When the Fire Smoulders

When the highs and lows first started appearing, I thought I might be manic. 

The highs were intoxicating, of course. 

The lows, deeply confusing and frustrating.

Much of the inner work I’ve done this year has lain in melting my walls and letting more of my inner landscape ooze, leak, and spill out into the world. I no longer keep myself neatly contained in a safe little box.

My strangeness is on full display.

Before, even if my mood sucked and work made me want to pitch my laptop into the trees, I could grit my teeth and do what I needed to do. In this sense, my energy was consistent, solid, reliable, and could be drawn on in the same way, day after day.

But now? Oh-ho.

Some days, I’m but smouldering embers.

On others, a cute little campfire.

And some, a roaring inferno.

How brightly I burn is intimately tied to how much Jinxian energy I’ve used in the days prior. Writing, singing, dancing, socializing, and exploring the psychedelic realm all draw on this energy in a way that doesn’t always recharge overnight.

So I’ve had to learn how to deal with the days where the flame just isn’t there, or only a small amount is available. On the days of smouldering embers, I’ve taught myself to shift from moving as Jinx, to moving as a different part of me.

The part that keeps Jinx from being a hedonistic degenerate.

The part of me that enjoys walking, gardening, reading, cleaning, tidying.

The part of me who wrote this particular Whimsie.

(This part has a name, identity, traits, preferences and all, but unlike Jinx, doesn’t care for the stage or the spotlight, and so shall go without introduction for now.)

When this part is in charge, the music is softer, more peaceful, more soothing. I drink more tea and spend more time smelling flowers. Movement means a slow flow on the mat, not clanging and banging in the gym.

The difference lies in oscillating from creating to tending, from exerting to softening.

Which wasn’t easy to wrap my head around at first. I have some tricks for getting the fire to flare, like a second espresso or going for a spirited drive, but I use them sparingly. For tricks used too often tend to lose their magic.

And I prefer to honour the ashes rather than force the flame.

This is one of the reasons why I avoid calendars like curses, turn my nose up haughtily at regimented structure, and hold any plans for creation loosely.

And I’ve come to accept playing with plants and cats until the flame returns.

This I’ve had to learn from the ground up in the past three months.

Turns out, this slower rhythm holds its own kind of magic too.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander