Scorpio Rising

The crows taught me how to fly.

I have always wanted to start a novel with those words.  Maybe some day I will.

Once upon a time I wrote letters to God.  I wrote them not because I felt God listened and would fix things.  I wrote to God because I wanted a mechanism to keep my words to myself, my musings and my tortured thoughts, authentic and honest.  Maybe with the BIG G looking over my shoulder as I poured my angst upon a page, I would find I was less likely to excuse my own rationalization, discount my own pretense and hubris, romanticize my flaws.  The big lens magnifying and scrutinizing every stroke of my handy black pen. 

When God wasn’t doing it for me, I needed a more womanly perspective.  I wrote to Goddess.  She wasn’t nearly critical enough.

Now, I write to us.  All of us.  That messy, bleeding, sex driven, frenetic cosmic consciousness pulsing our humanity into the etheric planes and all the dimensions like a laser beacon of our insanity into space and time. 



and muse (huh)

and ponder (think think, think think think)

and cry (Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, aaaaaaaaaa…………..)

and spill my guts (UGH). 

My life in virtual pages.  My death.  My pain and anguish and seeking joy.

I am going to dump my entire house of filthy laundry into the public square to rinse the blood beneath torrential rains!  Only then will I sort the mess out and decide which piece is worth keeping, and which pieces are ruined beyond repair.  I will rip apart my inner clockwork and examine all the cogs and wheels and see if I can be fixed and made to tick to my favorite 3/4 time once again.  I will blaze myself and everything I have gathered around me and drag us all through the purging flames I must squeeze through, vomited/spewed/birthed out the other side.

Ashen faced, and hopefully, renewed.

Scorpio Rising.  Phoenix, with a poison sting.  That is my ascendant nature.  I am secret.  I am a secret.  I have secrets hidden even from my own consciousness.  Poisons on my soul dripping ruin into my existence.  Death card in its darkest incarnation.  I demand to have no more secrets from myself.

Good Morrow.

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