[Image credit: Original photography- "Cadena" by Enric Gener & "Underwater Dance" by Marta Syrko | Collage by Shawnie Hamer ]
I once knew a man who, by all appearances, was ‘doing well’. He was sweet, good looking, popular…you get the drift. Despite this fact, each and every time he would get drunk, he would call his estranged father who had abandoned him as a young boy to cry, cuss, and pick fights. It was like clockwork; some people call their ex’s when they’re drunk, he called his biological father.
One time, chatting with his partner about this routine, she said, “I wish his father could look past his age now and acknowledge the little boy crying out for him.” Hearing this was like a punch in the gut, because aren’t we all little ones when it comes to old wounds, and more importantly, needing to feel loved?
I think many of us can identify how we’ve hidden our inner child--with all their strength, imagination, and vulnerability-- under masks. And man oh man, do we put effort into constructing those masks. We carefully carve, paint, and plaster so people can look at us and say without doubt, “They really have it together.”
But is that really what we should strive for? Is simply driving forward with a stoic face worth anything if deep underneath the surface part of us is suffering? And if that foundational part of us, the part of us that first loved purely, is grieving, how are our current relationships being impacted? What power are we giving away to these ancient (and valid) wounds?
I am mesmerized by today’s Full Worm Moon in Libra, because above all else it's about love. Not just love in a romantic sense, but a deep fulfilling love of both self and other. Libra is represented by the balance, and this cardinal air sign is all about finding justice, peace, and compromise. For this reason, and the fact it is ruled by Venus (the relationship planet), Libra is about how we nurture our connections with others.
What makes this Full Moon so special is that it arrives directly opposite its home planet of Venus, as well as the wounded healer Chiron. Both Venus and Chiron join the sun in Aries, the sign of the warrior. This alignment takes Libra past its usual lovey, peaceful, beauty-driven motives and asks us to go deep into the self to do some serious love maintenance on the old breaks and tears we’ve endured.
This isn’t to say that we should abandon our relationships with others and just focus on the self. In fact, the work we do in this moment will likely bring to light harmful cycles being mirrored in partnerships. This is why the Aries (self) and Libra (other) balance is integral. As Café Astrology explains:
The Aries-Libra polarity is a relationship axis, where Aries represents “self,” and Libra represents “other.” Where Aries is about self-assertion, Libra is about compromise. With the Libra Moon, we’re especially aware of our need for relationships and all that comes with maintaining them — compromising, negotiating, graciousness, and balancing. The Aries Sun, on the other hand, is self-assertive, leading, and personally courageous.
We cannot fully love others if we do not give the same love, forgiveness, compassion, and time to ourselves. I’ll say that again for the folks in the back (and for myself): We cannot fully love others if we do not give the same love, forgiveness, compassion, and time to ourselves.
Much like my friend calling his estranged father in uninhibited states, when we bury traumas and wounds, when we force stagnancy, we unknowingly give power and energy away, power that can be directed towards healing and growth. And make no mistake, it takes the courage and fierceness of Aries to change these patterns.
Which makes me think of our dear friends, the worms. If they did not dive deep into the earth, to the dark and damp places, many plants could not receive the nutrients and water needed to thrive. And, let’s not forget, worms help old things pass away—an especially fitting metaphor for our wounded Chiron.
At the communal level, this moon is also asking us to look within and break down the toxic, rotting things we inherit—such as racism—to nurture spaces where all beings can equally flourish. Libra is, after all, a symbol of balance and justice. And every day we see just how imbalanced we are; our Asian and BIPOC families are suffering at the hands of white supremacy, our planet is still dying at an unprecedented pace...the list goes on. To correct this imbalance, we as a collective must do the work within to fight these dark forces, and then fight like the Aries warrior outward in the world. And above all else, we must lead these internal and external battles with love.
Tarot Reading | The Chariot Reversed & King of Cups
Because of the self/other duality of this Full Moon, I decided to pull two cards. For the self, we pull the Chariot Reversed. The Chariot is a card of maturity, understanding that the world and the self operate within certain rules and forces that we must balance. This is most commonly depicted as the worldly urges and desires of the self (the dark horse/wolf) and the civilized, high-minded goals of the enlightened (the white horse/wolf). They are driven by reason, who must learn to control both beasts so they do not crash or split in two.
Rachel Pollack describes this card reversed in 78 Degrees of Wisdom:
The Chariot upside down implies that the approach of will-power has proven unsuccessful, and the situation has got out of control. Unless the person can find some other approach to the difficulties, he or she faces disaster. Will-power alone cannot always sustain us. Like Oedipus we must sometimes learn to give way to the gods. (69)
Which leads us to our card for the other, the King of Cups. Marie White describes her artwork and the meaning for this card in the Mary El Tarot:
This is Poseidon and the blue flowers are the blue lotus. They are intoxicating and speak of this king’s precedence over sleep and altered states, the subconscious, the active subconscious. Where he is there is not time like we know it, there is no reality or gravity like we know it. It is the home of our imagination of dreams of fiction of mythology of the Moon. Usually it stays beneath the surface but occasionally it rises up and wipes out whole civilizations.
The King of Cups is mastery over your own subconscious, your black horse your animal nature and desires. This is incredibly difficult and powerful…it is so difficult to control this horse that even the greatest…can only do it for a short time before they crash to the ground. Even so, just a glimpse of eternity is enough to transform your soul completely and change you forever.
The message, again, is one of balance. I've never been a fan of binaries, especially ones like good/evil. I believe this, in itself, is not balanced. And I believe we can learn to let go of these imposed rules, binaries, and dualities in order to find our truth. We can let go of this desire for absolute control (to have it together) to open ourselves up to our destinies.
This isn't a green light to give into every whim and desire, or to relieve ourselves of all responsibilities. On the contrary, the King of Cups shows us that we can implement our mastery of imagination and creativity, and dream up new spaces outside of these suffocating limitations to explore and implement lasting, meaningful change—both in the self, and in our relationships.
And when we crash and burn, because we will, we can allow the healing waters of love to help us continue forward with forgiveness.
What a liberating and tender task.
Bibliomancy | Page 51 from Bluets by Maggie Nelson
"129. I don’t know how the jacarandas will make me feel next year. I don’t know if I will be alive to see them, of if I will be here to see them, or if I will ever be able to see them as blue, even as a type blue.
130. We cannot read the darkness. We cannot read it. It is a form of madness, albeit a common one, that we try.
131. “I just don’t feel like you’re trying hard enough,” one friend says to me. How can I tell her that not trying has become the whole point, the whole plan?
132. That is to say: I have been trying to go limp in the face of my heartache, as another friend says he does in the face of his anxiety. Think of it as an act of civil disobedience, he says. Let the police peel you up.
