The putrefaction is happening when we realize that "let go of what no longer serves you" implies a darker and more chaotic level of letting go than we ever imagined possible. When all religious ideas and deeply held beliefs about reality are now on the chopping block. When you repeatedly encounter a bottomless pit of shame that has been masquerading as soul truth, as the law of reality.
And we don't know what's happening. We can't control how long it takes or how deeply the grief must be felt. We can't rush into the rebirth no matter how much we try. Liminality stretches beyond endurance as opposing truths and opposing realities clash at the crossroads, as something in the black of the depths of the soul falls away permanently, yet what's coming remains unknown.
It is at this stage that we meet Her as the Eater of Filth, Borborophorba.
And there is nothing you can say about Her or about this politically incorrect Grace. Because this part of the work, this messy putrefaction, does not fit into the neat boxes of an Instagrammable alchemical process. It looks like total spiritual failure and defeat. It IS total failure and defeat, in fact, and that is its blessing.
No matter how long your recovery process is, no matter how deep the wounds go and how compacted and dense the material is, She is undaunted.
Borborophorba's blessings are paradoxical and always unexpected.
Submitting to the total destruction of the alchemical nigredo is terrifying and feels like death. And the absolute darkness of being broken down is so profane, so unclean, that you can't imagine anything Divine touching it.
But Borborophorba is unashamed of our uncleanliness, of our ritual impurity and "low vibe" ways. Her merciful acceptance of our filth can even cause existential panic.
Her Grace meets us in the place where the world abandoned us, where cosmic betrayal left us collapsed and where cosmic judgment deemed us a sinner.