The Unruly Bloom: Finding My Liminal Lover in the Compost
WILD ORCHID
Wild beauty ;
They saw the brown spill
The fugitive roots
clawing out of the ceramic cold,
They called your crawl unruly ,
Their mirror showing fear
of your Untamed bloom.
BUT
they missed your feral Grace,
No-one saw your branches
Became hands forming
a bow to the cement that held you.
No one captured that
your bending to Eros’s
embrace,
Was by begging for Death
of shapes that no longer frame your fragrance.
No one heard your breaking
💫 Your holy breach 💫
What an ecstatic vault
Over the edges of you!
But I feel you deep
COMPOST
Is your name.
I sense your thrumming refusal
No more holding the shapes
they handed you down
Oh wild orchid !
How I grow fantasies of you
Spreading beauty
in the wild open balconies
of open skies ,
Because ,
who is to tame the
sweet velvet white petals you birth
Silky and wild
This is your spine
Words by Maria Kefalogianni
Oh, this precious life! ❤️🌀 It hits differently on a Sunday. I was here, just doing the very Ordinary of mama lives - watering the plants- when I realized I was was met by my lover , watering the liminal seeds within me.
In the very Ordinary of mama lives, lies a gracious current , a kiss from the beyond horizons of your ethereal soul, whispering secrets of wild beauty straight into our human hearts.
You don’t have to go to retreats to access this, the wilderness is who you ARE beneath stories of prison of all they wanted you to be.
That current baptises your being if you give yourself to it.
I call it
THE LIMINAL LOVER .
My forever union of a partner I shall never meet ; my one and BELOVED partner .
I am not scared no more , to fall in the embrace of the deepest unmaking , the grinding truth of the hardest un breaking , only to be found by golden threads of a kintsugi humanity -
I had missed to pay my bows to.
NUDE to Our Name
Each moment is calling me deeer
Steeper to the nectar core. This is not some grandiose fallacy of some eternal illusion. Oh my godness how tasty the candlelight in my sun room smalls, after the odour of my own oblivion has burnt me to ashes .
My beloved lover, baptises my tongue into words I shall never understand , but only know on my own taste- buds.
it looked like the ultimate ordinary.
The beauty of a child s gaze meeting mine
The embrace of a gracious friend holding my pain,
My loneliness becoming the gorge I scream beauty into bloomed flowers .
It is me with me everywhere I look.
Here is some confession.
When I was young I used to have a WILD FANTASY . (Ok this is vulnerable but I’ll go for it).
I used to wonder how people made love to each other - who they were when they were undressed (I didn’t see them nhde I just held a gnosis that who we are is beneath all fabric, costumes and roles ). All personas.
NUDE to our name. Even our name clothes us since birth to a form , a human suit we never believed in but were made to believe.
The Liminal Lover demands a daily devotion
a tiny, necessary act of self-betrayal to the suit you were handed.
It means consciously choosing the wild beauty over the easy comfort of the familiar cage. When the children are loud and the dishes are piled, that is precisely the moment to ask:
Which shape am I refusing to hold right now? It might be the refusal to keep the "Perfect Mama" persona locked down, or the fierce decision to let the silence of the night baptize my exhaustion instead of numbing it with one more scroll.
The ecstatic vault isn't a single jump; it's a hundred daily, micro-breaches where you willingly fall into the fertile dirt, trusting that the COMPOST is where the next, most stunning version of your petals will be birthed.
It is precisely HERE where the ordinary becomes the holy ground.
Join me in the Descent
If you are a MOTHER looking for a circle to compost to alchemise (yes gold and dirt go together !) then join us here
If you re just a reader enjoying my reading please tell me so
Plant your seed in the compost I hold
So you can be witnessed in your beauty - too.
I don’t exist in a vacuum, we re all fugitive mycelium revolution rippling the love that we are
Why hold back?
If you re into the deep compost and my words bring in you a darker soil
Share that too. But do so with sovereignty and radical responsibility of you own process.
I can be the container of your alchemy.