133. I have been trying to place myself in a land of great sunshine, and abandon my will therewith."
[image credit: Photo-Karolina Zapal | Collage-Shawnie Hamer]
In February 2021, Languages of Elsewhere facilitator Karolina Zapal asked her workshop participants questions of movement, such as:
Interested in taking this workshop? You can rent/purchase the archived videos for an accessible flat rate in the commons starting April 1st!
"On Fray & Freezing" by Jessica Rigney
about the artist:
Jessica Rigney is a poet, artist, and filmmaker. She is the author of Follow a Field (2016), Entre Nous (2017), Within Poetic Boxes (2018), and Careful Packages (2019). Two of her poems, À la Brütt and Grass Began, exist as limited edition, letterpress broadsides by Wolverine Farm Publishing (2016 and 2017, respectively). Jessica was a quarter-finalist for the Pablo Neruda Prize for Poetry in 2016 and 2018.
The YouTube channel, Jessica Rigney, carries her poetic short films. Her poetic music and voice experiments live at jessicarigney.bandcamp.com. On Instagram she is poetjess, where her imagery and words, as well as announcements for new work can be found. She lives and wanders in Colorado and northern New Mexico, where she films and collects feathers and stones.
"Bonsai Kayak" by Thomas A. Thomas
about the artist:
Thomas A. Thomas studied with Gregory Orr and Donald Hall at the University of Michigan, where he won both Hopwood Minor and Major Awards in Poetry. He later studied with Matthew Shenoda at Goddard College in the MFA program. His poems have appeared in Anesthesia Review, The Periodical Lunch, Writer’s Digest, Oberon, FemAsia Magazine (link below)and most recently in Spanish translation on Revista Palabrerias (link below). Additional poems are forthcoming in the Spring ’21 edition of The Banyan Review. His full-length book Getting Here, published in 2005, received an Honorable Mention in the 14th Annual Writer's Digest International Self-Published Book Awards. It is available on Amazon and other major vendor sites in paper or electronic format).
In the Pandemic year of 2020 he has read for international and inclusive audiences in Cultivating Voices Facebook group, with writers from Ireland, India, Canada and numerous other countries, and was also featured in the 100,000 Poets for Change, Toronto Canada ZOOM event with poets from 4 continents and 8 time zones.
In A Time - FemAsia Magazine
Trotamundos | 5 poemas de Thomas A. Thomas – Revista Palabrerías (revpalabrerias.com)
"Against the Bones" by Elizabeth Kate Switaj
about the artist:
Elizabeth Kate Switaj lives on Majuro atoll where she works at the College of the Marshall Islands and rescues cats. Her second collection of poetry, The Bringers of Fruit: An Oratorio, is forthcoming in 2022 from 11:11 Press.
[Image credit: Marloes Hilckmann]
I want to talk about monsters. All the time. This obsession started as a kid watching TV shows like Aaahh!!! Real Monsters and performing the little kid rite of watching the same movie over and over again until our tape of Fern Gully broke. Surprise surprise, my favorite part was “Toxic Love” which probably sparked my love of skeletons and lifelong crush on Tim Curry (maybe that says more about me than I should admit in public). My partner and I go to see exclusively scary movies in theaters. Friends and family gift me skulls and Frankenstein’s monster themed gifts. Talk to me about horror, talk to me about monsters. Anytime.
This might seem like a tangent, but stick with me. I want to talk about being trans. About living in a world where self-determination about body and presentation is seen as taboo. About how so many people view gender affirming surgeries as grotesque and horrific. About how being trans places so many people on the fringe. What about the blood, the bandages, the violence that becomes part of being trans? I want to talk about the sheer EUPHORIA of being at ease with oneself, the joy of rending binaries and sex essentialism. Let’s talk about being outcasts, gender rebels, the kind of people who make the world say ‘think of the children!’
You might see where I’m going with this. Trans people identifying with monsters is not a novel concept; the unfortunate intersection of gender and horror contains trans people. Particularly trans women, reinforcing a lot of really yucky misinformation about the lives of unassuming women. However, I’m not the only trans person I know who has a love of monsters and monstrosity. Grabbing something that’s used to vilify you can feel powerful. YES, I am the monster you fear and thus you should stay away from me and my partner and my cats so we can just garden in peace.
It’s more than the sense of power in striking fear in cis people’s hearts, however. Identifying with monsters provides a way to see ourselves in the media where we are so often forgotten about. Why yes, I think I will see myself in the lighted eyes of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula. I love to dress up goth dandy and be extremely overwhelming to people who don’t know me. Or tomorrow I might be the Wolfman, watching my hair sprout on my face because of my testosterone shots. Or both; I could be the son of Dracula and the Wolfman, wearing my drag ball best, sporting my new beard hairs twined with belladonna berries and oleander.
Okay, enough fantasizing about my fictional gay dads.
The purpose of merging transness and monsters arrives here: When you’re exploring yourself, looking into the depths of what you could be, think about becoming that which scares you. There’s so much electricity if you’re brave enough to grab it.
about the author:
H.P. Armstrong is a trans and queer writer who hails from the Midwest, but lives in Colorado with his partner. He is a graduate of Naropa's Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics with a BA in Creative Writing and Literature, as well as a graduate of Front Range Community College. His work has appeared in KYSO Flash's A Trembling of Finches, with Punch Drunk Press, Plains Paradox, and internationally with Nota Bene. His work primarily involves the beautifully grotesque and disenfranchisement of the body, along with his experiences as a destitute poor, queer, homeless young adult and as an ex-Mormon. He is working on his first novel handling themes of the consequences of religious abuse and the lack of knowledge of one's own body.
It was mid-afternoon. Prime work time. I’d been banging away on my laptop getting stuff done, but out the corner of my eye, I had been watching big fluffy white flakes falling from the sky for a while. I felt my inner child getting antsy, squirming in her seat, desperately wanting to run outside. Between long winter days and the endless pandemic, she was already restless. Now, with the snow, she could barely contain herself.
Meanwhile, I also heard a stern disciplinarian telling her to sit still and stay focused. “There is a lot to do and not doing these things would be irresponsible. And being irresponsible could lead to some pretty dire consequences. There is a time for work and there is a time for play and this is time for work.”
Then, a teenage rebel voice chimed in. She glared at the disciplinarian between puffs of her cigarette and through the darkness of her heavily black outlined eyes. Whatever.
“This is lame. Forget work altogether. Just do what you want. This lady is full of crap. Your work means nothing.”
I stopped pecking at my keyboard and sat still for a few moments listening to these voices. The disciplinarian and the teenage rebel voices are quite familiar to me. They may seem like bitter enemies, but they actually secretly work together and I have been practicing staying clear of their trap.
You see, the disciplinarian will make me keep working and always putting off rest and play because of all the important things to do and all the bad consequences that could
happen. But, eventually, I am so burnt out that I will just throw my hands up and become the rebel teenager who doesn’t care about anything for a while. I will lounge about doing nothing productive until the disciplinarian makes me feel bad enough to start working again and so the cycle goes…
One is afraid of never accomplishing anything if you take a break and one is afraid that life will always be a grind if you do any work.
I know they were looking to ensnare me once again on this beautiful snowy day. In the still moment, I took a good look at my inner child. Her eyes were shining and hopeful. She seemed to be the secret to escaping their trap. I told her to go bundle up for the cold and she jumped up with joy, putting on layers as fast as she could!
As I went out walking in the snow, my inner child spoke to the inner child of several others as well. A couple people joined me on my excursion and we waved and exchanged gleeful hellos with others along the way. I felt alive and present and happy.
I came back inside and sat down to work feeling refreshed and inspired. I was more than ready to get back to work. I looked over at my inner child. She was curled up, happily resting after an afternoon of play. And I reminded myself how important it was to keep paying attention to what she needs.
Deprivation never leads to happiness. It leads to resentment, burn out, meaningless success, unhappiness. Giving yourself joyful, playful experiences is deeply satisfying and meaningful. It cultivates creativity and energy to transform those ideas into reality.
What is your inner child asking for today?
Karen Light is an Artist/Illustrator and a Creative Coach. She is passionate about healing and nurturing the creative spirit. Empowered creatives change their worlds as well as the world and have a lot of fun doing it! Bring out your inner child in her next Create It Class: Idea to Creation
in Four Weeks.
[Unrecounted, W.G.Sebald & Jan Peter Tripp (New Directions, 2004) ]
I lent a copy of this book to a cohort member a couple years ago, and I realized how darkly perfect a text it is for the current landscape. There’s no theory I wish to apply or a great philosopher to attach onto this text or reading; it appeared to me again as a certain and all-too familiar phenomenon. Unrecounted, a collaboration of W.G. Sebald’s “micropoems'' and Jan Peter Tripp’s lithographs, perfectly encapsulates living within a pandemic moment: a pair of eyes coupled with a sudden clarity. The translator’s note by Michael Hamburger is similar to most introductory pieces, in that it is made mostly of anecdotes, names, dates, and the tribulations of publishing a collaborative text. It does however, include those lovelier details that experimental writers find so exquisite; inner turmoil hinted in the exchange of letters and journal corners, the budding of a once-thought dead fruit tree, the author’s practice of carrying around a book of haikus in his travels. The archival footage can rarely be outdone in the writing world.
Certainly, this small ritualistic book is a comfort, in these days of searching for familiar faces in a sea of scarves and masks and plastic shielding. There are the eyes of the two authors, of other prominent historical figures, of someone’s dog. I know of people who, just to make tense workplace interactions feel more human, have started intentionally raising their eyebrows or squinting to make themselves seem more emotive. Maintaining our daily patterns is the heaviest anchor to bear.
So I think of writers-turned-photographers and vice versa, who are not “just” documenting but need to look like they are “just” taking a picture of Woolf’s bed, of the band at the regular venue before a couple’s cross country drive. Because it is never “just” any of those things. Projection and detachment have never been more significant. And of course; as I flip through the book for a passage, I land on the painted stare of a countess by Ingres (43), which naturally reminds me of Portrait of a Lady on Fire, (the film I mentioned in my promotional video for my workshop, it being the last movie I saw in a theater) doesn’t it just.
her eyelids still
she says she has dreamed
of a carpet
all in shreds, in tatters”
Though finding connections across mediums and realities is where I most often find solace, these days I’m usually left laughing in disbelief. Discovery when I am cramped, cold, and marooned in the northeast is about as great a gift as I can muster. If you don’t already, I sincerely hope you start carrying one small book around with you or leave underneath your pillow. You might find a line like this, to leave on a park bench or receipt, like I even might.
about the author:
Drew Dean (MFA) is an experimental poet and cinephile who suspends his disbelief as often as he can, or in Barabara Dilley’s words: “Let a soft gaze roam around in the space without naming.” In both his work and instruction, he seeks out the obscure, the double-takes, and the dialogues within. He wears a specific sweater for cloud-gazing.
I write to you today from the town that raised me. A town of dirt fields, distant snow-capped mountain ranges, and vast altars built to the gods of petrol. The town where generations of my family have chosen to live and die. I broke this pattern long ago, deciding to build life in different places around the world. And now the place and partner I call home are thousands of miles from this valley, this city, built on Tübatulabal and Yokut land.
And each time I arrive here, I am simultaneously settled and overwhelmed. As grateful as I am for the home I’ve built at the base of mountains far away from here, I am equally filled with guilt for choosing a life that takes me away from those who love me most. Imbued with fear at the fact that, each time I return, everyone is a little older, including myself. Overflowing with appreciation for the moments I do get to share with my family, under the quiet hum of a radio playing old country songs.
It’s an ache I know many of you are also familiar with; those of us that have chosen to wander to uproot; those of us that have chosen to live life outside of the status quo. And it’s an ache that this week’s astrology, paired with tomorrow’s Imbolc celebration, is holding up to the light.
Last Thursday’s full moon in Leo asked us to look at the ways we strive and thrive as individuals. Leos are the cardinal fire sign and are very good at creative action. And though they are intensely loyal and loving creatures, they aren’t always comfortable with blending into the background or working behind the scenes. This full Leo moon asked us to contemplate on, and decipher, our true desires and our inflated egos.
What needs are really speaking when you roar for attention?
The Leo moon’s individualism reverberates in Aquarius season, a fixed air sign that is deeply concerned with the collective. Aquarius is the philosopher and the humanitarian, often asking us to put our own needs aside for the greater good. Needless to say, this can cause some serious tension between what I want and what I should do for others. Pair this dilemma with this week’s Mercury Retrograde, and it can feel debilitating. Café Astrology explains further:
The Leo-Aquarius polarity deals with the balance between all that is personal (Leo) and all that is impersonal (Aquarius). The energy of the Leo Moon is creative self-expression and the boost to the individual ego that we receive through pleasure and romance, while the Aquarius Sun rules the group, more impersonal friendships, and objectivity. This Full Moon urges us to strike a balance between romance and friendship, and between expressing ourselves in personal and impersonal ways.
Thankfully, Imbolc arrives tomorrow, offering some rays of sunshine on the emotional mistiness and tension of this moon. Imbolc is an ancient Celtic holiday celebrating the Goddess of Poets, Brigid, as well as the mid-point of winter and the first sightings of spring life. It has been translated from old Irish to mean “in the belly.” Traditionally, Imbolc is a time when we lift ourselves out of the deep inner/spiritual hibernation we created in the winter. As The Seasonal Soul writes:
Like the groundhog that makes headlines this time of year, we’re also beginning to poke our heads out from our own inner worlds. This is the time to begin to bring your own inner work, those dreams & changes you’ve been dreaming about, out into the world.
What a beautiful message to receive, in the midst of all this chaos, in the midst of the splitting—between families we have and the ones we create, between wants and duties, between desires and responsibilities. What an incredible gift to remember that, like poetry, we can communicate our passion in new ways. We can learn structures in order to break them. We can share the deepest parts of ourselves while still keeping boundaries. And most importantly, we can pursue what fills us, what feeds us like the mighty lion, while still being connected to the community in Aquarian love.
Because is poetry not love?
Is spring not poetry?
And do you not feel love in the warmth of the sun?
This Imbolc, create space for yourself to let the old ways die. Old tools for control, like guilt and shame. Communicate honestly with yourself about how you can show up, not just for others, but for yourself. And then prioritize it. If Leo teaches us anything, it’s that we are worth it, and if Aquarius teaches us anything, it’s that we are in this together.
Tarot reading | The Sun
[ Mary El Tarot ]
One of Leo’s tarot cards, the Sun speaks to awakening and wisdom. As Rachel Pollack writes:
The spring sun brings forth life out of the dead winter ground. In many places, it was believed that the sun impregnates not only the soil, but all women…The sunstruck person sees everything, each person, each animal, all the plants and rocks, even the very air, alive, and holy, united through the light that fills all existence.
Pollack goes on to explain that, while we perceive this unification in Trump 19, it isn’t until we reach The World in Trump 21 that it is truly embodied. I believe this card appears for us today, in this Imbolc offering, to tell us to not only open our eyes to the opportunities and passions being presented (Leo energy), but to go deep “in the belly,” into our deep sacred feminine, and create ways to truly embody this wisdom in the world (Aquarian energy).
What is waiting there, in your gut? What light shines there? How can you let it roar? How can you help others find their call?
I roar with you, dear ones, now and forever.
Bibliomancy | Pages 18-19 from Shifting the Silence by Etel Adnan
We’re witnessing the last days of this civilization as we know it. Through the glass panels of the apartment I observe the ocean. Then something stirs. Things appear, we say, transcending themselves. You call it Being, you call it this wave. It could be people, too.
I didn’t sleep last night. Right now the ocean is a flat metallic sheet running from east to west. The reverberation hurts my eyes, but I am happy.
Days go by, but bring surprises. Friends come, and they’re messengers, birds of good omen. They lift the sky, and we need it. I do my best to walk by this edge of the town, by the tide. One step at a time. One hour goes by after another. Then the sun launches new rays.
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer | Original photography (dancer) by Kishin Shinoyama]
Hello dear collective, and welcome to the final full moon of 2020.
I firstly want to thank you all for being here with us this year—our first year together as collective.aporia. We have learned and created so much with you since our launch in April, and we couldn’t be more grateful for what we’ve accomplished together. We are so excited to move into 2021 with you all. If you haven’t already, please check out our upcoming workshops, submit to our first issue of *apo-press, and/or sign up for the upcoming Innisfree Workshop Series events. Also, all of our past 2020 workshops are available to rent or purchase in the commons!
Today’s full moon in Cancer marks the end of one of the most turbulent and bizarre years in modern history. 2020 pushed many of us to lock ourselves inside, both literally and figuratively. We were forced to shed distractions and labels, and to redirect our energies. Many of us had to look at ourselves (for the first time) without labels like job titles, routines, and to-do lists. Many of us experienced loss, grief, loneliness, fear, and frustration. Many things, many dreams, many people, were swept away by the destruction of this year, and this is not something that heals as soon as the clock strikes midnight on January 1st.
But, as life often reminds us, there were beautiful parts of 2020, as well. In isolation, many of us were able to see our authentic selves for the first time. We were able to be honest with ourselves about what we really want, what we value, who we hold dear. Some were able to come back to parts of themselves that had long been forgotten. Some created, some raged, some destroyed, some loved. Many found new ways of using their voices in support of important movements like #BlackLivesMatter. And all of us, as a collective, witnessed strength—within ourselves, and within our communities.
It was a complex and confusing year, which is why I want to keep this offering to you simple and sweet. It’s not an accident that this year’s Cold Moon comes in Cancer, a cardinal water sign ruled by the moon itself. This is the divine, wild mother energy, much like the High Priestess in tarot—deep, emotional, and intuitive. Cancers are also incredibly loving and loyal creatures. They will do anything to make sure that those they care about are safe and satisfied.
But like every sign, Cancers have a shadow side: becoming a martyr for those around them. Which is why combined with the Cold Moon—a moon of deep reflection and pause—we must ask ourselves today (& everyday, especially in 2021):
Am I giving myself and my dreams the same love that I give others?
Have you ever returned somewhere familiar after being away for a long time to find that, though nothing about the space changed, everything felt different because you had transformed? We can compare this feeling to the Great Conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn moving into Aquarius last week. On January 1st, the world will be the same—we will still be in the middle of a pandemic, in the middle of war against the kyriarchy—but we, the collective, have shifted. The world will feel different, or maybe already does, not only because of what we’ve gone through together, but because that big Aquarius energy will be transforming us toward innovation and community. However, if we don’t stay grounded, if we don’t find ways to pause and contemplate, to find practical ways to love, that Aquarius energy can be harmful. It can make us cold, distant, and isolated from the beautiful complexities that make us human—the complexities that Cancer revels in.
This full moon asks us to stop here, in the stillness of a cold night, in the quietness of freshly fallen snow, and wrap ourselves in gratitude for all the things we’ve made it through. All the things we’ve accomplished—even if that was just surviving this year. Then, in the chill of the moonlight, we must promise ourselves to continue this ritual throughout this next year.
Set aside time and energy with the same diligence you do for others to do one thing that makes you feel love, support, and pride for yourself. For me, this often looks like making time to read, paint my nails, cook a good meal, or write. Whatever it is, know that you deserve it, and know that it will allow you to be fully present in the larger Aquarian-minded projects you might be cooking up for next year.
Tarot Reading | The World
[The World Card | Mary El Tarot by Marie White]
My heart is overjoyed that the guides have presented us with this card. The World is the end of the Major Arcana, and symbolizes the end of the Fool’s journey when we are able to find harmony with, and an understanding of, both the physical/natural world, as well as the spiritual one. As Rachel Pollack writes in Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom: A Tarot Journey to Self-awareness:
What can we say of an understanding, a freedom and rapture beyond words? The unconscious known consciously, the outer self unified with the forces of life, knowledge that is not knowledge at all but a constant ecstatic dance of being—they are all true and yet not true…When we have dissolved our isolated selves into that water lying beneath the Hanged Man’s glowing face we learn that true unity lies in movement.
The World card represents not just the ultimate balance between the realms we are a part of, but also a deep knowing that we are those realms. We are the mother, the father, and the child. We are humans with physical needs and desires, and we are spiritual beings capable of receiving divine inspiration and messages. We are limitless and complex. And after the year we’ve endured, a year filled with so many blocks and restrictions, this reminder is imperative to how we move forward. Because though it might not seem like it, we are constantly moving, and that is the key to life.
Everything in the universe moves, the Earth around the sun, the sun within the glazy, the galaxies in clusters, all cycling around each other. There is no centre, no place where we can say, ‘Here it all began, here it all stops.’ Yet the centre exists, everywhere, for in a dance the dancer does not move around any arbitrary point in space, but rather the dance carries its own sense of unity focused around a constantly moving, constantly peaceful centre. Nothing and everything all at once. (Pollack, p. 139)
Coming back to our full moon, the World card beautifully represents that necessary balance we must have moving into this year. If the Aquarian energy of the collective is the cosmic potential that surrounds the World Dancer, the Cancerian energy is the dancer themselves, moving like a river, loving and understanding the needs that current through their body from the top of their head to the bottoms of their firmly planted feet.
Remember to move, sweet collective, remember to dance, for that is where we will find our joy and balance in this important next phase for the planet.
With all my love.
Bibliomancy | "A Poem in which I Try to Express My Glee at the Music My Friend Has Given Me" by Ross Gay
—for Patrick Rosal
Because I must not
get up to throw down in a café in the Midwest,
I hold something like a clownfaced herd
of bareback and winged elephants
stomping in my chest,
I hold a thousand
kites in a field loosed from their tethers
at once, I feel
my skeleton losing track
somewhat of the science I’ve made of tamp,
feel it rising up shriek and groove,
rising up a river guzzling a monsoon,
not to mention the butterflies
of the loins, the hummingbirds
of the loins, the thousand
dromedaries of the loins, oh body
of sunburst, body
of larkspur and honeysuckle and honeysuccor
bloom, body of treetop holler,
oh lightspeed body
of gasp and systole, the mandible’s ramble,
the clavicle swoon, the spine’s
trillion teeth oh, drift
of hip oh, trill of ribs,
oh synaptic clamor and juggernaut
swell oh gutracket
blastoff and sugartongue
syntax oh throb and pulse and rivulet
swing and glottal thing
and kick-start heart and heel-toe heart
ooh ooh ooh a bullfight
where the bull might
take flight and win!
[Source: Bringing the Shovel Down (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2011) // Poetry Foundation]
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer]
Huntress searches the deep forest. With only the moon. Her guide. Hears her breath, can see the mist made with her warm, open mouth. Tastes the wet of the October night. Is not alone, is never. The movement of her pack, the flutter of her prey. The spirits of creatures dead and not-yet. The soil’s heartbeat, also her heartbeat, and that of the trees. Observing with watchful eyes from up high. She makes her kill. Devours the body provided. By landscape. Bows her head in reverence. The sacrifice and the abundance. Takes only what she needs. Moves forward into the stillness.
It seems link only yesterday that I wrote Part I of this Full Moon Portal series. Though it went by quickly, the end of the month is here, and with it a Full Blue Hunter’s Moon in Taurus. This moon also occurs on Samhain (Halloween), the point when the veil is thinnest between the living and spiritual realms. Needless to say, this is the final hurrah of our October lunar portal, packing a big punch of magick and sending us off into the remainder of 2020 with powerful tools.
As I explained in the first part of this series, I have created some visual representations to help frame the concepts of this month. These visuals are made with the infinity sign (or ouroboros) as the anchor, because I believe these moons are connecting and expanding seemingly disparate parts of the self and community on a loop. Part I described the Harvest Moon and the left side of the ouroboros, and Part II explains the Blue Hunter’s Moon and the right side. For this second offering, I encourage you to visualize the Blue Hunter’s Moon as a stepping (with)out.
Harvest & Hunter | Hathor & Pakhet
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer | Original painting by acrylic-equestrian]
At the beginning of the month, the Harvest full moon asked us to rest, reset, and reassess. To be fed by the mothering energy of Hathor as we entered into the mysterious space of this lunar portal. But the form of the giving, empress-mother is not all Hathor embodies. The full moon on Samhain is the Hunter’s Moon, carrying with it a much different energy.
To understand this, we can look to the Egyptian goddess Pakhet. Pakhet is associated with Hathor—a different embodiment of her spirit. Pakhet has many names, but the most known are Night huntress with sharp eye and pointed claw and She Who Opens the Ways of the Stormy Rains. It is said that Pakhet is responsible for the flash floods in the Wadi—a narrow valley in the desert.
Many people associate the word hunter with a negative connotation, largely because of the way we have seen colonial, capital forces strip and hunt lands of all resources in the name of profit. This is not Pakhet; she is considered a skilled huntress, guarding the land and people. She is also the protector of motherhood.
This energy, Pakhet’s energy, is what I believe this full Hunter’s Moon is asking us to channel. As we step out from this lunar portal, as we convene with our spirits and guides on Samhain, we will be asked to execute a precise movement forward. But this doesn’t mean to kick down the door with guns ablaze. This means using precision, skill, deep feminine knowledge, and love to protect and provide for ourselves and our communities.
And not just to provide, but to help thrive. Just as Pakhet’s flash floods nourish the Wadi so that civilization could prosper, we must learn that sometimes change looks like destruction. Sometimes things must be flooded and torn down in order for new life to sustain.
This full moon, ask yourself: What am I hunting? If you find the answer is purely for selfish gain, don’t worry, you can (and are being invited to) tap into your divine mother/hunter to recalibrate. This is heightened even further by Lilith stationing in Taurus this week. As Sarah Vrba explains:
“Lilith in Taurus is a very feminine empowered energy. It is all about liberating ourselves to do what’s really true for us…[It allows us to] surrender more into a calmer state of being part of a greater whole.”
Pahket is guiding us during this Hunter’s Moon to ask a better question: How can I be precise in my actions forward to help protect and uplift the ecosystem I belong to? This will look different each day: somedays it might be a surrender to the flood, others it might be the momentum of the hunt. But every day it is with a deep, mindful reverence of all that we are connected to.
As Martin Luther King Jr. wrote in Letter from a Birmingham Jail, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”
Living & Dead | Thinning of the Veil
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer | Original photograph by Gregory Prescott]
Speaking of connection, it makes my little, witchy heart overflow with joy that this moon is occurring on Samhain. We often only think of our connections to others on this plane: our families, friends, jobs, art, egos, homes, etc. But this Blue Hunter’s Moon reminds us that this is far from true.
I find it extremely comforting to know that, as we make this transition, as we alchemize to huntress, we are surrounded by our communities and guides—both living and otherworldly. We are being protected and ushered by those who have seen outside of time and space--especially this space and time, when hate, fear, and illness festers more with every tick of the clock. Our ancestors can see what we cannot; let them advise and empower you as you step out from this lunar threshold.
Taurus & Scorpio | Care & Growth
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer | Original photograph: Blonde d’Aquitaine coward by musefiction]
The last facet I want to explore this month is the signs. This Blue Hunter’s Moon is in Taurus and occurring in Scorpio season. I couldn’t love this combination more because both embody the mother/hunter duality in such bold and different ways.
Let’s start with our sweet baby Tauruses. Tauruses, ruled by love-planet Venus, are fixed Earth signs that often get pigeon-holed as purely comfort creatures, lounging in fleece pajamas eating pizza and watching their favorite Netflix series. Well...yeah, that’s true. But Tauruses are also practical, loving, mothering, and fierce. Their ruling planet allows them to see beauty and hope when others cannot. And let’s not forget, they are bulls, ready to defend and protect whenever someone is dumb enough to provoke them.
Scorpios are fixed water signs ruled by Pluto and Mars. Scorpios are often stereo-typed as deeply emotional, stinging, and highly sexual. Again, this isn’t wrong, but Scorpios are also very loyal, loving people. They are honest, authentic, and will ask the tough questions when no one else will. They are also scorpions, and can strike when the time calls for it.
What does all of this mean for our Blue Hunter’s Moon? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: We must learn how to be multi-dimensional in our practices as artists, allies, and humans. This astrological pairing gives us so many ways to ground, explore, and press on, such as:
Tarot Reading | 5 of Disks
This card couldn’t be more apt for our current situation. Disks is the Earth element, and 5s typically indicate some kind of conflict—being in the thick of the journey. But this card in particular illuminates two very beautiful and true points.
In Seventy-eight Degrees of Wisdoms, Rachel Pollack writes of this card:
"This means first of all material troubles, such as poverty or illness. Sometimes [the Five of Disks] implies a longstanding hardship…This card may indicate love, especially that of two people holding together in a bad situation…Sometimes we may find ourselves in a situation where outside forces—social institutions, family, friends, etc.—cannot help us and we must struggle against the problems on our own."
By now you’re probably thinking, No shit, Sherlock. After all, as I write this, I am in lockdown (again) with my partner, trying to soothe my ongoing anxiety, anger, and fear around the U.S. election next week, the growing pandemic, the murder of BIPOC communities, and the ever-present threat of climate change.
Of course, it is no surprise that this card is coming up right now. We are tired, heartbroken, and pissed. But, this card holds another message for us, one that even resembles hope. As Marie White writes of the 5 of Disks artwork in the accompanying text:
"He is completely surrounded by the serpents, he wears them, still there is paradise in his heart. It is the pit you have to go down into to retrieve the gold, the knowledge of yourself, of your destiny. Then you have to bring a balance between that world and the one you live in…We are expelled from the Garden of Eden, but there deep in the heart we still have the Garden of Eden where we are not subject to the rules of the physical world, where we still live in a state of no shame or suffering, or pain or death…Going down into the deepest pits of hell in the 5s, you know that heaven is not in the sky, it is in the breast, eternity is not somewhere else, it is now."
To put it simply, this card is telling us that, while we might be in the darkness of the pit now, here is where we will find the true knowledge of the self. Here is where we will be able to look within and understand our true value, what we can give to this world to help it be one step closer to paradise. And most importantly, we are never alone in this pit. We don't need the veil to thin to be supported by our guides. We have those we hold onto, we have those who hold onto us. We can get through what’s here, what’s to come, no matter what that is, together.
[Photo found on Pintrest]
Sit comfortably at your altar. Under the light of the moon.
Light three candles: white, black, & blue.
Protect yourself & your circle, burn sage & cast salt.
Once safe, place a handkerchief around your eyes, blocking out all light.
In the darkness, reclaim the pit. This is yours & no one can harm you here.
Invite four guests: ancestors & guides. Speak their names.
Offer them wine, tea, something to eat.
Ask for the tools you’ll need in this next phase:
The first gives you a tool of sustenance
The second a weapon for the hunt
The third a map of your heart
The last whispers a strategy in your ear
Thank them for their gifts & for visiting.
Open your eyes, looking directly at the moon. What are the last messages it provides to you?
Write or create for a designated amount of time. Document what you were gifted. Document all that was discussed. Create art from these gifts. Set an intention for your hunt in the coming month.
Happy Samhain, dear ones.
Bibliomancy |Song of the Moon by Priscilla Jane Thompson
Oh, a hidden power is in my breast,
A power that none can fathom;
I call the tides from seas of rest,
They rise, they fall, at my behest;
And many a tardy fisher’s boat,
I’ve torn apart and set afloat,
From out their raging chasm.
For I’m an enchantress, old and grave;
Concealed I rule the weather;
Oft set I, the lover’s heart a blaze,
With hidden power of my fulgent rays,
Or seek I the souls of dying men,
And call the sea-tides from the fen,
And drift them out together.
I call the rain from the mountain’s peak,
And sound the mighty thunder;
When I wax and wane from week to week,
The heavens stir, while vain men seek,
To solve the myst’ries that I hold,
But a bounded portion I unfold,
So nations pass and wonder.
Yea, my hidden strength no man may know;
Nor myst’ries be expounded;
I’ll cause the tidal waves to flow,
And I shall wane, and larger grow,
Yet while man rack his shallow brain,
The secrets with me still remain,
He seeks in vain, confounded.
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer]
“When we are willing to come back home to ourselves, we can see again.” – Sarah Vrba
What does return mean to you? For many, it brings up ideas of travel and movement. An ending. For me, it has brought feelings of defeat. To be forced to return is to go back to a place or a time that maybe we hoped to leave behind.
But the return home is never the same road taken twice. Here we find tension, resistance. Movement vs surrender. Back tracking vs exploration. But it is within these dichotomies that we can expand and permeate. And it is within this Harvest Moon, the first of two full moons in October, that we can dissolve the manicured edges we have worked so hard to file and curate, and allow ourselves to swell beyond what we ever thought possible.
I have a lot of thoughts and messages coming in about this Harvest Moon and the Blue Moon that follows on Samhain (Halloween). These two moons happening at the very beginning and the very end of the month opens a much needed lunar portal—a threshold we can enter within, and then without, this October.
Firstly, it is important to understand that the occurrence of these two full moons in this way doesn’t happen often. The next Blue Moon on Halloween won’t occur until 2039. To further contextualize, Farmer’s Almanac explains that a Halloween full moon hasn’t appeared for everyone in all time zones since 1944. If you remember your history, 1944 was the beginning of the end of WWII. I do not take this as a coincidence, but I do take it as a hopeful sign—even if that hope is tinged with fear. Perhaps this season ushers in the beginning of the end of this war (and if you don’t think we’re at war, then you’re not paying attention). Unfortunately, this might mean that a D-Day is coming prior to the official end.
It is my belief that how we learn and grow ourselves within this lunar portal will greatly influence how we continue the fight after the metaphorical bombs are dropped—how we will rebuild once the dust settles.
This offering is a bit different than my others as it's the first of two parts. In order to present all the information I am receiving about these moons in a cohesive way, I have also created some visual representations that might help serve you as we move through the month of October. These visuals are made with the infinity sign (or ouroboros) as the anchor, because I believe these moons are connecting and expanding seemingly disparate parts of the self and community on a loop. Part I will describe the Harvest Moon and the left side of the ouroboros, and Part II later this month will explain the Blue Moon and the right side. For the first offering, I encourage you to visualize the Harvest Moon as a stepping (with)in. I will explain throughout this text what I believe we are stepping into.
Harvest & Hunter | Hathor & Pakhet
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer | Original painting by acrylic-equestrian]
Etymologically, autumn and harvest are linked. The word autumn comes from the Latin autumnus, influenced by auctus or “to increase.” This full moon is in Aries, which we will talk more about in a bit, but I want to mention here that the typical Aries fire energy of increasing through tenacity, stubbornness, and even combativeness is not what this moon is serving. The increase is not so much an action of taking, but rather one of reassessment.
Have you ever been spring cleaning and were shocked to discover how much stuff you actually have? The same principle applies here. This Harvest Moon asks us to gather and take stock. To reap what we’ve had growing and percolating all year, to inventory the things we’ve stored, and look at it all with fresh eyes. By doing so, we will see how truly blessed and abundant our lives are.
Now, I know gratitude is a bit of a spiritual buzz word, but this lunar Aries energy has a clear message: do not take this moment of reassessment lightly. This action is desperately needed, especially in our current moment in history. We must be reminded of the power, comforts, gifts, hopes, love, etc. we have right now, especially as we prepare for the remainder of this year. We need to have a purposeful celebration. This moon is inviting us to feast and rejoice in the name of what we have accomplished and what has been gifted to us by our guides, not to turn off, but to recalibrate.
For this practice, we can look to the goddess Hathor. Hathor is an ancient Egyptian goddess that was considered the divine mother and/or divine feminine. Her name has often been translated to “the divine mother who revives,” and on top of being the deity for music, arts, dance, joy, love, sexuality, and maternal care, she is also in charge of welcoming and feeding the spirits entering the underworld.
And aren’t we all feeling a little like ghosts? Aren’t we all spread so thin with worry and work that our souls feel threadbare? As we step into the lunar portal, Hathor takes our coats. She gives us warm drinks and flavorful food. She pulls out chairs for us and invites the ones we love most to join. And once we are nourished, she asks us how we will continue our journey.
Again, I cannot stress enough how important this first step is. Those of you who work with magick and ritual know how important grounding practices like eating and communing are. And for those of you who don’t engage with these practices, just think about what the mamas in your life told you last time you were sick: eat and drink plenty of fluids. This is both literal and metaphorical. This Harvest Moon is the grounding reprieve that we must begin with in order to fully engage with the transformation that will come throughout the month.
These transformations will include transmuting from gatherer to hunter, or in the framework of this offering, from Hathor to Pakhet—the Egyptian hunter goddess named Night huntress with sharp eye and pointed claw. Again, be sure to check out Part II of this offering at the end of this month to learn more.
Living & Dead | Thinning of the Veil
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer | Original photograph by Gregory Prescott]
Every year, October ushers in a time when the veil between the living realm and the spiritual realm thins. This is a time when our ancestors and guides can more easily visit, communicate, and send messages. Celebrations like Samhain and Día de Muertos highlight this phenomenon, with many cultures inviting their spiritual kin to join them in celebration.
I know that some of you are now getting nervous (or even shaking your head) at the idea of spirits coming to visit. But don’t worry—they’re already here. This time just gives us the ability to pay better attention to their presence. There is a reason October is often deeply embedded in the mysteries of death, but death is nothing to fear. Instead of loss, we can think of it in the way the Tarot does—as the necessary end to a cycle. Truthfully, we cannot talk about harvest without talking about death. This is the time when the plants must be cut, when the stalks must die, and the soil must be covered in the blanket of winter, so that life can sustain in spring.
Within the lunar portal of the October full moons, this month allows us to glean a whole new level of knowledge from our interactions with spirits (and if spirits or ghosts don’t resonate with you, feel free to replace these words with things like inspiration, clarity, or muses). The point is that our senses are heightened to the messages that echo within and without. The most important being: no matter what names we call ourselves, or what boxes we put ourselves in, we can be (and already are) more.
In addition to everything else, this week Mars retrograde squares Saturn in their respective home signs of Aries and Capricorn—another rare occurrence. If this lunar portal teaches us anything, it is that everything we do vibrates and touches those around us. And if we allow ourselves the space to dissolve our edges, if we give ourselves permission to think bigger than “I am X, Y, and Z,” then we can open ourselves to energies and gifts we never thought possible. Much like our ancestors’ love extends across the veil into the mortal world, our love can extend past the confines of the death and destruction of this current moment. It can heal, and it can hunt.
As Chani Nicholas writes of the Mars Rx squaring Saturn:
The Mars/Saturn square resounds throughout the rest of 2020 and demands that we examine our burdens in greater detail; it asks us to feel their weight without shifting ours, to study our discomfort in all its intricacies. But suffering isn’t the aim; if we are to ever overcome what impedes us and justice, we have to become intimately aware of our opponents.
I believe this expansion is pertinent, and that it must happen right now, because we are entering an age where expansion and creativity have to be at the forefront if we hope to survive, let alone thrive. This will require us all to not only use our gifts for the betterment of this world, but to expand past (self)imposed disciplines. How can poets help scientists save the planet? How can stay-at-home moms help leaders create equitable systems of justice? How can farmers teach children allyship?
We are being asked to step into other realms of consciousness and belief in order to rise again ready to defend against those threatening our collective family. And at these tables with our ghosts and ancestors, while strategizing for the revolution, we must give thanks and create boundaries. As LeaAnne Howe said in her interview with CA Conrad on Occult Poetics Podcast, not all ancestors mean well. Find the spirits that want to hold and guide you like Hathor.
