Pretium Est Mors - My vision from the banks of the river Styx.
Pretium Est Mors, or The Price is Death - This is an account of my Vision from the banks of the river Styx.
I’ve come this far. I’ve come this far. Have I really made it this far? Am I willing to celebrate making it this far? Can I take a moment to celebrate that I’m here? I’ve made it to the banks of the final passage; or maybe just the next passage. And I know I’m here. And I’ve finally realized I’m here. Can I find joy in this arrival?
No. Not as of yet I have not. I’ve been resisting being here, but maybe now I’m ready.
I’ve carried the spark this far, the spark I’ve come to know as a petulant teenage girl named Samantha. She knows how to translate source into form. Messages come through her. She translates source into form. When I surrender to her, to source, I bring messages into this world in form.
I’m at the edge. I’ve made it this far. The next step requires a community of help to cross over. The Water Guide is here. She has her hatched flock of swallows in golden bubbles of protective light. She is transient. She is matriarchal. She is wise. She can’t come with me, but she can protect me on the journey across the river.
Part of me can’t make the journey.
She can grow into a woman with the guidance of a father, or a Dom rather. A Dom, to shape her into a powerful manifesting woman who knows her worth and knows surrender to a power greater than her. To truly surrender is required for the spark to grow into me. Perhaps it’s me that must grow into the surrendered woman before Samantha can pass the spark to me. Either way, I must let part of me die. I must leave my family behind. At least that’s the story I’m holding tightly to now.
I made this patining a year ago, little knowing that it would be a guide for me today.
Pretium Est Mors
Pretium Est Mors - The price is death. The price is death. Nothing living can cross this river. Do I leave part of me behind like a jar of fireflies on the shore? Do I cross unprotected and have the life sucked from me in the middle of the passage? Do I petition The Water Guide to protect me with her swallows and golden bubbles of light?
And I celebrate that I’m here. I’ve made it to this edge. I’m prepared to let my family go. They cannot make this journey to the other side. The spark cannot embody into me if I have not let ego parts of me die. I must be empty to move to this new place. I can’t know the destination. The far bank of the wide river is in fog. The river is not that of water, rather that of tormented souls. Souls that can’t stand to allow for a living creature to pass through their waters. The sky is patrolled by hawks that cut down any who try and bypass the waters via the air.
And I am here at the edge. Burdened with my past life. Carrying the spark. Seeing my family crying for me to return. Seeing my old work crying for me to return. There are tethers tied to my wrists and ankles. They are few, and the lines are thin. And they are holding me here. I can’t go back. I can’t stay here. I keep failing to take the next step and falling on my face. I’m spinning. Death here at the edge is not possible. It’s a purgatory.
Nothing true can come from here. Is that true? No, it’s not. Something can come from here. I’m stuck. I’m in this purgatory at the water’s edge. And the *should* of this moment is to celebrate. Just celebrate. Good can come from this step.
Samantha is known to me. The spark is known to me. The other side is known to me. I’ve made it this far. I know I can’t go back. I have a guide who’s been to the other side. I have those who can give me gifts to continue to the other side.
Tomorrow I set out on a journey to explore non-normal states of consciousness through ecstatic sex. What better place for Samantha and I to join forces, gain support and walk the next step on this journey together. And no, I don’t even get to walk. I must bargain with my life to gain passage on the boat and to pay the boatman to take me to the other side. I cannot to this next step along. And I’m not alone. -J