I just am.

I’m into glitch art and neon auras, and most times I don’t know how to reconcile that with the drawing towards the dark liminal spaces that take up so much of my mind.

Like my palms, I feel I’m at least two different people at all times.

Neon and yet: black hole, bottom of the well, mother of the dark, wet hair weeping into the underworld, holding your hand, holding my hand?, leading you down to the place where you will find your home again, your self again, down in these places we feel most lost, home.

I see dark, barely-there images of a woman made of fire, bones ablaze.

I see a skeletal face, but it is so welcoming and I am not afraid. Ghosts are told in tales to us as scary but this one feels like my soul. Like I am supposed to just step into her and become whole.

Not even like I am supposed to do anything; I just am.

I just am.

Slow, burning coals. Embers at the end of a fire that’s been burning for weeks. Could I walk across them?

Or are they just a part of me.

I just am, I just am. 

And yet, she is also sitting at the edge of a moss covered well, this time blue instead of dark red. Still dripping, hair a river, tears falling into the stream, the water leading down, down, down, enticing. To the bottom of the black. It is cold, damp, musty. The damp soaks into my skin and my blood and my bones the moment on touching the ancient brick of the well mouth. At the same time, like I’ve always been this cold, like this is home, too.

She is pouring tears from her eyes, leading down into the current, but like the fire woman, it is not a scary experience.

I want to go there.

She pulls me in, something about her aura. It’s like being swept in the current, but stronger, even, because it’s not my body being dragged along by the tide, it’s my heart, my soul. It’s not a dragging but a magnetic force.

A pulling home.

An inner knowing of this is the place, this is the place, this is where it begins and ends and is.

It just is, it just is, I just am. 

I don’t step into the well, I don’t walk across the coals, I don’t begin any action so much as I am already there.

In the dark. In the depths. In the black hole. In the liminal space. In the underworld. In the centre of earth. Buried underground. Trapped in a coffin? Buried deep, deep, in the damp, in the ashes. Mud and wet and burnt and black.

I just am, I just am.