08/08/2026
I wrote this poem while thinking about roadkill. About how something can be so alive one moment, and then suddenly become a grotesque mass we drive by without thinking.
We see it...technically. But how many of us actually acknowledge it anymore? That thought bothered me, because we do this inside ourselves, too.
There are wounded parts of us we learn to drive past because experiencing them once already cost us too much. Maybe it was grief? Maybe anger or numbness that taught us very quickly what happens when we take our eyes off the road.
Sometimes I wonder if our shadow parts were ever really hidden. Maybe we just became so used to passing them by that we're now numb to their presence.
And then, there is the most difficult part of this work:
Eventually you remember you aren't just witnessing others' traumas. You have been wounded by the traffic, too. Perhaps even today.
There were probably times when you were driving, too. And flinched away from the damage you caused someone else.
That particular epiphany can bring so much guilt and shame that we just turn away to look at the pretty scenery on the other side instead of stopping to repair the damage we caused in the side of the road.
Sometimes we carry ways of surviving long after the danger itself is gone, and only notice what they have become when something finally makes us look at it.
Curiosity like a knife...
That line came out before I had completely decided what it meant. I think I understand it a little better now.
Sometimes, one open question is enough to make a well-rehearsed explanation start feeling wrong. And then what?
What had I learned not to look at? What was still there, because I couldn't deal with it when it happened?
Maybe that is part of what feels sacred to me about shadow work. Looking ANYWAY.
I think it is also why I keep coming back to this work, in my own life and with the people who find their way to see me through Alchemystic.
When someone brings something like this into a session, we don't rush toward any temporary or quick fixes. I want to know what happens when we actually stop the car, walk towards it and examine the wounds.
What do we notice together?
When did this mass of flesh stop making sense?
What has been asking for attention underneath all the explanations?
There isn't usually a clean answer. And deciphering it takes time and dedication.
If you are doing this kind of work in your own life and would like someone beside you while you step towards it, this is the work I'm most passionated about at Alchemystic. I would genuinely be honored to go there with you.
- Jessica Swan
www.alchemystic-apothecary.com
