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milagro (revelation of the flaming heart)

"Oh, girl, please trust me when I say this.

...I know what you are feeling, girl. You want me...

...I have become you, girl, as if in the very essence of your mind.

...You are mine, girl.

...And I am yours.

...It's a kind of presence you feel in your soul, in your heart.

...It's a feeling deep in your brain, a feeling of intense longing, deep need, and desire."

Many times, I find that I am ignorant to what lay in front of me. Not for a lack of searching for symbol, but for the lack of presence of mind that accompanies paracosmic imprisonment of the self. Though worldly stimuli is dull and far removed, I find myself inhabiting the subtle plane of jungian synchronicity with startling perception to sensation. 

"jungians would say it's the character that guides the writer, not the other way around" 

I watch a story play out in front of me . I am both the stranger who writes and the masked woman. One might think that in such dual embodiment there is an implication of utter wholeness but In being both, I am incomplete. So much so that I have externalized the stranger, I have created a refraction of the self to reconcile that I'm comprised of things I've never had. I have had to split myself in half in an act of metaphysical mitosis so that I might feign company beyond the constant barrage of my own thoughts. The webs of connection form within my mind faster than I can manage to type them. 

"Oh my girl... You are such a silly creature.

...You are trying to compare your hand to mine.

...The only problem is, girl, we are not the same.

...I can touch you from within your mind.

...My hand is... inside your soul.

...Inside you, girl."

The Catholic sentiment of touching the flaming heart, something so fiercely symbolic in nature. The miracle of being understood. 

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