Aries & Libra | The Infinite Loop
[Collage by Shawnie Hamer | Original painting: Robert Heindel | The Royal Ballet dancers]
The last dichotomy to explore for this moon is that of the signs. This week we will start with Aries and Libra. The full Harvest Moon occurs in Aries, the zodiac’s cardinal fire sign. Aries energy is that of the self (I)—bursting forward as a catalyst and raw force for personal vision. Libra is the cardinal air sign and represents relationship to others (II)—a creative and balancing initiation.
Though Aries full moons are often intense, this moon isn’t asking you to charge forward full steam ahead to some new and unchartered place. Why? For two reasons: first, this moon is occurring very closely to Chiron, the wounded healer. I’ve always loved Chiron; he is a loving teacher that asks us to tend to our deepest wounds and traumas in order to reframe them as strengths. The second reason is that this moon occurs alongside Mars retrograde in Aries, which asks us to shed dead weight to find our self-respect and integrity. So, instead of bulldozing ahead like the Aries Ram, we are being asked to turn that fire energy inwards and return to the self. By returning home to the self we can heal and hone our gifts, so that when we emerge as hunter, we will be ready to fight for our Age of Aquarius, occurring December 21.
This moon happening in Libra season gives us a final infinite loop. Because Libra is a sign of knowledge, truth, and relationship, we can use this portal as an opportunity to look within and around us and find the places of imbalance. Many of us like to abandon or punish ourselves in service of others. Just as many like to abandon or punish others to defend their fragility. This Aries-Libra moon stresses to all of us the following cycle:
In this way, we can think about Libra (and this lunar portal) as the divine feminine womb space—the space to learn—and Aries as the divine masculine energy, or knowledge itself. We need both in order to achieve pure balance and growth as both individuals and the collective.
As we step into October’s magickal lunar portal, we must shed: our armor, our shame, our egos, our definitions of self/reality. As we cross the threshold, we must ground into this hyper awareness through gratitude and celebration. And when the last song plays, the last glass empties, and the chilly silence of the autumn night sets in, we must have Aries’ confidence and Libra’s level head to sit down, listen, and heal.
Tarot Reading: Knight of Wands Reversed
Knights symbolize action and exploration, and with Wands being the fire suit, this card speaks directly to the Aries energy of this moon. However, as we see in the artwork for this card, as well as it being reversed, we are being asked to turn that go-get-em energy inward, toward the shadows of the self and spirit. However, just like the wolf holds lightning in their hand, we still bring light and energy to this pursuit of our shadows.
This card reminds me of Rachel Pollack’s explanation of the word lucid in Seventy Eight Degrees of Wisdom. She writes, “The sunstruck person feels a sense of wisdom, of seeing everything with total clarity. He or she is ‘lucid’, a word which means clear and direct, but which literally means ‘filled with light’.”
Lucidity is often used in collaboration with dream exploration—a practice overseen exclusively by the moon. In this practice, a person attempts to be aware enough to engage and guide their dreams in order to understand themselves and the messages more clearly.
However, many people caution staying in this lunar shadow work too long, warning that lucidity can quickly turn into lunacy. But I would argue that staying solely in the light for too long can cause the same symptoms. As my dear friend Simone said in a text message the other day:
So much focus on only the light has corrupted that light and mainly shadows remain. But we, as individuals who have devoured so many shadows have crawled back out of them still intact, are called to help others who never had the chance or desire to express that need to heal.
We have long neglected our shadows, and because of this, the "light" we use to see has become putrid: it is impossible to discern what is true; it is impossible to see the hope. In order to restore balance, we need lucidity—the conscious and purposeful journey into obscure dimensions of the self. We must take our passion inward to examine and heal. We must find the pure light inside of us, and return from the journey to steward others towards the same action. This lunar portal is a perfect time to find love, patience, and even give names to these shadows so their power can aid us in the movement forward.
I’ll see you on the other side, my loves.
Bibliomancy: Page 10 | Fabric by Richard Froude
I have tried to understand death as related to the idea of waking. I am not certain of the name for this relation. It may be more appropriate to ask somebody better acquainted with mathematics.
We drove to a beach where the rock was said to be rich with fossils. I know about ammonites and trilobites and harbored dreams of owning a metal detector.
Fossils, like windows, are moments of discourse. Music is distinct from the measurement and transcription of sound. It is a form of recurrence.
I have tried to understand waking as the moment when the world ceases to make sense. Maybe one day everything will be collected in sequence and bound with leather.
"In Aporia" by Akilah Oliver | from A Toast in the House of Friends
"I realized everything I was doing must have been Death. It was Christmas or Labor Day—a holiday—and every time you turned on the radio they said something like 'four million' or 'going to die'"
I'm trying on ego, [a justification for the planet's continuance]. Oh
hello transgressor, you've come to collect utilitarian debts, humbling
narrative space. Give me a condition and wheatgrass,
I his body is disintegrating, I his body is ossification. Death by habit
radius, yeah yeah.
I his body can't refuse this summons. I can't get out
this fucking room. Tell me something different about torture
Tell me about the lightness my mother told me to pick the one i love the best
how it signals everything I ever wish to believe true just holy on my ship.
I jump all over this house. this is it [what i thought is thought only,
nothing more deceptive than]:
I his body keeps thinking someone will come along, touch me.
As like human. Or lima bean.
I'm cradling you to my breast, you are looking out. A little wooden lion you & Peter carve
on Bluff Street is quieting across your cheekbone. Not at all like the kind of terror found
in sleep, on trembling grounds.
It is yesterday now. I have not had a change to dance in this century. Tonight I shall kill someone,
a condition to remember Sunday mornings.
To think of lives as repetitions [rather than singular serial incarnations]. To understand your
death is as exacerbating as trying to figure out why as schoolchildren in mid-nineteen-sixties
we performed reflexive motion:
cutting out lace snowflakes, reading Dick and Jane serch for their missing mittens,
And this too, fiction. The book I would want to right.
The restored fallen, heroic.
Did you expect a different frace from the world? Or upon exit?
I'm working on "tough." They think I am already. All ready.
Who is the dead person? Is "I'm sorry" real to a dead person?
Browning grass. My hands on this table. A contentious century.
A place to pay rent. Redemptive moments.
Am I now the dead person?
Dead person, dead person, will you partake in my persimmon feast?
The body inside the body astounds, confesses sins of the funhouse.
I too have admired the people of this plant.
Their frilly, ordered intellects.
The use they've made of cardamom,
radiation as well. How they've pasteurized milk, loaned surnames to stars,
captured tribes, diseases, streets, and ideas too.
© 2019-2021 collective.aporia