The ladybird, the snake and the cloud

The Alma Writer #2: An article first published on Substack in May 2023

Tap. Tap. Tap. Let me out.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Let me through.
Tap. tap. Let me in.

There’s a bird at my window. It’s tapping, it’s knocking, it’s trying to come in. It’s 5am and relentlessly, it taps and taps some more, until it’s time for me to fly out of this temporary nest and respite.
There’s a ladybird on the table, where my notebook, my pens and my coffee lay. It’s searching for a way out. My words pierce in, lonely, desperate, inquisitive.
There are two orcas, jumping, flying, out there, beyond my reach. They are trying to leap through, in-between worlds and realms. For once, I don’t need to follow them on, through.

There is only a sheet of glass, a windowsill, a transparent mirror separating us, them, me, and yet, it all is so far out of reach, so impossible, so absurd, unbelonging.

I carry a vision of a snake, a shadowy and spiky figure trailblazing in me, through me, out of me, a Minotaur in an exitless labyrinth, a siren calling through the void, a Pegasus forever unable to land ; running towards all edges, smashing into every wall, biting, spiking, clenching, swallowing at every piece of skin and flesh. Up and down, deeply in, bursting out. But my skin and bones are thick and the walls of protection have become more than habit.

Last month, I was on the road again, for a short time that felt like eternity. I craved home, as I never did before. I sought anchoring and routines to not be swallowed whole by the chaos in-between. I wished to be, to stand still and let life burst and shatter through me. No more forward or backward motion ; a surrender in the pause, the immobility, the being somewhere, in one place. A foreign feeling for me, impossible to comprehend and grapple with. A resistance to my own nature, to what’s calling out, through. A breath of protection. I may not be ready yet. I never will be.

Since I found my inner bridge, I resent the in-between, lost in the ocean of my own liminal space, cherished before, shunned now, rather craving the shore, the anchor, the strength, the stability, the containment, the foundations ; the Earth above the stars, matter over ethers.

TAP. Let me in. Let me out. Let me through.

The snake is mutative ; shapeshifter, shedding skins and whispers, darkness and light to find, rely, relish its true nature. It coils, meanders, wanders, recoils, retracts and expands. It sneaks in and lurks. It rests and manifests. And it permeates.

My snake can only escape and find true freedom in the shedding and transmutation of its own skin, being, transformation. It can’t be and won’t be, ever, the same. It permeates and becomes a rainbow cloud. And only then, in the midst, mist and ethereal nature, it goes in, out and through; my skin, the mirrors, my voice, my words, my love, my belonging.

A mystical cloud weaves through windows, mirrors and walls. In, out and through. In, out and through. Open, sometimes contained, often free.

I’ve always been inside the room of my own belonging, my own skin. I’ve always been outside, outward of myself, trying to fit in. And my cloud self permeates within and without, sometimes belonging, sometimes shapeshifting, always through.

Inside, outside and in-between.

Tap. Tap. Tap. I’m already in. I’m already out. I’ve always been through.