If I think about the Library of Alexandria for too long, I will cry.

The knowledge, the richness, the effort and time and work that all went into creating the most magnificent storehouse of wisdom and resources and discoveries.

All up in smoke. Lost. Gone. Forgotten.

How beautiful those scrolls and tomes and must have been.

Now, not everyone feels this way. Once again, I’ll use my Virgo-ness as justification for my proclivity toward hermitude, fetishization of knowledge, books and being alone: There is a part of me that would be snug as bug sequestered away surrounded by archival rare books, needing only the touch of the pages against my fingertips as company.

For a little while, at least.

A tiny, elderly woman would bring me toast and jam and tea on beautiful china, and I would forget about it. She would worry.

ANYWAY.

Our stories are so precious to us: who we are, what we’ve created, our roles we’ve chosen.

I do this, not that.

I could never say that, I always do this.

He/She/It Never/Always/Doesn’t/Does This/That.

We have built up our own Libraries of Alexandria in our histories, in our ancestry. They have been handed down to us, created by us, scribbled in scratchy, urgent hand, and careful, looping script.

This is how we know who we are, where we stand, what we deserve, who we can be. We have worked so hard and so long on these beautiful stories–sad, aching, wonderful, joyful constructs of our infinite beings in this weird human experience. Limitations.

It is time we burn these limitations to the ground.

The Autumn reminds us of this–with the blustery wind and changing leaves and temperamental weather. Does this not reflect our internal landscape in it’s perfect acceptance and honoring that we shift and transform and shape and transfigure and modify?

It’s why we are shaken to our core during this time, why we are delivered the most spectacular gifts and people and opportunities, and why what we thought we needed suddenly disappears.

Here’s the thing: All of that knowledge in the Library of Alexandria–it’s all accessible. Everything we need is already here. There is nothing we lack, no scrap of paper with words that will suddenly clarify our existence or make it easier.

It’s you. In you.

We insist on carrying the well-worn guidebooks we’ve memorized, the heavy hardcovers of who we used to be but are no longer, the cover-less, dogeared favorites we love to read and re-read.

If we put those all down, what else could come in?

What other stories have yet to be written? What else is possible that is utterly beyond the realm of what you think you know?

What haven’t you imagined yet?

A Way to Release your Old Stories

Write down one old story you are ready to put down, on a colorful leaf you’ve found outside on the ground. The leave should be big enough for your brief synopsys, and a fine-tip Sharpie helps.

A woman struggles for money doing what she loves.

A man is undeserving of a loving partner.

This one person keeps going back to the one thing they know is back for them.

A woman doesn’t not look the right way to do what she wants to do.

Light a sacred fire: a bonfire, a tealight, your sahumador, whatever. This is the Holy Fire of transformation: Thank Abuelo and honor him. Offer the story leaf to the fire, watching it incinerate and say the following healing process. Feel free to change my words for ones that feel more authentic to you.

May the autumnal fire incinerate these old stories that were once helpful, and no longer serve the Highest Good. I release myself from this story, clear it from my being and others’ across time and space, and lie it to rest. I release this story to make room for something wonderful and unexpected to take its place, something beyond what I’ve even dreamed is possible that is in Highest Alignment for all being everywhere.

Dear Source: What else is possible for me?

Thank the Fire once more, and offer the ashes to the Earth outside when you are done.

The Mother is where we get our transmutative power–she makes Alchemists of us all.

I want to hear how your process went. Please drop me a line through my FB page or hit me up on the emails.