The Ancient Path

My life lately has turned inside itself, twisting like a shed skin rattling around inside this skeleton - backwards, I know.  But that is this feeling I walk in, an inverted sense of being upside down and somehow not falling through the cracks… I am still here, still this me wandering through the day, performing the normal agreed upon daily habits like a mostly normal human does. Yet inside me something is on fire. I keep trying to shake it loose, but I just keep seeming to fan the flames so much so that I am a wildfire with nothing left to burn. So I have been offering myself to the pyre, a sacrifice to be cleansed and resurrected as something entirely different, not new, but other… something of the old ways - that smells of forest growth, where the wind speaks to me of ancient ruins that still hum with a current that has no name.

I have been shedding this debris that was never mine to begin with - weight and clutter blocking the natural flow of the river through the mountains, I have been discarding pieces of self that never fit to begin with and with each layer I slake off I regain a letter of my true name, something that has no tongue that can speak it, something deeper than anything taught by modern minds, wilder than any flame civilization can spark. I smell moss and sweat when I dream, hear the scratching and the wild things call from beyond the shadowed horizon. I am bare foot and walking inside myself to some place we no longer speak of and for the first time in a very long time I know I am going home.