Spirit of the swamp

I am the spirit of the swamp, and I want to speak to you about the light that lies ahead.

Here and now, it’s night-time. It’s hard to know what’s water, what’s ground. Damp air lands on your skin, and you feel abandoned by the rain. Droplets of fresh celestial water have gone somewhere else, they have other bodies to bless. Indecisive warmth doesn’t become heat, it doesn’t allow you to breathe.

Nothing is fresh, nothing is pure. The perpetual battle of life’s juices doesn’t allow you to move, but the excitement of it all keeps you anticipating the moment of your emergence.

Your heart becomes fond of the chaos, you start to feel ready to jump in.

You do,

and the purifying begins.