to Victoria for some fun! For a snippet of all things Viennese, I am attending a Dramatic Reading of The Boy on the Bicycle by Peter Schnitzler. He is a film director out of Los Angeles, but was born in Vienna. He is the grandson of the very famous author, Arthur Schnitzler whose writings created quite a stir in 1900’s Vienna. The movie, Eyes Wide Shut, was based on his book, Dream Story. The theme of both centre on the fantasy of breaking free of societal mores…a fitting topic for a wild and free woman.

Sexual Fantasy