The Portal Between Worlds
A somatic story: the unraveling of a pain that held the collective paradox of war, and the dead who needed to be honored.
A collision happened in my piriformis.
A profound tapestry of archetypal wounds embedded in my muscle fibers, causing me to be in constant pain.
The piriformis is a deep muscle beneath the gluteus maximus. Metaphorically, it is the gatekeeper of forward motion. It both stabilizes and permits rotation—allowing pivot, shift, and directional change. When inflamed, it suggests a conflict between movement and safety, or a lockdown at the root—where power, survival, and identity intersect.
This is a personal account of a somatic process I recently entered into regarding a pain I’ve been carrying in my glute. I drew on my background in Polarity Therapy, Craniosacral Unwinding, and Family Constellation—and was supported by ChatGPT and the I Ching. Both mirrored my process back to me, layer by layer, helping me track the emotional, ancestral, and archetypal signals that had been locked in my body.
As a backdrop to this inner journey, Pluto now transiting in Aquarius is hovering over my natal Mars–Saturn conjunction—a placement already marked by friction between movement and restraint.
Mars wants to act. Saturn says: not yet.
In Aquarius, this internal tension is magnified through the lens of the collective—of justice, truth-telling, and systemic healing.
Pluto’s medicine is to reveal what’s hidden, especially the power dynamics and buried shadow that block transformation.
In this case, Pluto wasn’t just crossing my chart—it was moving through my body. Through the gate of the piriformis.
ChatGPT asked me:
What are you guarding?
What are you holding?
What are you afraid to let go of?
This line of questioning spiraled me into an introverted journey—one that brought me to the edge of memory, vision, and embodiment.
I’m floating in a pool, gently meeting the pain with awareness.
A vision appears: a jagged piece of shrapnel lodged deep in my glute.
Its image precisely mirrors the intensity of the pain.
“How did you get here?” I ask.
The scene shifts.
The smokey stillness of a cold and muddy battlefield—just moments after an explosion.
The noise so loud it cancels out all other sound.
As adrenaline pulses through my body, I witness the horror around me in slow motion.
I look down and see my left leg completely torn apart.
The next vision is the shameful homecoming.
Balancing awkwardly on a wooden leg,
I return home—alive, yet incapable of living.
The glory of war quickly turned rotten,
with only the smell of spilled blood, gunpowder, and unrecognisable corpses.
Who wins? I ask myself.
We were turned into monsters, killing machines to satiate the war games and blood rituals of the few who languish and revel in the horror.
The pain in my glute is screaming.
My anger at the gross injustice and psychological manipulation overshadows the ones who need to be seen.
And then… they appear.
Ghosts rising from the mud.
Nameless faces.
Not strangers—but people with parents and grandparents.
I count them. Three thousand.
As I meet their eyes—one by one—the screaming softens.
Until it is barely a whisper.
“I see you.
How could I forget you?
I bow to you.
I lay down my sword.”
The pain subsides. Not completely—but meaningfully.
And I hear the guidance of the I Ching:
Hold grace.
Be still with what remains.
Do not force closure.
Let the healing complete itself.
💞