Sometimes I think I have done too much hypnosis, ‘cause every time I walk down any stairs I find myself getting more… and more… relaxed…. So, I take advantage of that and I walk down the endless stairs that chain the Cathedral to the Ribeira, indulging in the increasing inner softness that culminates as the river appears in front of me.
I am not sure of the origin of its name nor I am about to bother myself and look it up.
I prefer having my own stories about the names and I like to believe that this river is made of gold (de ouro, in portuguese), nurturing the city with its flow which energies are so strong that we are not able to handle it so we throw junk into it, unconsciously trying to volume down its loud healing properties. Eating the fish from the river made of pure gold sent people into mystical experiences and sacred revelations, which was unheard of and highly disturbing, so we polluted the river and all the inhabitants of its palace.
Our systems are not trained for magic. We don’t want purity and revelations.
It is interesting to take note of the names of the places and people. The city in which I was born and spent the majority of my life is named Split and that’s exactly what it has done to me - it splitted my psyche into million tiny fragments that I am still trying to glue back together. Then few unexpected turns and premature actions brought me to Porto, which is portuguese for ‘port’, a place of exhange, from which the ships part on a long journeys and come from the faraway lands, the place of letting go of what is no longer of service and opening up to receive something new that may potentially transform our lives in unimaginable ways. A passageway, a busy place, but not in the way that some big, intense cities are, but busy in the sense that there is always something flowing - flow of pilgrims on their devoted caminhadas to Compostela or Fátima, flow of the strong winds that cleanse thoroughly and without asking for permission to do so, flow of the time that is taken far less seriously here in Portugal than in my home country, flow of comments and compliments and catcalls that Portuguese men so freely give around, flow, flow, flow… Allowing, seeing, noticing, appreciating, but not getting too strong of a grip on anything.
‘Cause the ship will stay in the port only for couple of days until it has to leave again. Can you learn to drink from the juiceness of the experience without having to make it your own, lock it into a drawer and overdose on it until you are sick to your stomach?
There are those times when vomiting comes easily.
In one go we are able to release everything that was poisoning us and there isn’t even the need for sticking the finger down our throat to unlock those gates to liberation. Simply, the moment is ripe and we are free of resistance.
There are other times when we are green in our face, filled with acid fumes all the way up to the back of our lips, but something’s preventing to let the foulness out.
When we are younger we may still hold hope and try to calm the storm down and reverse the situation, but soon enough we learn that provoking the release is faster and more beneficial, so we stick that finger or bottom of a toothbrush and become witnesses and sources of the eruption, at the same time. Sometimes one go is enough, sometimes two and sometimes we need a break between several visits to the bathroom cause the amount of liberated space makes us light-headed and dizzy.
I’ve always cried when I vomited.
For the long time I thought everyone did, that that was just the way it worked, but I learned that wasn’t the case one month after I turned 10 years old. We were on a school trip with a boat and I won my first (and so far last) Vomiting Competition with a score of 3 times in 2 hour journey from one island to another. None of other participants cried.
It made me wonder, you know, that thing of crying when vomiting. As if there was some deep horror of letting go, even if what I am letting go of is something highly damaging and detrimental to my system.
At this point in my life, I know there lays the core of my experience in this incarnation.
I need to vomit so much that tears no longer come to my eyes, or if they do, I am completely fine with it, but - vomit, vomit, vomit….
Make a sacred and devotional practice of it.
Make it a central theme of my life.
That’s what the North Node in Scoprio is all about.