Snakes crawl up the goddess’s legs and onto her torso. They wrap themselves tightly around her shoulders, entangling her within their long bodies. The snakes are black, jet black, not a spot lighter than the midnight skies. As they move, they secrete a trajectory of red pigment, which stains the goddess’s white robes as if soaked in her own blood. The snakes move with grace equivalent to the motion of a Giselle without legs. Like water, their bodies coil around the goddess with fluidity and ease, while leaving an unsettled, aggravated sensation throughout the goddess’s body. Tighter they wind themselves until all the air is squeezed from the goddess’s lungs and nothing stronger than a faint whimper can leave her lips. A steam leaks from her ears, nose, mouth, and any other passage from within herself, as she grows hot in the desert air, yet no sweat drips from her brow, as she has no moisture to spare.
These midnight snakes are the arms of her destroyer, the shadow which has been pursuing time and space in search of her intoxicating soul. He found her despite running away to the desert, the stark and barren ground with no water and no life. She ran to escape his relentless chase thinking that the land desolate of life would prove shelter enough, but no time or space can shield the goddess from him. Because, the destroyer is from a realm that exceeds understanding, a liminal realm where constraints of life do not own him. In fact, he owns life. Takes life, and the goddess’s youthful spirit proved a delicious ownership for the destroyer’s shadow.
There, thrashing beneath the blistering and ruthless desert sun, the snakes coiled ever tighter. Round and round, spiraling in black skin and red stains. There was no chance of escape. With no ability to taste a breath of air, the goddess collapsed. Beat and defeated, the goddess fell covered in death’s sand that decorated the desert floor. Moments passed and her destroyer’s arms never rescinded. The snakes were slowly stealing both her time and space, robbing the goddess of her revitalizing soul. Moments and more moments, the sun high and brutal on the skin. There the goddess lay. It was only when the goddess realized the snakes were, in fact, her own arms that she was able to feel the sublimity of release.
This story leaked out of my mind over the past few days. It can be a metaphor for a lot of different things depending on the lens of the reader. While writing it I identified with the goddess. And, just like the goddess my greatest realization was that I was responsible for entrapping myself in my illnesses. Once, I was able to release the grip my arms had on me and stop squeezing all the air/life/happiness out of myself I started to find true and authentic progress in my recovery.