Rigor mortis

Can’t believe how numb I’ve been and for how long. Rigor mortis is how I described it to Pan today. It’s what seeps into the spirit here and births zombies.

It’s the feeling I had leaving Mim and coming to England knowing I’m going into an unfavourable situation. It’s the feeling that was made apparent to me by Sara’s presence. She didn’t just stop me with her words. She did it with her presence, and I still wasn’t totally relaxed. It’s the tension I’ve lived in the whole time I’ve been here. always on guard, not trusting. Because I knew the insincerity I was facing. The tokenism. The receipt collecting. I shut down into a protective shell, wary of receiving-help especially. I was so consumed with the psychic war with Saffron that the land itself faded into the background. My whole focus, all my energy went on defence and emotional protection.

Sara’s presence melted my face and unthawed my bones, veins and arteries; made me feel again. The power of woman.

London has been a glass casket for me. Sight, not vision; touch, not feeling; hearing, not listening. There are no smells. England is dead. I am my own country.