Looking for the lost diamorpha

Looking for the lost diamorpha

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“When a woman is frozen of feeling, when she can no longer feel herself, when her blood, her passion, no longer reach the extremities of her psyche, when she is desperate; then a fantasy life is far more pleasurable than anything else she can set her sights upon. Her little match lights, because they have no wood to burn, instead burn up the psyche as though it were a big dry log. The psyche begins to play tricks on itself; it lives now in the fantasy fire of all yearning fulfilled. This kind of fantasizing is like a lie: If you tell it often enough, you begin to believe it.”

― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves:
Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype

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Standing on top of Arabia Mountain, I held the match in my hand.
Strike.
Fire.
Wind.
Nothing.
An evaporation of smoke into the cosmos. It had just rained, but the sun strewn out across the rock surface - an alien experience to be in such a different landscape. As we rose up the mountain, I recalled the endless field trips I had taken to this place for school trips. Learning about the diamorpha and rock formations, my ideas about the universe were sealed in those granite surfaces. When looking at the plant life existing in the puddles, I saw the galaxy, I saw the arrow of time, I saw wind, earth, and water but no physicality of the element of fire until I stopped to think. Sunnybells, Sparkleberry and the Yellow Daisy peek from the puddles as Spiderwort and pokeweed was found in the forests while daylillies, goldenrod and Queen Anne’s lace cover fields and trail edges. But most of all the diamorpha shown bright red on the harsh granite outcrop. Rare and fragile, this monotypic plant shown bright all over the mountain.


Those fragile, fragile diamorpha are only found here. Holding onto this last strong hold.


The more I looked in these puddles, the more I was reminded of something. Was it those images from Nasa of the rip of the space time fabric? A faint memory of something came to light as I thought back to my yard or the circular fire pit in the backyard. And while the visual language of the two may be different, the fascination into a small circular space, was what came to mind.


All different portals - that exist in my day to day.

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