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Find me Waiting in the Ashes

Every year, there comes a time when the wind decides to blow.

To blow just right and taunt me.

The wind calls me to my rite where I take the time to release all of my tension and pain.

All of the problems that I catch myself dwelling on.

This ritual is usually performed by myself for myself, alone.

I have only shared this experience twice in the presence of another

person.

I perform it at night,

inbetween odd hours, giving myself time to later on watch the sun rise behind its cage of trees and mountains.

I like to take a small promenade before I start,

There's this beautiful spot down here I like to go to.

Its a little cliff overlooking a lake, populated by little isolated and inhabited islands.

Usually around 1 to 3 Am the mist rises above the lazy waves and everything stays still.

Like it has suddenly been stopped in time, frozen and silent.

When I'm done I walk back to my house,

Walk up the stairway to my room,

Turn all the lights off to see my plastic constellations.

I even have one on my fan that I sarcastically call and "asteroid".

( I've always had a fascination with stars and anything that has to do with astronomy.)

Light a good fragrance of Incense,

Sit in my chair by the computer and close my eyes for awhile.

Breathing in and out,

Focusing on exhaling the sorrow accumulated day by day through the year. Relaxing my body, keeping my emotions in check and keeping my mind emptied of thoughts.

And then I'm go. I grab the sterilized piece of broken glass, Carefully broken from a crystal wine glass.

Clenching my fist I apply the sharp edge to my forearm.

I slowly drag it with care, deep enough to bleed, and toying with the matters of life and death.

I always start at the back of my hand slowly going up from the back of my hand to the inside of my forearm and to my upper arm.

I start to get a bit dizzy and bedazzled by the fresh wound.

Enjoying the small stings of the blood pulsating through my veins like wild native drums.

In my mind pictures and colors start to form a landscape.

The inspiration builds for months to come,

I already know what I'm gonna write about in my poem for publication.

It's so great to feel it again, it's been too long since I've felt like this.

I was reckless not to give myself time for my own ritual.

Overwhelmed with work, song writing and an Art side-projects.

I did miss the last time I was supposed to scar again.

I decide to be a bit prissy and start slicing fast and swift,

breathing harder now, I calm down to regain control.

Pressing the blade a little harder on my skin, little droplets pearling like morning dew on my flesh.

I always grind my teeth briefly, as my feelings harden,

My euphoria dying down.

That's about the time when I wish I had a good glass of apple cider.

I go from slow to fast alternating.

I cut by 7's, simply because it is a sacred number in my beliefs.

Being Native American.

This self-induced ritual usually causes me to enter a spiritual trance. My cuts usually average between 13 to 23.

I like to watch it trickle down my forearm and arm, like a painted canvas. A 3D piece of art, painted with the prettiest yellows and reds.

Before the last cut I slowly awake from my semi-comatose state, back to this world of reality. I memorize all that I have seen,

Heard or felt during my short journey.

I record it in my databank. (my little head.)

After the 23rd cut my arm tingles with shock.

I keep it still and stiffened against my breasts.

Feeling my heartbeat on my fresh wounds always gave me a high.

I then lay on my bed, bare... and gaze at my arm until my eyes kindle themselves to a free ride to Dreamland.

fortunately I heal fast,

I guess that eating well will do that for you.

Not bothering to cleaning my arm off,

I just leave the crimson pearls to dry on my skin.

It looks so pretty the next day.

I started cutting about 5 years ago. It stimulates my soul, mind and body.

The scars remind me of the many heartaches, losses, and detachements I've had in my life.

Of my many spiritual ascentions.

And most of all..It reminds me that my flesh is the mediator for my spirit to work its wonders.

Now You know a bit more about me and what I do and why I do it.

I hope you've enjoyed this diary-like confession.

With this I take my leave.

| Wide Unclasp The Tables of Theird Thoughts |

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submitted by: Anonymous
on: 06 Feb. 2002
in Ritual

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