A Love Letter to the Vulture

My Immortal Guide,

I write this to you as I look up from the depths of my deepest wounds. I see your wings shrouding me as I survive my darkest hours.

You protect me as hours turn to days. As days turn to months. As months turn to years.

Thank you for never turning away from my decay.

When my ego shattered and all feelings of joy drained from me, and the heavy blackened ruins of my old self began to rot, you flew closer while everyone else fled from the stench.

You did not judge my putrefaction. You taught me how to recognize it as medicine.

You taught me how to view the nigredo not as a graveyard, but as a womb. A becoming.

Thank you for your sacred hunger. You ripped away the dead tissue of my illusions, wounds, fears, self-doubts, self-worth, and my false attachments.

You consumed my grief and digested my failures.

You taught me how to turn my deepest wounds into pure, soaring flight.

You proved to me that nothing is truly wasted.

You showed me that gold is found only when I dare look into my own shadow.

I finally understand how to be the light emerging from my own dark shadow.

I do not disown my shadow, I am not afraid of my shadow, I integrate it.

You taught me how to merge both my light and shadow to become WHOLE.

You held space for my dissolution so that my spirit could evolve.

You taught me how to forge my fears into weapons.

I love you for your fierce, uncompromising mercy.

I am forever grateful for your wings, your beak, and your beautifully terrifying grace.

Because of you, I am still here.

Fearless.

Counting the years.

Fuck a tombstone.

Yours in Eternal Transmutation,

An Alchemist.