Year of yin: an opening 

September hung heavy on my shoulder. All long grey feathers & stench of rot in the earth. Too long to be comforting, too steady to be hostile. Pressing shoulder blades like tectonic plates, slow & steady, grinding along the surface. A dull ache behind my temple as my two eyes blinked through the darkness holding them hostage. I felt a sudden longing to be free of this earthly drudge & glide among the stars as bubbling laughter or careless whispers. No light & airy thing ruffled these feathers tonight. Instead, solemnly holding my limbs in suspended slumber, weighted by this uncomfortable pressure shifting just out of reach to my blind gape. Then, to my surprise, from the darkest depths there began to spring a crack. A clear red slit of fire. Blood red smile. Taunting me against the bleakness. It grew to a tall gash releasing flighty embers that burned into my retinas like stars. As the crack grew, burbling molten suffering as it went, I began to see that this was the door that I had been searching for all along.

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