Here I Am

As my eyes slowly open, the tree tops sharpen into focus.

Flecks of blue and gold sparkle through the gaps in the leaves, needles, and cones.

The earth is spongy beneath me, suffusing my body with an oddly pleasant chill through my back, hamstrings, and calves. I stretch my arms above my head for a moment before rolling onto my side and slowly finding a cross-legged position.

Adrift in disbelief, I barely recognize my surroundings.

I remember…

Piles of ash… charred trees… scorched earth… suffocating darkness…

But that’s gone—all gone.

“Holy shit,” I mutter, my words floating away on the gentle, honey-scented breeze.

———

One year ago, the version of Alexander who wrote this Whimsie you’re currently reading was but a figment of my imagination. For years most of life I felt him clawing at my throat, stinging my eyes, clamouring for freedom, expression, and escape…

But bringing that mythic version of myself to life? 

Impossible, surely. A fantasy like the books I so love.

I was still deep in the darkness, unprocessed emotion and unmet desire doing their absolute darndest to make their presence felt through excruciating physical pain.

There was no sparkle in my eyes.

No laughter in my smile.

No song in my throat.

No fire in my belly.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a man slowly dying.

———

The trees surrounding me now aren’t the ones that burned.

Never before has the air felt like velveteen honey on my skin.

Earth that was hard, compact, rough… is now a mossy softness I’m melting into.

The disembodied eyes that leered from the shadows are gone too.

Everything that once seemed an impossible dream is now within reach.

When I extend my arms to either side, bees and butterflies land to adorn my fingers.

———

A body that moves freely, easily, coiled with power. Relationships formed through depth and choice—not performance or obligation. Creative pursuits that are aligned with my marrow. Income that fulfills, not drains. A cat-turned-familiar in tow.

A day-to-day existence that, if my last descent into The Velveteen Underground is any indication, carries the emotional temperature of sex and is psychedelic to the core.

Momentum, opportunities, and ideas have become effortless. The energy I expend returns to me rarely as expected, but always in delightful, supportive ways. This is Mythic Alchemy in motion: a direct result from sipping The Tonic of Coherence.

None of this came easy.

All was earned.

———

Having somewhat gathered my wits, I rise, arms falling back to my sides. 

The bees and butterflies relocate to my arms, shoulders, ears. Together, we take a moment to gaze at the thick sunbeams wafting through the trees. We all smile.

Physically, we might be in the same place.

But spiritually… we’re virgins.

The terrain is brand new. The atmosphere is foreign in the best of ways.

We all smile wider.

———

My overarching orientation for 2025 was to find my voice, which unfolded in ways I could never have imagined, changes in my writing being the least of what took root.

Thus my 2026 orientation is easy:

To wield my voice.

Nor do I have a choice. To not wield my voice would be to suppress—and suppression is precisely how I ended up in the deep, dark, incoherent mess I spent years adrift in.

Nor will I box myself into a specific medium for wielding my voice, which is already being wielded in multitudes: singing, writing, mixing, actions taken, choices made. 

Expression is effortless. Contriving outcomes doesn’t exist in my mental operating system. Truth is valued over safety. Rhythm takes precedence over reward.

The path ahead is no longer buried in ash, but lit by candles that sparkle like diamonds.

I have the capacity, skill, knowledge, and ability to face whatever appears.

So here I stand, proud, living what once seemed an impossible dream.

Never ever have I felt so thrilled, fulfilled, or excited for what lies ahead.

Happy New Year.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander