Congrats! You survived the upheaval that was March 2026. One may wonder things like “what now?” and “where do we go from here?” This month is unlikely to provide many answers, but it will provide a renewed sense of faith.

The forecast for the month won’t feel ideal, but it will be necessary to realize our futures further. It’s best to move with the motion of the ocean than push against resistance. Cut at the cartilage and not the bone.

BOTD: Four of Pentacles

Something sacred within our control needs protection this month. Four of Pentacles can be a bit cagey at times, going overboard with its defense. This reaction comes from a need for stability and safety that isn’t otherwise present. There may be a desire to protect whatever we have, no matter how little, especially material things like money, housing, and other day-to-day things, for a sense of security.

While for some it may be a bit overkill, for others these emerging boundaries are extremely necessary. Standing up for yourself isn’t always going to look like a battle, either. Some of you may need to retreat instead. Regardless, we need to have a firm hold on what we value. Just make sure this hold isn’t keeping you from expanding your world, too.

Card 1: Ace of Cups

We return to the Ace of Cups energy after a month of re-evaluating and connecting. We can identify more clearly what is in our hearts and where it leads us. We revisit old goals and propose new ones. This reorientation pairs nicely with spring finally arriving in full swing. We even have an early Easter to mirror this next phase.

Today, I’m drawn to the dove above the goblet holding a symbol in its beak. The symbol is similar to the symbol for the Vertex in astrology. The Vertex in astrology signals fated encounters and connections that bring epiphany. It being added to our cup here feels like extra luck in this new wave the Ace of Cups is ushering in. If you find your new or reaffirmed desires supported by certain interactions or connections, take that as a sign to continue forward.

Card 2: Five of Swords

Five of Swords is never fun to get. Nobody’s winning because ego is running the show. If you overly focus on besting a situation or how a situation seemingly bests you, you misalign yourself. The typical message drawn from this is to pull away from ego and back into your intuitive, grounded self.

However, today it feels this tension may be necessary to illuminate the real anxieties present in our lives. What are we scared to lose, and what are we willing to do to protect it? Being made clear about what that is and how we’ll show up is important. Then we can make a much more informed and grounded decision. If you find yourself getting a little snappy or insecure this month, give yourself a break and try to reform with the new knowledge; it’s okay to be human and get a little messy.

Card 3: The Hanged Man

The Hanged Man asks us to step back from our scheming and strategizing to trust that what we want or need will be supported. We’ve done enough and will continue to do enough to pave the way forward. The Hanged Man understands that we as humans are collaborators with our environment and the divine. We don’t have the whole world in our hands, and that is for good reason. Understanding that we cannot see clearly, let alone the full picture (or even the actual orientation of things), takes a bit of pressure off ourselves to get things right all the time. Take a breath and let it all go.

Summary:

We may not be moving from the most secure place this month, but that doesn’t mean all is lost. We may find stability in what we can control and what we value. With the arrival of new energy so soon after moving forward, we try to re-stabilize ourselves by any means necessary. This leads us away from making the most grounded or intuitive decisions, but these mistakes can reveal where we need support. We’re invited to step away from masterminding and instead to trust that our efforts will be met halfway. This moment of surrender, when we let go, gives our world permission to get a little bigger.

Remember to check back on the 15th and at the end of the month to see how this message unfolds for you. If you liked this reading and would like to have a personal reading with me, check out my website for more info. Best of luck this month! It’s going to be a little sludgy, but what isn’t in this hectic world of ours?

Wanna read last month’s forecast?

This post is spoiler-friendly. If you’d like a spoiler-free discussion of The Doom Generation, check out last week’s post. I also added more songs to the Apocalypse playlist if you want a reading soundtrack. Enjoy!

Jordan White from The Doom Generation has been a point of fixation for me. In fairness, he’s a 90s heartthrob character. My first impression of James Duval was a screenshot of him playing Jordan with his iconic long locks and Ministry muscle tee. Without further context, he fits the broody 90s dreamboat canon occupied by the likes of Leo DiCaprio, Heath Ledger, occasionally Keanu Reeves, and River Phoenix. His character in The Doom Generation reveals an entirely different story.

Upon first watch/reading of the 90s cult classic, Jordan White is the punk himbo to end all himbos. He oscillates between expressions that could be photo references for Bambi, a level of awestruck that never leaves him at any moment he’s on screen. Other characters describe him as a jailbait boy toy, teasing him for his ingenue nature. He’s tickled by simplistic and juvenile things, from the holographic cowboy belt worn by X (a convenient excuse to zero in on his crotch) or a yoyo from the convenience store (also conveniently used to signal him masturbating while being cucked by his fellow travelers).

These, often blended with moments of sexuality, paint a picture of the role Jordan serves within the dynamic of the trio. He is, as the internet would put it, baby. When he sleeps with Amy, their dynamic is reversed from your typical hetero teen romance. Amy always leads, usually from above him, and even when reversed, remains in control. Amy is always the one holding him, and never the other way around. Jordan never attempts to come to her rescue, instead showing support through gentle comfort, calming down her wound-up rage and frustration with a sweet smile or kiss. He’s the heightened version of the soft-boy-retriever boyfriend that the late 10s and early 2020s internet used to rave about. Modern stan twitter would melt if they could handle the more transgressive aspects of the film.

This dynamic becomes blurred when X enters the picture. X and Jordan’s dynamic swings between playful and intense, a clear yearning between the two of them. While one could assume that, like Amy, Jordan would let him lead, there’s no way to know for sure. X tantalizes Jordan but waits for him to take the bait. X allows himself to be throttled by Amy, letting their power dynamic swing back and forth whenever they’re intimate with one another. Some viewers read Amy as the versatile character, but I feel it’s safe to extend the same reading to X as well.

With X, Jordan’s naivety is a useful device for willful ignorance of the tension brewing between them. Each breakaway feels halfhearted, less intentional withdrawal, and more a lack of understanding on how to address the charge between them. Jordan isn’t dimwitted or too innocent for the world around him, either. In the car, he reveals how his best friend shot himself the day after they had spent time together listening to The Smiths. He asks Amy to consider what she means after she says she loves him, recognizing that not all declarations of love are made equal. He asks X and Amy about what they think their existence means. There are clearly deeper machinations happening inside of him than we’re led to believe for this doe-eyed teen.

Unlike other characters — particularly played by Duval — in other Araki films, this internal rumination doesn’t lead Jordan into a pit of sardonicism and despair. Instead, he opts to take the world in as it is, accepting what comes and delighting in what he can. This tendency leads to a misreading of him as a happy idiot. It’s a direct inverse to the coping strategy used by characters like Andy in Totally F***ed Up, Dark in Nowhere, or even Ulysses in Now Apocalypse. These characters zero in on the failings of their world and harden themselves against it to best it. Nevertheless, the realities of the world overpower their shell and find the softest parts of them to rip to shreds. Jordan isn’t exempt from this fate, arguably meeting the most gruesome version of it in his castration and demise.

What this fate for Jordan and the demise of only Jordan in The Doom Generation reveal is the world’s treatment of the openness and fluidity Jordan embodies. Jordan does not fight back much throughout the movie, instead being saved by X and Amy with each potentially fatal encounter. This makes him seem like dead weight for our adventuring trio, but it becomes clear that Jordan’s gentler, accepting nature is a refuge for his cohort. Amy and X, when left to their own devices, are rage-filled and caustic to a fault. This characteristic makes it easy for them to murder their attackers without flinching, but poor at treating each other with care outside of a sexual context.

With Jordan, however, their softer sides emerge with ease. Jordan doesn’t do anything miraculous; he treats them as if they hold the same level of innocence we read him to have. It works because, in actuality, they all hold that level of innocence. The only difference lies in how jaded and detached they’ve each become in reaction to this world that is out to annihilate them. Jordan sees past these layers and finds the human lying beneath them, nestling there with a precious, lopsided grin.

In the final scene sequence, before the trio sleeps together, Jordan and X have a heart-to-heart of sorts while falling into their cloud of charged chemistry. When Jordan breaks away to return to Amy, he asks X what he thinks the meaning of their existence is. X has no reply, but Jordan doesn’t mind. He poses the same question to Amy moments later with a similar response. It’s after that question that X comes to join them, and they engage in what the entire movie seemed to be building to. It is that moment of the three of them together, loving each other explicitly, that ultimately answers Jordan’s question and leads to his demise.

The only time Jordan fights back during the movie is in this final violent sequence, hurling an insult at the Neo-Nazi attacker assaulting Amy while his fellow fascists hold Jordan back. Garden shears held to his crotch, Amy left bound on an American flag, and X beaten and discarded in the corner, Jordan is asked what his final words will be. Through tears, he declares his love for Amy and meets his end.

It’s hard not to see Jordan as a sacrificial lamb — this sweet, seemingly innocent young man who was too good for the scoundrels he was being led around by or the callous hellscape of a world they were traversing through. An easy reading of this arc is that this fucked world will eat the most vulnerable alive. A deeper reading is that heterofacist America, in its typically violent fashion, will destroy anyone who deviates from its norm. These are both fine readings, but are wobbly when we acknowledge a) only Jordan perishes despite the entire trio being queer by 90s societal standards, and b) Jordan is not the wide-eyed innocent he initially appeared to be.

Jordan’s true transgression, aptly punished by our neonazis, is the innocence of his nondiscriminating nature. He, without a clear intention to do so, treats everything around him with adoration. It’s not an overly saccharine adoration either, but a delightfully boyish one — at times debauched but never truly dangerous. He let his love for Amy and unrealized love for X lead him to places most rational people would cower from. He delighted in that process, and his nature balanced the less heart-centered ones of his peers. Despite Amy’s former lovers declaring they would kill her, Jordan was always the target of their violence. While this is sensible from a scorned lover’s perspective, X never caught the heat because it’s much easier to target a lover than a fighter.

Jordan’s sensitive, charming openness made him extremely vulnerable. Yet, as the last sequence reveals, the meaning of our existence is to love without shame. To love because we’re human, and that’s what we do at our best. Yes, this world we live in hates how big and accommodating our hearts can be. Yes, they may even kill you for it. But without it, life is too bleak. That’s the true twisted tragedy of X and Amy riding off into the sunset together. They may have survived, but the key that kept them alive did not. They may never truly feel alive again.

Having Jordan’s character be equally as fluid as X and Amy while being characterized as angelic implies that his queerness is part of his pure-hearted nature. Fluidity becomes detached from the narrative of submitting to our shameful impulses and instead becomes the most pure parts of ourselves. Jordan cannot live because then the world would have to accept this truth.

Jordan White is my favorite part of Doom Generation. I’m further endeared knowing he was partially inspired by Gregg Araki’s first impression of a young James Duval. Maybe Araki saw a lamb soon to be slaughtered by the insidious nature of the world. I like to think Araki saw a kid who was sensitive and loving despite the ills set against him. It’s nice knowing that in our universe, this kid gets to live.

As a treat for both you and me, enjoy this fan edit I clipped together in a hyperfixation frenzy last weekend. If you missed it, there’s one for I Saw the TV Glow too.

If I could explain myself in easy colors, I would. Instead, my interior is made of butterfly hues that my human eyes fail to see, and my spirit eyes can hold between fingertips. Whatever darkness lives in me has no name, intention, or direction. All I can do is sit with the shadow and know that the shadow is dark in the way outerspace is dark, silent in the way outerspace is silent. My mind is an old camcorder unable to capture 4K living. How do I interpret myself for you when I can only find half-phrases?

Instead, follow my mystic footing.

It took four viewings for I Saw the TV Glow to break me. This shouldn’t have been surprising. I’m in a period of numerological domination—1111, 222, over and over until my psyche is dizzy—and I am a life path number 4. 4 has become the number of destiny. When 4 enters the picture, I know whatever message revealed is truly serious, not a playful wink from the universe that the veil is thin, and life is not as flat as it seems.

The first time I watched Jane Schoenbrun’s 2024 flick, I Saw the TV Glow, was the Tuesday morning after it had been released. I needed an excuse to leave the house, and a movie before lunch always felt like an accomplishment. It was the perfect adventure; the theater was spotty in attendance, leaving space for me to energetically sprawl. I had spoiled the movie to hell for myself, saving my sensitivity to modern horror movies with their jump scares and flashy, grotesque violence. It did not keep me from being unmoored and stirred as I left the theater.

The next time I brought friends along, delighted to pull them through the phantasmagoric portal. We went to the downtown Alamo Drafthouse, known for its labyrinthine parking structure. The ride home was a tangle of red strings, Marina’s “Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land” playing through the car speakers with eerie relevance.

I am here to take a look insidе myselfRecognize that I could bе the eye, the eye of the storm

By the third time, the film was a comfort. I watched it on a plane, its brilliance a pillow for my sleep-deprived brain. I felt understood by it, and that was enough. Two years since then, many things have shifted in my life in rapid succession, enough to forget the pieces that once mattered the most. Sometime last week, after a few days of floating in the universe of Gregg Araki’s Teen Apocalypse Trilogy, I decided I needed to return home. My body was at war with itself, and I had sedated it with every painkiller in my arsenal. Sprawled on my bed, I clicked open the movie and let its first line hit me like a wave.

It was raining last night, and I couldn’t sleep. So I put on my favorite TV show again.

There’s something that happens when you stop being yourself. You become two, the mask growing arms, legs, and a torso that looks like you, but not quite. When the mask cracks—which it will—the waves of subconscious and conscious brain flow into each other. A new split reality is created, similar to the reality of dreams. Truth loses objectivity, and all that is left to ground you is feeling. Otherwise, the projected self walks while you watch, yourself floating above it or thrashing around inside of it, the skin itchy.

The worlds of Schoenbrun’s I Saw the TV Glow and Araki’s Teen Apocalypse Trilogy live in this midnight realm. Reality is vaguely suggested, but the rules, aesthetics, and engineering of their worlds operate around the inner worlds of our main characters. For Araki, this is most obvious in Nowhere and The Doom Generation, both famed for their stylized execution. Even the bedrooms in Nowhere embody this dream-adjacent quality, purposely curated to reflect the inner lives of the characters they belong to. The films are edgy and bare their teeth at the system without flinching. It’s less rage against the machine and more straight-up f**k the machine. F**k it long and hard and with way too much eye contact.

While Nowhere was the movie that led me down the Araki wormhole, The Doom Generation was the one to dial up my fixation around it. I’d like to pause and say that I cannot in good faith recommend this movie, but of the three, it is my favorite in execution. Without it, I wouldn’t have rewatched I Saw the TV Glow. The last ten minutes were so intense that I needed its softer kindred spirit. The trio of Araki movies themed around queerness, nihilism, and youth culture felt eerily familiar, despite being very different in tone. I soon learned Schoenbrun was also an Araki fan, and Araki a fan of Schoenbrun’s work, so naturally I had to put my sixth sense to the test and compare the two.

Neither Araki nor Schoenbrun tends to make feel-good films. Typically, I avoid this kind of work like the plague. My general barometer for what media I can ingest is how soothing it is on my nervous system. Most action films are too much for me, the fast-paced exhilaration sending my brain into hyperdrive. Dramas tear into the soft tissue of my heart with the ease of a steak knife. There are very few intense movies or shows that I’ve welcomed with even remotely open arms. What draws me to work like The Doom Generation and I Saw the TV Glow is how they mirror the latent intensity that rests inside of me. I try to avoid overindulging the way I did as a teenager, but the comfort in seeing your anxieties about existing in the world be portrayed and then heightened to mirror the feeling of experiencing it cannot be understated.

The hyperbolic nature of Araki’s work is often read as pure camp and style, but this approach is the most adept at capturing the realities of how we experience our lives. Living through this current era of tedious realism only makes this distinction in filmmaking more obvious. Media that looks like my life doesn’t speak to me. I need movies that feel like my life, that feel like the insides of myself have been disemboweled and displayed for a gallery exhibition. That feeling was shaken up in me as I finished The Doom Generation; its ending was famously intense and hit something in my subconscious that I wasn’t privy to. Returning to I Saw the TV Glow seemed to dislodge the disturbed part.

Both The Doom Generation and I Saw the TV Glow bring into question how we cope with a world that is actively trying to destroy us. The Doom Generation handles this idea very literally, with our protagonists facing off a series of foes in increasingly gratuitous ways. Our trio escapes their horror through violence and sex, a proxy for the bond that forms between the three of them. However, the effectiveness of this strategy is limited. This makes all escape futile, resulting in their inevitable doom.

I Saw the TV Glow adds more complexity to this cannibalistic space our characters inhabit. External forces still actively terrorize and constrain our protagonists. However, their escape entirely depends on their willingness not only to combat those forces head-on, but to combat them by facing themselves first. Self-sacrifice—or more accurately, sacrificing the idea of who we are—is required to be free. This process is hard and scary and entirely in our hands and no one else’s.

Our world has always been totally fucked and continues to be so. The question becomes, how do we face it? Are we willing to face it? And do we understand that to fight back against the world, we will also have to destroy the version of this world that exists within ourselves?

Queer media lives in this existential space because that is the resounding weight of why queerness is so terrifying to people. To have an entire faction of people who have looked inside of themselves, realized they were something deviant, and decided to exist as such anyway. Sacrifices be damned. The proposed reality wobbles, disintegrating into phantasmagoria.

I cannot be myself for the life of me, and I cannot keep up the dance either. One part of me clings to this so-called good life with every fiber of energy I still have left. It’s my glass sculpture I’ve been perfecting for years. How dare I threaten to smash it just to start something new?

The other side of me is dying. She is dying and unmotivated at the thought. There is no future and no hope, so I might as well stop trying.

Then there is this third side of me toiling in the background. The fire to keep going and to change. She denies these two separate selves their desire to be still and stay steady. She knows when a lie is being told. She’s strong and sexy and hopeful. I’ve lost sight of her for a moment, but she continues to speak. I can follow her voice until we reunite again.

My mother faced a similar bout of depression when she was my age, not long before having me. I hug my insides with that connection, not of generational wounding but this larger human phenomenon of figuring out how to keep trying to live our lives, even while the world wants to burn or wants to kill you or wants you to help kill yourself. I must find it in me to refuse to die. I must find it in me to refuse to take this lying still. I must find it in me to live.

Added March 22, 2025

Naturally, writing and publishing this didn’t shake this movie out of my bones, so I made an old-school fan edit. This does spoil the movie a little, but I love it with my whole heart.

No pressure, am I right?

BOTD: Two of Cups

You may remember last month, Ace of Cups was present to signal a shift into opening our hearts to embrace what they want. Here, we are invited to welcome connection throughout the month. Think of every kind of partnership we can experience: romantic, platonic, professional, artistic, etc. When we come together, something new can emerge. The lion present represents that phenomenon, but it can also represent blessed and passionate partnerships.

What can we bring to life through the power of connection? This would be a good month to go and find out.

Card 1: King of Wands

Our king is the human embodiment of fire — red headdress, red gown, yellow cape, yellow crown, orange thrown, and similarly hued staff. He can be brash and headstrong, but you can’t say he’s not motivated. Riding off the coattails of last month’s Magician energy, he’s hot to go. No more negotiating or hesitation, it’s full steam ahead into the future. His posture is tall and leaning forward to reveal his laser-focused nature.

His cape is similar to the man’s shirt in Two of Cups for this deck, replacing black flowers with black salamanders. Of course, our duo is passionate, but our masculine figure is visibly active in taking the initiative in this exchange. Think cardinal, yang energy. We need someone to get things moving alongside someone who stabilizes things. If we relied only on the King’s fast-paced salamander brain, we would get moving but not sustainably.

Card 2: Eight of Cups

This is a buffer, which is unsurprising given Saturn’s demand to be felt this month. Moving forward is great, having aspirations is awesome, but you know what’s even better? Not taking deadweight into the future with you. This isn’t a gentle message either. The journey forward, making active use of that staff, requires this detachment. For some of you, certain relationships in your life may be coming to an end (a common interpretation of this card). But for many, this will likely be old emotional baggage that we’re no longer beholden to. What are you still attaching to that has run its course? Check your closet for old clothes and skeletons that have served you well and desperately need to go.

The presence of the moon is never to be overlooked. Our intuition is also guiding us forward, not just our fiery dreams. It’s the ability to listen to the voice inside of us and trust it will get us exactly where we want to go.

Card 3: Queen of Pentacles & The Star

Queen of Pentacles is settled and secure, classically Virgo. She tends to her pentacle, protecting it from harm. You may notice that she, like our King of Wands and figure from before, is donned in red. This feels like a clear energy shift from being active, fired up, taking action to move forward, and finally settling into an easier energy to gestate the change. We are rooted in this new energy, which is good because pentacles are very concerned with the material realm. Whatever has arrived, we’re caring for it like a mother. Our queen is generous in her care, the golden sky indicating wealth in this moment of security and stillness. We allow ourselves to be held or to hold what we wish.

The Star is concerned with healing and integration. In nurturing and protecting the new that is forming, we are being healed in the process. Since the Star is associated with Aquarius, I wouldn’t be surprised if we see this emerge more collectively. However, this Star energy is very internal. If you remember the Hermit and its message to listen to our inner voice, think of the Star here as zooming in on the lantern and realizing the light is actually Tinkerbell. This inner light isn’t just phrases and ideas but a whole complex universe. Becoming familiar with it will be worth your while, especially during this moment of security.

Summary:

This month feels fiery but gentle. We start on a high, encouraged by hubris, stars in our eyes at the possibilities before us, and with a renewed sense of full capability. This gives us the push we need to leave behind whatever is holding us back from this idealized future, allowing intuition to guide our steps. By doing so, we can let ourselves rest and tend to the new life we’ve been working to form. Working with what is materializing heals something in us (and hopefully outside of us), connecting us even more to the inner voice that will inevitably guide our path forward.

Remember that the overall energy for this reading brings us back to connection. There is someone or something we feel sure we can create something beautiful with. The task at hand, once we know what or who that is, requires us to leave behind previous attachments that have no place in our present. Only then can we enjoy this new energy forming, allowing the healing process through creation to begin. If it helps, whatever this bond is, has been anointed.

Y’all, I have excellent feelings about this month. I hope you can feel it too. I’ll see you on the other side.

Wanna read last month’s forecast?

There’s a February playlist btw. Enjoy ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡

One thing I love about reading for others is creating personalized spreads. It makes the process more collaborative, and each reading feels very special. Plus, I get to leave with a new spread to experiment with later.

My lovely friend, Aliyah, recently came to me with an outline of what she wanted to read about. This outline became an incredibly powerful multi-part spread. After a very illuminating session, I decided to try the reading and record it for both myself and this post. Just like when I was reading with Aliyah, I felt similarly shellshocked and immediately decided I would go back and take notes (which I rarely do during or after personal readings).

I wanted to share this reading outline for you to experiment with, because it’s just that good. If you’re not a tarot reader, you can always use these spreads as journaling prompts for reflection. I’m also able to do the reading for you during a 60-minute session, which is available for request on my website. You can also focus only on the parts of the outline that interest you, whichever way you decide to use it.

In addition, I decided to share the notes I took during the reading, along with the reading recording itself. Listening back to it was so much fun, it feels like a hang. The messages that emerged were so fascinating, and it’s fun to reflect with you. Maybe there’s even a message for you that snuck its way in there. Plus, the recording low-key works as a podcast/sleep audio if you need it.

Enjoy this outline and the reading. My personal reading and notes will be behind a paywall since it is, well, personal.

Aliyah’s Shellshocker Reading Outline:

For each bullet point, pull an initial card and then a clarifying card. I use the same tarot deck throughout, resetting for each part, but feel free to use multiple if it feels right to you.

Part 1:

* Where to take a risk (1 card, 1 clarifier)

* Where to fall back (1 card, 1 clarifier)

Part 2: How to embody/obtain the ___ I desire

* Confidence (1 card, 1 clarifier)

* Money (1 card, 1 clarifier)

* Freedom (1 card, 1 clarifier)

* Love (1 card, 1 clarifier)

* Pleasure (1 card, 1 clarifier)

Part 3:

* Obstacle unforeseen (1 card, 1 clarifier)

* Support unforeseen (1 card, 1 clarifier)

I sit in this moment of apathy and shame for not fitting my own self-inflicted mold. It shows up all the time. When I “fail” to be open and friendly despite knowing I’m a rather calm and reserved person. I get irritated that I never write about what’s popular, or write in the classical ways people are taught to. In film school, it was the shame of not caring enough about cameras and movies. Online, it’s not having the right voice or posting about the right things.

This started long before I had to deal with my peers. I’m a first-generation Ghanaian who can’t speak their mother tongue. I feel “wrong” more often than not. This month has been a reckoning with my self-projected wrongness. I woke up and thought to myself, “How can I be wrong for living my life?”

Self-acceptance is a flat idea. It’s not hard to claim to accept yourself. To own what you are is the hard part. I could blame neurodivergence or anxiety, but I feel I’ll always be examining all the ways I can’t seem to do the things in my life I ought to. I can’t get myself to care about having a real adult job in the same way I couldn’t convince my teenage self to care about Ivys. I am what I am, and my life has been a process of remembering this over and over.

I want to be a disciplined and committed person. I am that person, it’s just never what I want to commit to. I can post consistently as long as I never promise to. I can show up and exercise regularly as long as I never commit to a set schedule. I can flow in my relationships until I sniff unspoken obligation. Obligation destroys me. I can do the hard stuff. I can allow myself to show up. But when my arm is yanked, I become spineless again.

I don’t want to be herding myself out of obligation anymore. I know how nuanced I am. I know how full of life I can be. I will do the hard thing. I will do it with love in my heart. No more trespassing myself unless becoming something I am not feels true. That’s fun too, you know. Escaping to the distant planet of “A Different Life” just to see what it’s like on the other side. I’ll listen to music that isn’t really my speed, go to parties I’m not excited about just to feel part of a whole. It’s nice and more importantly, true.

All I want is the truth.

I’m going through this super niche experience of becoming myself. Some final countdown shedding type s**t. I told my roommate yesterday that I don’t really get anxious anymore, but it’s true. I don’t feel anxious at all. It’s this experience happening in my brain and a bit of my body, like being under a drug. It passes. I feel like I’m running. This can be anxiety, but my old anxiety was the type where I’d ruminate on an idea or situation all day until I could land on an answer that almost fit but didn’t. That became my life, how I experienced being alive.

I’m viewing my anxiety today as a state that isn’t mine to hold onto. I’m reacting to something, and I think, I know, it’s cosmic, existential fear. The kind that makes you feel crazy. The kind that makes you do things like obsess over philosophy and religion and rituals to make the anxiety stop.

I spent a lot of my life trying to fix who I was because that had to be the issue. I couldn’t believe I was how I am. That I go into the world as I am, and I couldn’t fix that. In fairness, I could. Some girls get lip fillers, others of us focus on being really smart and then super funny, but not too funny. Maybe moderately hot, but I can’t get myself to care. That’s my problem. My soul don’t care about this nonsense. My soul wants a cozy place to call home, a good chair, a great meal, and something to laugh about. I wonder if I’d ever write again if I knew I would still laugh and love and be part of society.

I was reading Princess Babygirl’s post today and felt that part of me that feels so wrong froth at the mouth. I don’t think the identity wars of 2015 are responsible for this existential mark. I was too autistic to catch on to kids bullying me when I was younger. I do wonder how it’s made me small. I can’t seem to stop being in spaces that make me feel like s**t about myself.

The internet used to be a freak haven, and now it’s a third space for people who don’t want to be themselves — persona city, roleplaying the self into oblivion, blurring performance and being. What does it mean to “be yourself”? I don’t think that’s the question here. For me, it’s “Are you willing to be yourself? What are you willing to sacrifice? Do you even know what you’re losing?”

What do I feel I’m sacrificing just to be who I am?

I’ll have to leave certain groups, it feels like. It’s because I believe it requires isolation, disassociating from the collective for individuality, which is partially true. This seems like the worst time to do that. To unmesh during a period of collective upheaval. But I don’t want to be taken by the wave. My soul demands to be sovereign. If I don’t listen, I’m doing this lesson module over again.

Being alone is the easy mode for being yourself because you can’t judge an isolationist. There’s no one to do it. But to stand tall in the crowd?

What are you sacrificing?

Probably estrangement. Maybe the fear of being pushed out against one's will. That’s not it, though. Maybe it’s the pressure of standing against the tide. You will feel it when you are pushed around. You will feel it when the friction comes. If you can’t go with the flow, you have to accept chaos.

At the sacrifice of my peace of mind.

No, at the sacrifice of illusory peace. The micro mirrors the macro. Allowing the tension means confronting what is not aligning with you instead of weathering it. It means you have to sacrifice what was never yours. It will feel hard because loss is hard. And then it will feel lighter.

So I must be myself at all costs.

Hello loves! Welcome to this month’s tarot forecast. The energy predicted for the month is different from what I anticipated, which means we’re in for an interesting time.

Remember to check in halfway through the month and at the end of the month to see how it’s manifested for you. Let’s dive in.

BOTD: King of Swords

This month’s overall energy asks us to approach our lives with a steady head. King of Swords isn’t as icy in his analytical nature as you would expect. He’s very practical and comes from an informed, level-headed place. Does he tolerate nonsense? Not necessarily, but he tunes into his humanity when navigating decisions. It’s a trait we don’t always lean into when executing analysis.

Objectivity is king this month. Stray away from being driven by pure emotion, but don’t lean into pure detachment. Keep a clear head and a clear heart.

Card 1: Four of Swords

We start the month in rest mode. This version of the Four of Swords has our knight standing, sword sheathed inside a lotus flower. You’ll often see lotus flowers associated with rebirth and meditative practices. With all the energy from diving into something new last month, we’re given a moment to adjust to the shift. Mental, physical, and spiritual rest are necessary in our gestation process. The wash of violet, often associated with higher levels of consciousness, tells us that spiritual reset is needed.

Allow the stillness of this period to regenerate your energy. February will start eclipse season and the Chinese New Year, both on the 17th, ending the year-long shedding period. Take this moment to finish up your integration process. Rest is still action; things can still move forward in the dark.

Card 2: Ace of Cups

Now recuperated, we’re able to usher in a new beginning. The heart opens and brings us to a new horizon. Love is in the air in many shapes and forms: new relationships, surprise connections, new passions, and deep feelings rising to the surface. We may see a surge in real humanitarian efforts and genuine community. There may also be a return to being neighborly and engaging more in casual human connection. This Ace of Cups also has two lotus flowers, signaling that we may find ourselves in the company of those embracing a similar moment of rebirth.

Ace of Cups is very heart-centered, so this isn’t just about people but also our relationship to ourselves and what we love. Do you feel your heart calling for something? The heart has a word or two to say, and it’s time to listen. Don’t underestimate its guidance.

Card 3: The Magician

I really love this for the end-of-the-month energy. The heart has spoken, and we have been guided towards the vision that lies inside of us. The world is truly our oyster! We can create whatever world or future we want to see! The Magician reminds us we have the tools we need, and it’s up to us to make good use of them. This Magician also has flowers present that look very similar to the lotuses from before. Rebirth is nigh, and we’re key in helping see it through.

As this deck likes to say: “We are the final piece to create what we truly desire.” The future requires our commitment to building it in the way we’ve been called to. It’s time to rise to the challenge.

Summary:

This month, we gear up for the long haul. This requires a steady mind and a steady heart to see this process through. We don’t want to be so overly analytical that we detach from what our heart is telling us, but we also can’t be so heart-centered that we lose practicality.

We’ll start slow, resting and metabolizing what the previous month revealed about new ventures and potential commitments for the coming year. After a period of slow processing, we’re able to open back up to the world again. We can play with new ways of connecting with others. We pay attention to what our hearts are driven towards. We engage in the process knowing that whatever path is revealed, we will be asked to use the tools we’ve gathered to make it a reality. We are tapping into the creation of the world we wish to see.

I hope you enjoyed this month’s forecast. If you ever want me to do a personal reading for you, you can book it on my website. May this month treat us all well!

I’m finding myself at a weird impasse. I haven’t been doing the song and dance of digital protest. I’m not tapped into the leftist collectives because I don’t want to be. I’ve become part of the disillusioned public. Sometimes I visualize myself swallowing the energetic slop we’re being served, eyes glazed over. I ask myself if that is actually how I live. I ask myself how much I really care.

I can’t say I don’t care, truthfully. That’s the funny part of these periods. People care, it’s just that we all care in different ways. Collective grief is a fun, buzzy term because it creates the grandiose picture of mass heartache. We all clutch our chest and groan and hug and snap our teeth at the oppressor taking us from each other. We are finally united in our suffering.

We aren’t, though. Some of us were hit sooner than others. Families who never recovered from the 2008 recession, whose children came back from “war” in the Middle East mangled. Some stayed safe until COVID killed grandpa or left mom unable to work the same ever again. Some had to watch their cousin’s body lie dead in the street because of cop violence, or watch their uncle decay in the prison system that only gets worse with time. The public is comforted by an Oscar-winning movie starring Coleman Domingo that makes the pain feel seen for a flash. And then onto the next.

Undercutting the anxiety of this decade would be blasé. In recent memory, there’s been nothing like it. Americans aren’t used to facing a crisis of this level on our own turf, at least not in the last fifty years. We had a moment of getting high and mighty, focusing our grief across the pond, only to find that the center of the problem always comes back to America. No wonder Beyoncé could declare it without protest.

I’ve never been a classically political person because I’ve never been a classical anything. The political has been personal for as long as I’ve had a sense of ego. School shooter drills and climate anxiety are the markers of my generation. People only started to acknowledge that we actively live with the ramifications of the Maafa in the last decade. This hearty fire of “descending fascism” is the equivalent of a slow cooker to me. I care deeply about the suffering of all those living in this country. I am also tired of being told that I am not angry enough about it.

I’m glad more people are finding the fire in them to fight this. I no longer care to. I feel there’s more important work for me to do. I’m still trying to understand what it is. All I know is that being angry and scared has cost me too much over the last decade or so. I know that my ancestors and those of similar temperament have lived through their own version of hell. I know there is a path being paved forward that may be marked in blood. I also know that hope is unbridled in me.

All I see at this point is a beautiful future. I think that’s my truth, my role here. Someone has to hold the hope for a better way forward, remain light but grounded enough to keep moving. My hope is my north star, my dreams are my guide. And they are simple, achievable dreams in every iteration of potential future. I see joy ahead. I know it’s nestled in the pain because I have felt it so much over the last decade. The shadow being confronted is big, violent, and menacing. It can and will induce insanity. I refuse to be shaken by it.

I wish I had the answers and call to action for exactly how to face this moment. I suggest looking to see what resonates most with you. We don’t just need those willing to fight back with their bodies. We need minds, healers, and creator types, too. An ecosystem is the best word I’ve heard for it. You will never know your role if you don’t take a second and feel the weight of your heart’s calling. We all have talents. Please answer the call for yours.

I also implore you to look back. Not to make the past the future, but to remember how resilient the best of humanity is. This fire has been burning forever, so let’s not forget how those before us survived and quelled the flames.

Sending my love to each of you.

As I progressed through the month, many things were revealed to me. I realized how well the questions worked as out-of-the-box journaling prompts, especially when paired with a reading. Silly prompts like, “How am I different from a fish?” become spaces for deeper reflection on how it feels to be human. The readings also began to draw out recurring themes in my own life, creating a larger story with each passing day.

This reality made the process of sharing readings increasingly uncomfortable. I wasn’t willing to interpret as deeply as I normally would because it would become more revealing of my inner world than I was comfortable with. That is why I’ve decided to share the rest of the prompts with you here instead of continuing to balance that boundary for myself. Plus, in all honesty, I’m swinging back into a post-phobic period. Opening Instagram stories first thing in the morning feels like being psychically branded.

Dramatics aside, I did enjoy the process of putting together and sharing prompts for the time that I did. Having reduced the frequency at which I read for myself significantly in recent years, returning to a daily practice temporarily was meaningful.

Enjoy these thirty or so prompts for whatever means you desire. Journal, pull a tarot or oracle card. Record your findings regardless. Do it once a day, or every other day, or at random. The world is yours!

30 Enlivening Prompts for You

* lung: What am I inhaling? What am I exhaling?

* aquarium: How am I different from a fish? How am I the same?

* strange: What do I find strange about myself that is actually quite human?

* man: What makes a man?

* nomination: If you were to give me an award, what would it be for?

* incredible: what about my life now would have been unthinkable five years ago?

* pen: How would you describe my voice?

* privilege: What is an underrated privilege of mine?

* engineer: What in my life could use some re-engineering?

* pill: What medicine do I need today?

* tree: What are my roots? What are my leaves?

* firefighter: Where do I need to bring down the heat?

* deliver: What’s currently being shipped my way?

* rainbow: What promise is being fulfilled?

* convince: What am I still trying to convince myself is true?

* arrange: What in my life needs reorganizing

* beam: What’s today’s North Star?

* professor: Where am I an expert?

* pyramid: What seems impossible that I’m fully capable of doing?

* golf: Am I athletic?

* cheque: What can I cash in right now?

* fade: What’s leaving gently?

* dare: Give me a dare for today.

* oppose: What am I combating?

* touch: What part of me needs contact?

* nonremittal: What debt remains unpaid?

* preach: Get on your soapbox—what’s your message for today?

* agenda: What objective needs special attention today?

* screw: What feels too loose? What feels too tight?

* color: Give me a color. The color most present to you in the card is yours.

(Enjoy the music that was playing while putting together the post

December was such a portal month. January has been carrying the dream forward. Messages are coming in many fun, lighthearted forms. Shoutout to Heated Rivalry for the collective shoulder shake.

I’ve been enjoying this relaxed approach to recording. It’s messy production-wise, but releases me from my art school perfectionism shackles. Wabi Sabi, if you will. I’ll be sending out more of these audio transmissions throughout this year in between writing. I’ve been needing a medium break, and rediscovering these came just in time.

From my notes app:

I’ve been transmitting ideas and frankly writing isn’t always ideal for it. It take a long time and a lot of craft. Sometimes a phone call is better than a letter.

Thanks for picking up. Talk again soon!

This current musing felt important to share with you. Whenever I feel a little embarrassed to share something, I know I must let go.

There’s something new incoming, and I’m excited to explore it with you. Thank you for being here. We’ll talk more soon.

I’m writing to you from the other side of things. Hello. How are you? Have you been feeling well? Refreshed. It’s a new year, and the portal is opening just wide enough for me to slip through. I forgot who I was, or at least what I could be.

I am a girl. A young girl. I always have been. Was that? I remember feeling small—steps patting the ground, socks on all the time. I had long, fluffy hair. Do you remember that? The songs I sang to myself. The music. The love in my eyes.

I am young and small and fluffy. Baby fluff in my cheeks, hips, all the soft places. I’m not a smiler yet. That comes later. I’m not too loud either. That comes eventually.

I look at you with, I can’t remember.

I am different. I became different a while ago. It’s never all at once. I was obsessed with games where you could customize yourself. Character skins, dress-up games. Sims wardrobes for each phase of life. Did I think someone would press something and I’d wake up one day changed? I must have.

This body is a canvas. I’m unfamiliar with it. I had this idea that I needed to fix myself. This happens when I feel out of depth. I just needed to remember that I have changed, and maybe all I need are different things. That may be I am not in a lack of homeostasis. I can’t rehabilitate into what I was. I am different.

The path forward isn’t really a path. It’s a room. The room of my old life is connected through a window. I like to watch her sometimes. What she does, cares about, cries over. So much has happened there that I can’t remember. I watch, and it is a movie called My Memory. She looks at me like I am a stranger.

This room, called My Life Now, feels empty. It’s less a fault of my own and more a lack of initiation. When did I start the last room? How? I don’t remember. There were expectations, small rituals to help the process. A trial run the year before under the illusion of a new life. You’ll expand into the next room. You’ll continue on the old drawing. Untrue. You continue by leaving it behind because it never quite fits.

I remember decorating the first room that was mine. When we moved into our apartment, the one we have now, it was empty. I didn’t have my own bed; I borrowed my roommate’s spare mattress until my bed frame came in the mail. The mattress was soon to follow. The first nights of sleeping in the middle of the room felt hollow but true. I was creating a sense of routine, settling into the space. I spent my days deep cleaning until it felt good to breathe, felt safe to touch. Maybe when I fall in love again, I’ll do the same thing—clean the gunk of the past from my eyes until it feels good to breathe and safe to touch.

My bed sat in the middle of the room at first. Nothing else lived there except for plastic totes filled with everything I owned that couldn’t be in the kitchen. I had hung some clothes in the closet (a great feeling). I felt a sense of being at home. I also felt like an island. Something was wrong.

When my other roommate moved in, I copied her floor plan, pushing my bed into the corner, my desk soon sitting at its feet. The space opened, the room changed. I could imagine shelves and bookcases. I would paint pieces to fill my white walls. A pink bean bag would come in the mail because I had made a Pinterest board with rooms that all had bedroom chairs, so I wanted one. I wanted to be a bedroom chair person. After a year, it became a fluffy ottoman.

This room became my room. My old room grew up and became my mother’s. You only ever have one room at a time.

This new room of My Life Now needed deep cleaning. Years of internal truths and programming to sweep. Clearing out the boxes of old dreams, thumbing through the CD collection of songs I can’t listen to. There’s this quote I read once about people having the same music taste as their teenage self for the rest of their lives. I thought that person was wrong when I read it. I can’t believe teenage me was right.

I’ve been cleaning for a year, scrubbing the floors of my subconscious with bleach, trying to erase myself. I thought that was what I had to do, to disappear to make room for this new version of me to emerge. I cannot materialize from nothing. I have already done that by being alive. I exist in myself right now. I am different, but I am still here, whatever it is I am. When my bleaching didn’t work, I collapsed and gave up on cleaning for a while. I figured, what was the use? Make do with the space you have. Good enough, clean enough. Work with the old habits, old thought patterns. Some things just needed a spot to stay. Some stains were just part of the room. Some boxes were never mine to keep. Shuffling and reshuffling and more shuffling.

I became dizzy and lay on the floor, staring at the blank white ceiling. How much of this stuff was really mine? Was any of it? No, not at all. It all shifts. Things would leave and return. I was Belle, and the room was made up of talking, dancing furniture. My life was alive and changing like I was. I could watch the whirlwind in horror or awe. I chose awe. The parade of my life, as it once was, marched its way out.

I’m not left in an empty room. I have my boxes, and I know I will need to order a bed. A desk. Make paintings for the wall. Or maybe I’ll buy posters. I’ve never done posters. I’ll see where life could take me. The world is an oyster, and myself a pearl forming slowly inside.

I miss the old way. I missed it. But then I watched and remembered it’s not mine anymore. And I see you laughing and crying and smiling. I am so proud of you for living your life. I should go live mine too.

I’ll see you on the other side.

– The Future.

As usual, this will be a three-card energy reading. Make sure to return halfway through the month to see how the themes have emerged and then again towards the end of the month.

BOTD: Eight of Swords

It’s not the best energy to find ourselves in — a head bustling with thought rot. While it’s inevitable to enter spaces of overwhelm, Eight of Swords is very concerned with having a sense of control. We achieve this control through projected disempowerment. All of our energy goes to combing through each possibility and consideration, creating a false sense of productivity. We think we’re being reflective, but there is a fine line between introspection and navel-gazing.

Take off the blindfold and binding. Feel the water beneath your feet, guiding you away from your self-enclosure. You know the way through more than you realize.

Card 1: Three of Cups

Fireworks light the sky, celebration is in the air! A new year has arrived with a trove of promise, and that is a worthy cause to cheers to. Three of Cups appears when we collectively feel good. We embrace victory with our close circle and rejoice in the harvest of the last season, finally bearing fruit.

This is a lovely energy to bring into a period of the year that often hyperfocuses on self-improvement. We have arrived at something new, and it took dedication to get there! Do not sweep your accomplishments of the last year under the rug. You have arrived in a new space as a result of that work. Recognize it in yourself and in those around you. Bask in the glory of a job well done and how it is helping you pave the path forward.

Card 2: Eight of Wands

Eight of Wands is arguably the most straightforward card in the tarot. Eight wands move at full speed toward their target, with an easy-going river in the background just beyond a home on a hill. This is pure movement, pure energy propelling us forward with a naturalness that may feel unnerving. Contrast it with the Eight of Swords’ stagnancy: this card is calling us into the reality of the energy available to us. Our heads may fear momentum, but our hearts and the passion inside of them are built for it.

Card 3: Eight of Pentacles & The Hermit

For the numerologically inclined, please note that we have received 3 8s.

When two cards emerge, I read them as a collective message. Eight of Pentacles further affirms our Eight of Wands. If the wands suit operates in the marketplace of ideas, the pentacles suit catches these sparks in the air to pin them down into reality. This progression from one into the other means there will likely be a flood of ideas and deep creative drive during this month. We’re focused, determined, and very ready to work. The more we lean into this, the better of a foundation we’ll have prepared for the confronting portal energy of February.

The Hermit’s presence reminds us to follow where our inner flow leads us. Not every idea is meant to materialize right away. Remember that you have the code inside you to build what you were sent here to. What you’re meant to focus on, you will feel deeply compelled to bring attention to. There is no better time than winter to embrace the Hermit’s call inward. Your inner north star shines brightest in the dark.

Summary:

This month is calling us out of our heads and back into our bodies. We rev into gear for the energy that this year will be bubbling with, starting on a high of excitement and accomplishment. We celebrate the wins that brought us to a place of taking action towards what lies in our hearts. With jubilee, we are sent off sailing toward this new beginning. Ideas for what we want to become will arrive with swiftness, and we will have the energy and ability to ground them into reality with focus and diligence.

The fire in our belly to do so is charged by the guiding light within ourselves. We feel focused, purposeful, and self-assured. All we have to do is remember that we have that inner power. Do not give in to illusions of your incapability of achieving your dreams.

We’re doing less thinking about the painting and more putting brush to canvas. Trust that your hands know where to go. Find joy in the work you put in to learn what tools and colors to use. Delight in where growth has brought you.

Announcement!

Starting January 1st, I will be doing daily tarot prompts. They will be posted on Substack notes, Instagram, and TikTok. I will also send them into the Alive and Fragile Subtack chat.

These prompts will be simple 1 to 2-card pulls intended to help you get familiar with your deck. The longest reading will be the deck interview — which is a six-card reading — but feel free to simplify it for your leisure. These will range from silly to introspective prompts, all mixed to help you (re)learn your deck’s voice and card meanings. I’ll be sharing the prompt, my pull, and my interpretations.

I encourage you to follow along, no matter your reading experience. This exercise is geared to newer readers and those needing a refresher. It’s one of the practices I did when I first started reading tarot, and it helped me learn my deck much more effortlessly than the two-hour nightly readings with complicated spreads I would attempt.

To follow this 30-day journey, follow/subscribe to me on the Substack app, Instagram, or TikTok. Please use whatever medium you already frequent. I hold no allegiance to any of these platforms, and they will all receive my equal attention.

Also, please share your pulls and insights! I want to know what you learn and create a community through this process. I’m modeling this challenge off a blend of Jessica Dore’s old Twitter readings and Yoga with Adrienne’s January challenges. The communal aspects of these offerings are what make them what they are. If you do engage, learn, participate, or even find a message for you in the pulls that I make, please share it with me!

I’m excited to go on this adventure with you and bring more newsletter installments in the new year. See you then!

-

Things that have changed

I do not like pomegranates during winter. It is a pain to prepare and hurts my stomach. My clothes do not fit me in size, shape, or presence.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Look how many new clothes came after the great purge, now that I am unattached to my life’s comfort. In each tension lies a portal to the reveal.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Music cannot enchant me under the spell of any artist.I no longer deify gurus who are only broken clocks. I tell you in truth what I am and what I give.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

And I have the references to prove it all, too.I don’t want to (need to) leave behind where I am.I don’t want to (need to) leave those who are with me.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.I keep some words hidden and let other words free,and my body gets stronger with every morning,and burns even brighter, deeper into the night.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.I am not and cannot be angry anymore. Anxiety is a guest and not an inmate.Even food I cannot eat holds a memory.I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Sweet childhood has gone, and my tongue gone with it.Rolling my eyes at the sky and her messages.Raise my head to meet each pair of eyes that pass me.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Reach my hands to touch you as me and me as you.There is love here, unspoken but known beyond me. Watch my elders become my children, my siblings.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Money becomes a river I feign to drown in.Collecting my thoughts is now for scraps of paper,The process has no desired destination.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Desire’s game bores me when I know how to love.I have strayed very far from my acidic self.I drink cereal milk and smile at strangers.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

I can live on the internet with self-control,visit and remember you are still an unknown. I am a writer, not wanting, trying to write.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Becoming someone who embraces what I am,Means I do not fear the cold; the embrace remains. I do not overthink my comfort or sadness.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

My shell covers me during seasons of myself: falling out of love with the faces on my wallsand the digital mirrors echoing the past.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

I miss my teenage self with everything in me.I listen to Sade and circle my hips wide.I do not need my data gift wrapped just for me.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Mouth craves less dopamine through easy consumption.I do not need the internet to feel seen.I love the art that the old parts of me held dear.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Have the time of my life in unlikely places.I sacrifice cool on the altar of freedom.What I was always going to be, I become.I am changing I am changing I am changing.

The words I made sermon became spells turning me.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

Something inside rushes through me, enlivens me.

I am changing I am changing I am changing.

-

I love with something silly becomes something sincere.

Summary/Blurb: This is about what it feels like to become the butterfly, soft and shimmering under the sun. Strange looking and gorgeous. I’ve felt all of my life that I was wrong, and I’m only starting to see now that I am perfectly what I am in the scheme of it all.

I had a haunting time at the Raveena concert, eyes flooded with hues of summer while she and her two dancers floated around the stage. When people ask me about it, I say it was fun first and a mind trip second.

I’m not used to being older. I’m defining what it means to be an old young person, a young old person, being a person at all. I feel plain; I wear the same clothes in different orders every week, listen to the same songs, make the same kinds of jokes. It’s not something I find shame or pride in, just stark neutrality. I am always plain during a nothingness period — the summer before moving away for school, the night before Christmas, the last thirty minutes before lunch, teeth twitching to sink into something so much that the lackluster taste becomes gold when it hits your tongue.

I have recently left the world of Raveena, cleanly concluded by a themed beach celebration. I called it Sweet Time to call in the soft loving energy of her music, her gentle acceptance, and revelling in humanity. Sitting on the beach at the mercy of the wind and soft waves grounded me into the next version of myself.

In an interview with Bobo Matjila that led me to the song “Sweet Time,” Raveena’s take on trust sat with me. To her, trust “[may not be] natural to our body because of how much we’ve been through as a species.” I’ve wavered between self-trust and self-containment for months now. I spent most of the winter in a mental cocoon of self-study, running experiments to see how far I could push myself. It’s always the easy stuff that feels like hazing — sending a message, not agreeing to a plan, voicing an opinion.

June of 2025, however, set this pursuit into hyperdrive. I needed to break out of the shelled body I had formed in my slow crawl toward self-liberation. I needed to breathe fresh air, feel lost memories, and connect with the unknown. I had to remind myself over and over that the future was not here to bite me. She is only a girl doing her best to become something.

But this did not start in June. In April of 2024, I found myself in my room sobbing hysterically in front of my computer. It was about a month after breaking up with a fling that flashed, then fizzled. The looming presence of ‘Next’ hung heavy in the air. My tears weren’t over lost love but a Coachella set performed by none other than Chappell Roan.

It was the second weekend of the festival, and I had formed the habit of poking around the livestream feeds to see if anyone could hold my attention. I knew I had to catch some of Roan’s set as she was now notorious for being a firecracker onstage. But when she emerged in that beautiful, bright pink butterfly suit, she cracked open something in me I couldn’t quite reach around to see.

Roan and I have an almost decade-long history. During the spring of 2018, I went with my friends to see Declan McKenna on his first US tour for his debut album, What Do You Think About The Car? A teeny college bar turned concert venue in Lawrence, KS, was filled to the brim with 100 or so people. Sixteen-year-old-me practically buzzed from being close enough to the stage to catch every smile, awkward laugh, or small freeze at a hiccup. McKenna even spoke to my friend halfway through his set, exchanging some classic British banter.

What my teen self couldn’t have prepared for was the powerful presence of Roan on that stage, quieting the crowd as she played. She’d pause between songs and give clumsy spiels, her nervous energy softening the crowd before delivering the most beautiful vocal performance. Something in me felt connected to her, even if I couldn’t yet piece together why.

After the show ended, my friends and I stuck around hoping to catch McKenna and Roan, the latter mentioning she’d be by her merch table after the show. We showered her with compliments, bought a signed poster, and got a picture together. All I remember was thinking it was cool that she was from just a state away.

I would listen to Raveena’s third studio album, Where Do Butterflies Go In The Rain?, on the morning of its release, two months after Chappell Roan’s Coachella set. It was a lightly anticipated album with only two music videos preceding it — “Pluto” and “Lucky”. The airy, independent work is filled with songs for lying in the grass and soaking in the sun. I wouldn’t spend that summer doing either; instead, I nearly worked myself to death at my two new jobs. It gave a false sense of security after a year of unemployment.

In October of 2024, four months after Raveena’s album release and deep into the consequences of my work commitments, I would go to see Tinashe. Already buzzing from two previous concerts we’d attended earlier in the month, I was extra excited because Raveena would be her opener, and I had every intention of watching her set.

Armed with her main collaborator and guitarist, Aaron Liao, a blooming tree set piece, and musicality to split your brain open, she delivered one of the most beautiful opening performances I have ever seen. As she floated around while covering Aaliyah’s “(At Your Best) You Are Love”, angel angel angel drummed in the back of my brain. There’s something special about an artist owning the stage when the crowd is a little resistant to them, over half of the seats empty as people slowly drift in. At the end of the set, she announced she’d be by her merch table for a small meet and greet. I could practically taste the moment of kismet. My friend and I missed the first few songs of Tinashe’s set to stand in line, exchange sweet words with her, and take a photo.

As we left the show, nearly losing each other in the crowd, I spotted a familiar head of long, flowing dark hair in a fairy-like dress. Raveena, sensing me, smiled, and we exchanged a final wave goodbye.

Butterflies, typically metaphors for change, can teach us about becoming — the process of rooting further into our true nature without leaving behind who we have been. A butterfly is a recklessly fierce creature that, despite all the chaos, chooses to be present in a world that can so easily destroy it. Butterflies work all their lives to become what they are, only to be eaten by a bird, taken out by pesticide, or some other loathsome fate that holds no greater meaning in the grand scheme of it all.

Butterflies always remind me of my ancestors, particularly my grandfather. I don’t know if he related to the butterfly as a martyr of freedom, as a symbol of surrendering to what you are. Perhaps that is why butterflies are often also a symbol of hope.

There’s chemistry to an artist clicking their way into your conscious awareness. Four years after meeting Chappell Roan and barely surviving the worst semester of my life (COVID included), I sat in my temporary apartment, throwing together a playlist of summertime songs. The season had proven itself to be heavier than its predecessors, so any efforts to shoo away the impending sense of doom were welcome. I kept up with Roan like an old friend, occasionally checking in to see how she was. Her ‘10s Tumblr-worthy aesthetic had gently departed, her brown hair tinged red. I listened to her new singles once or twice, none of them sticky enough for my indie-pop-fiend brain.

Enter “Naked in Manhattan”.

Every time I hear the tune, I still see myself prancing around my room, around the empty campus, along the beachside, letting the desire to live well return to me. It was so unlike all of her earlier work — sans Pink Pony Club — undercut with melancholy. Naked in Manhattan was fun and free and unapologetic, everything I craved to be. I was hooked and craving more.

Each new Chappell drop revealed a wider puzzle to this new version of Chappell Roan I hadn’t seen before. Old Chappell was dead and had blossomed into a sparkly, cunning version of herself. Slowly, people began to drift toward her, the name no longer another indie staple. A friend would invite me to go to a show senior year of college, but we never managed the details. A passive regret, but I might not have appreciated it for the special opportunity it was.

After months of passively re-listening to The Rise and Fall of Midwestern Princess, the presence of Chappell the Person had been lingering closer into my field of vision. It wasn’t until watching her Weekend Two Coachella performance that I understood the sudden, strong pull was the universe turning my head. Here she whispered, the sign you’ve been looking for.

I love the color pink more than most things. It’s the first color that’s felt like mine, likely because it was. I used to say blue was my favorite because my mom said she liked it once, and my child self decided I would too. Blue everything from elementary school until my junior year of college. Before that, my favorite color was hot pink, only fading when I decided it was too juvenile and complicit with the majority.

The semester after “Naked in Manhattan”, pink began to emerge in my aesthetic choices with increasing intensity. I needed a reminder that the little kid in me was hanging on despite years of quietus. The right hue of pink softens and calms my brain, becoming the visual equivalent of holding a stuffed animal — the smell of the plush mild, soft from head to toe.

Chappell Roan emerging onstage in that exact hue of pink did something for the little girl in me. I switched from the stream on my phone to the one on my laptop, dropping everything to watch the rest of the show. Halfway through Picture You, ironically one of my least favorite songs from her, I started crying. I thought of all the queer kids seeing her onstage, prancing around. The Coachella crowd, notorious for giving artists no reaction, screamed along to her lyrics with everything in them. How alive everyone seemed; I was sixteen again in that tiny bar watching a nineteen-year-old Kaleigh croon ‘Die Young’ because that’s all a queer kid in the Midwest had to think about.

The title Where Do Butterflies Go In The Rain? has an answer. As Raveena puts it for Clash,

“Butterflies are so delicate that they have to hide in leaves and flowers until the rain passes so that their wings don’t get crushed in the rain. I felt like that was kind of a metaphor for where I was in my life. I needed to go back to comfort — to deep rest — and stop weathering storms.”

The result of such a clear title and meaning was an album that deeply reflected on her softening with age, despite all the debris life throws. She discusses quite often throughout the album and touring cycle how intimately she’s sat with the message hidden within the album. It makes sense that such a project invites you to explore your own softness, too.

After seeing Raveena in October, I decided to quit my unhealthy working arrangement, at least temporarily, to retreat under my leaf and heal from the damage. My decision was supported by the star forecast, which predicted low energy and slow movement as I moved farther along through the dead of winter. I spent most of December contemplating how I had reached a point of such aggressive self-abandonment, and what anxieties about my life compelled me to push the limit. I concluded that a disconnect from self was to blame and decided to slowly document the process of reconnecting through a series of voice notes.

The process let me explore my intuition and, incidentally, my heart more closely. I would meditate in the morning and the evening when I was awake enough to do it. I found myself, with the nudging of my chosen parasocial gurus, exploring what it meant to follow my inner compass. I ran tests, learned what “yes” and “no” felt like in my body, and gave random projects a try to see what would happen when I allowed myself to have full faith.

I allowed myself to accept ease and open up to the possibility of feeling good in my life. Everything was starting to make sense until around May 2025. The air went still, the distinct feeling of waywardness settling. Mopey and slow, unsure of where to turn or if I even wanted to be turning anywhere at all. Every task became a chore, so I shut myself in, only emerging for the occasional social commitment and work.

Eventually, I sat down with my roommate and laid my frustrations bare. The pursuit of vivre had sparked something in me, soon to be soundtracked by the songs of Raveena.

The following month, I went to see Raveena live, expecting to have a spiritually shifting experience. I wasn’t entirely wrong.

I stood in line outside the venue, surrounded by college kids I had never felt so detached from, the weight of my era of life crushing me with realization. I found myself chatting with people to pass the time, emerging from my crab shell lazily — crossed arms, half smile, light small talk. Everyone was open in a way I couldn’t put words to, likely due to the act we had come to see. I felt the difference between the version of me in line or alone in the pit, and the me from over a year ago, attending the same venue by myself, hyperaware of being perceived, stressed over a boy. It was the same me who was left eviscerated by a Coachella stream.

Standing in the crowd, taking in Raveena’s dance sequences, I felt how I had shifted. I felt the pain from standing for hours wreck my body, the irritation of the kids around me muddle my mind, and the peace of good live music calming me.

And most importantly, I felt so wholly myself.

I found myself looping a lot of Raveena’s music the next few weeks in post-concert tradition, but it felt less heavy with spiritual transmission and more delightfully human. For Raveena, every song is a love song to life, and I had fallen desperately out of love with mine. Ironically, the irritation of the concert brought me so aggressively into my body that it became grounding.

My energy began opening up to possibilities around me. Every single moment became a reveal of who I was becoming and could be. A trip home, moving around in ways that used to debilitate me with anxiety. Letting go of opportunities I wanted, prospects I had already taken my fill of years ago. Playing with new experiences and eventually pursuing the idea of the beach event I had tabled two months prior out of fear, bringing it together in a week. I kept prodding the cocoon of Fear, begging it to release me.

The thing about Fear is that she is not useless. She is a voice inside of us begging to be heard clearly. “Here’s how you stay safe”, Fear says. “Here’s how we stay winners, because then we can never fail. This is how you keep the little love, money, or joy you have.” Everything is sparse with Fear, the desire to hold tight nearly instinctive.

Chappell Roan, in the last year or two, has become a symbol of fearlessness because she is unflinchingly herself to the untrained eye. The trained eye knows what it means when you go from no one caring to everyone caring very quickly. Her resistance to the phenomenon has been clever, insisting on creating boundaries with her fanbase to avoid being pigeon-holed. This doesn’t come from a lack of fear, but a well-balanced relationship with it. Fear hollers at us to protect the space we create for ourselves as we emerge into being who we are. Fear calls us under the leaves when it rains.

To release fear entirely is absurd. We need her ideas, her tendency to overthink and overplan, her caution toward the world around us. Fear, unchecked, becomes the real problem.

From June to November 2025, I experienced a period of comedown. In an effort to shed fear and force open my cocoon, I found myself injured in both the literal and metaphorical sense. I strained my back for a second time, lining up with when I confused my own boundaries with a comfort zone. The body doesn’t scorekeep, but she does like to mirror how we experience the world.

I don’t know if or when I’ll emerge into this beautiful butterfly version of myself. I’m sure there are people in my life who would argue that I have. I sense the life of a butterfly in the human realm is a cyclical one of emergence, retreat, and transformation. A couple of months back, I wrote in the Alive & Fragile newsletter information my therapist had given me:

“[...] butterflies cannot be extracted from their cocoons. The process of struggling out of it, even when it is a struggle, is the only way that they’re able to fly. This afternoon, I saw a monarch fly around our apartment gate and disappear in a flash. It felt like something. Time will tell what.”

I’ve spent the last year trying to emerge into this bright, beautiful version of myself. I can feel her near me, this unflinching force of light and potential capable of any and everything. She is me. She emerges and retreats because, as humans, we are ephemeral creatures constantly changing shape, experiencing many states in the span of a second.

When I started drafting this essay in 2024, I wrote:

I wish I could send 16-year-old me, heck 14-year-old me, a copy of The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess. I think she would listen to it while writing for her blog and consider what life would be like if I stopped focusing on being understood and focused more on understanding and expressing myself.

While I have evolved many times since I started writing this, I feel I will struggle against the fear of being seen and rejected for who I am throughout my life. I have pulled myself out of the cocoon of self-protection to let my wings unfurl slowly. I have retreated under leaves until long after the storm has passed. Teenage me wanted to understand exactly who I was meant to be in the world. Now I know I am in an endless state of becoming.

Welcome to December’s tarot forecast. This came together much slower and more analytically than last month’s, which feels like part of the message as well. We are slowing down to prepare for something new.

This will be a three-card energy reading. I suggest returning halfway through the month to see how the themes have emerged and then again towards the end of the month.

BOTD: Queen of Swords

Our overall energy for this reading is very decisive and no-nonsense. Queen of Swords is the queen of logic; we’re driven by facts and not feelings when she arrives. Set aside the sentimentality for now to make way for this quick-moving, airy energy. She is not without doubt — if the billowing clouds are any indication — but that doesn’t deter her commanding presence. She dons the symbol of the butterfly on her crown and the base of her throne. We can consider the symmetry of the butterfly bringing in balance, similar to the themes of Justice (which our queen is very reminiscent of with her sword).

Butterflies are also associated with evolution, the end result of a long period of germination, where we are now ready to take flight. If you’ve been doddling around making a choice or taking action, it’s time to cut the act. There is no need to hesitate or second-guess yourself. Take action now!

Card 1: The Hanged Man

We start at a standstill. Suspended in time and space, we’re waiting for some magical force or kind heart to save us from our predicament. Maybe you’ve been backed into a corner, have felt down on your luck, or are just dissatisfied and ready to call it quits. We are surrendering and allowing ourselves to be changed because that’s the only play we have left. Trusting that change will come and that you will have the support you need in it is key.

Do not confuse this with a lack of agency. You can take humble action toward your goals, but detach from an outcome. You shouldn’t try to mastermind yourself out of your perceived suffering, but instead take dutiful steps toward the future. There’s no need to self-victimize or assume a hands-off approach unless it makes sense. You are supported in this moment of suspension. A wind comes and lets you swing, take advantage of it, then rest when it stops.

Card 2: Temperance (She’s back!)

You may remember Temperance from last month’s tarot forecast. Our flowy friend has become a bridge between the moment of surrender and the next moment of action. In the Rider-Waite deck, the figures for Temperance and The Hanged Man look similar. In this reading, it gently suggests that you have more power to pull yourself out of suspension than you realize. This could be your higher self tapping you on the shoulder to intervene, or maybe an emergence of self-awareness.

Whatever it is, remember that the goal is not to shed away the Hanged Man energy of surrender but to shift our attention to the newer incoming energy. The shift may take a second to adjust to. Imagine cutting the rope of your suspension and landing smack on the ground. Brush yourself down and take a second to walk off the impact. The important thing is to get moving.

Card 3: Three of Wands

We have finally arrived to the start of something new. It took a second to detangle ourselves from the weeds of what was, but we’re here and ready to run. Three of Wands comes after the deliberation of Two of Wands, meaning that the path forward has been decided and feels true. Echoing our BOTD, a decision has been made, and we’re sticking to it!

The field and sky are golden, indicating not just endless potential but great wealth in our endeavor as well. This movement in our journey is highly favoured, the best conditions we could access after a period of restriction. Will we move forward and claim the treasure that awaits us? It seems to be written in the cards.

Summary:

This month is an unraveling. Whatever blockages we’ve sensed around us are to soon be cleared. Our job is to get real about where we’re going once that happens. We’ve had plenty of time in our stewing to realize what path or decision is most true for us. With the answer in our hearts, we can surrender to the powers that be to meet us halfway so we can focus on moving forward again.

Now this bit is me as your reader building off what the cards have said. I’ve been thinking a lot about wishes and the way they work. We often think that wishes need to be done carefully, likely due to programming Disney’s Aladdin and similar tales have done to our subconscious. The reality of wishes, however, is that you cannot make a perfect wish every single time. A wish requires your heart, and the heart isn’t a strategist. The heart operates on pure chance, and if it is lucky (which at its purest it tends to be), the rhythms of the universe align with it. The most powerful wish you can make will not be planned, but it will feel true. It could be something as small as wishing to go home early or sleep more. It could be as big as starting a new life in a major city with the job you’ve wanted since you were a kid.

I’d advise you not to resist these wishes. Set aside the ego’s need for perfection. Let your wishes get messy. Let the Universe help you sort through the chaos. Remember, you and your heart are supported. Let the power of a true heart’s wish move you.

Inspired by the lovely astrologers of the internet, I decided to pull some cards to add to the picture the stars may be creating this month. If you notice parallels between the mini reading and themes that emerge as the month progresses, please report back. It seems my underworld declaration will be ringing very true this month.

This is a three-card reading, with the back of the deck card being read as the overall energy.

BOTD: Knight of Cups

Themes of following one’s heart. He is unwavering and earnest, eyes and cup steady. His armor here is made of fish, alluding to Pisces’ dreamy nature. There’s an openness to hope and wish fulfillment. In the description for this card, the knight wears his heart on his sleeve. On the card, he literally wears a picture of his horse on his shoulder, his heart guiding him forward towards a person, goal, or idea. He is literally being driven by love. The cup here feels like an offering reminiscent of our Two of Cups and Six of Cups exchange. Offering of our own vulnerability and emotionality in this pursuit of love, however it materializes. Being led and offering intuitive hits as well. Our steady knight, traveling along the river.

I like this knight card very much. It’s always a good sign to be told to follow your heart’s desire. To trust that love is leading the way virtuously and not with the distraction Seven of Cups sometimes suggests. We maintain stamina through the steady beat of our heart’s drum. I’m reminded of The Alchemist.

“Listen to your heart. It knows all things, because it came from the Soul of the World, and it will one day return there.”

Card 1: Temperance

Number 14 in the Major Arcana is associated with Sagittarius (a season soon to come). She is here to shift the tides, with permission. There is an imbalance that requires indulgence to fix, and it is interconnected with its counterpart. The cups of water are one connected energy. Echoing our BOTD, if we are going to offer this watery goodness, a recalibration of focus is necessary. Temperance asks us to examine what we have not been tending to that needs special attention now. Purpose is a theme brought into question, too. If we are redirecting, you might as well check that your actions align with your higher purpose. Do you feel uprooted from the course? This angel is here to guide you by tapping on the internal scales to bring back a steady flow back and forth. Libra desires still harmony. Sagittarius desires flow.

Card 2: Judgement

Number 20 is a call for its namesake. We are evaluating how decisions are made and what drives our decision-making. It’s a call-in for how we’ve been moving and how we may move forward. If recalibration is afoot, it will be helpful to consider how we wish to proceed and why we wish to proceed this way. In some decks, the Judgement card has been renamed Adjustment to avoid the religious connotation. Adjustment is a direct synonym for recalibration—adjusting a position for more comfort or correctness. Chiropractic adjustments relieve hidden tension that causes discomfort. We are self-evaluating what isn’t working while we lean into the shift.

In this deck, this process is crucial for the incoming rebirth that soon follows. If you do not remove what is keeping you back, it will be removed for you, which is never as pleasant.

Card 3: The Devil

Our little Devil likes to come out to play in moments of shadow. Self-restriction can come in many insidious forms. An avoidant personality restricts themselves from connection, a hedonist restricts themselves from balance, and a violent person restricts themselves from embracing the vulnerability of calm. In this deck, our Devil has not locked down anybody. He sits perched inside of ouroboros, a symbol of cycles, particularly life and death. This makes him reminiscent of a Hades figure, guardian of the underworld, that we must confront as we move from one cycle to another. Our devil becomes our gatekeeper of transformation.

The humans lie at the foot of the throne, seemingly asleep and disoriented. This deck’s description emphasizes that the devil’s binding is an illusion, a form of victimhood we can continue to claim or push back against as we see fit. Having the humans be sleepy feels apt to the ways we ignore our own suffering or the reality of the conditions that keep us seemingly stuck. We have way more control and potential for change than we realize. Are we willing to wake up and allow change to happen?

In Summary

The general theme for this month is taking a very no b******t approach towards our desires. There is clearly something in our hearts driving us forward, and a recalibration is needed to regain movement towards it. In that recalibration, there will be cricks that will need to be evaluated and adjusted accordingly unless we want to risk inevitable strain down the line. As we continue forward in this journey, it is in our best interest to own our agency. We can make things happen and usher in change, if and only if we are willing to take off the blindfold to our own self-imposed suffering. We can either halt the cycle of rebirth or confront it head-on and be ushered over to the other side toward what lies in our hearts.

It’s easier to observe time’s fickleness as an outsider. I have now loved certain things and people for a full decade of my life, been able to feel the real-time acceleration, and look back at it. I listened to Halsey’s Zane Lowe interview in awe, remembering what it felt like to see them release Badlands and then rise in popularity, become a star in every sense of the word, and struggle with the height of it. I sat with the version of them that was so knowledgeable and mature in my high school brain — and much younger than me now. I consider how it all shifts, how you think you know the world when you’re 18. How one day you feel you can never know enough.

I’m at that age where many of the artists I admire emerged with something they had built for almost a decade. It’s an existential disaster. I keep looking at my hands and everything I’ve ever made feels translucent, not good enough, not quite what I want or need right now. Just a series of tweaking, pivoting, and perfecting. The Artist’s Way, if you will.

When I told my friend how I felt, how I hadn’t done much of anything, she laughed before telling me off. I know I do many different things, but I do them haphazardly. I’ve been writing and posting online for ten years, with varying levels of interlude, sharing my thoughts. The album I released last month took me three years to do and five years to gain the skills I needed. Things take time to become. I hate it.

I’ve been trying to prepare for “the next thing”, whatever that means. In my head, the rest of this decade should be used to build something for myself. Something I can be proud of pouring time into, but I can’t sense what it is. I’ve never been a person who heavily commits to any particular thing, preferring the swirl of creative pursuits, round robin style. What does that build other than a cyclone of chaotic attempts toward no particular goal?

It is useless for me to hold onto the idea that growth is linear. To me, time is a mass, a solid we move through that slows things down, makes them feel sequential. It’s the only way the spiral makes sense to me, the repetition of before with different variants. What my life is forming into is unclear. Maybe it’s clarifying to me what it would like to become. I’m trying to sense where to shake for gold. The sludge of time is sticky and stubborn.

I spent the weekend buzzing around, tentative of my quickness given the previous week’s lethargy. We went out dancing like the young folks we are, let our Sunday be slow and sleepy. It was the perfect weekend, rung in by the dawn of an idea.

I am a honeytrap for ideas. It’s probably the cardinal energy in my Cancer sun and moon, always burgeoning but not always closing. My loophole has become attrition, each idea feeding its predecessor. This one gained my trust because of how it attached to me. I entered two states of meditation — initially lying on my back to rest when it first arose, then opening my laptop to put on an incidentally meditative listening session. I entered a flow state I hadn’t visited since the beginning of the year.

Through this state emerged the bones for a workshop, an idea I had been wanting to execute all year but never had an answer for. This workshop would be a meditation on archetypes through the lens of the tarot, using a single card reading to assign each participant their “character” that embodies the current season of their life. Through a series of prompts, participants would confront their feelings around being this character and later create a story for this character’s journey based on their current experiences.

I’ve spent most of this year obsessed with symbols, how we choose them, and how the stories we give a symbol guide us through different phases. I’ve been embracing the way these archetypes return and evolve in meaning, constantly changing just like we do.

I wanted to turn this medition into an easy to follow workshop that could provide both a chance for self-reflection and a space for community. Talking to my friends about these archetypes we’ve identified in our own lives and how they appear to us has been grounding as the world grows more turbulent. It feels like connecting to a universal language that has been here for as long as humans have felt deeply about the world around them.

Combining my love for tarot, the tarot centered gatherings I’ve been conducting this year (one for every season if you’ve been keeping track), and my love for storytelling felt natural. Tarot is storytelling as much as it is a mirror. Why not practice creating our own stories for our lives? We see how powerful of a practice it is with things like personal myths.

If you would like to participate in this workshop, it will be on October 18th at 10 AM PST. We’ll be meeting virtually so more people who resonate with it can participate in this space. That being said, space will be limited to ten participants due to the nature of the workshop.

Registration is on a $25-$35 sliding scale, but if price is the only thing keeping you from it, email hello@catharaxia.com. I’m willing to discount a few spots to get the right people into this space.

I hope to see you there in about two weeks. I sense it will be very fun and extremely special. Until next time.

It was the last month or so of eighth grade. I remember sitting in the audience of our empty middle school theater on the opening day of our “senior” show. I cried like someone I loved had been shot in front of my eyes, all silent and shell-shocked. I carefully swiped away tears while an air of melancholy I couldn’t describe loomed over me.

In retrospect, I was probably grieving. It would be the last time I ever did any form of theater, the last time I would spend time with many kids I had become well acquainted with. I found myself in similar situations the rest of the school year, escaping my orchestra class to sob alone in the theater and eventually in the company of my best friend, who would turn soft nemesis. Orchestra was my favorite class in middle school; our class section became a funky friend group. I never quite enjoyed playing again after that year.

The cloud, understood to be depression and mild suicidal ideation, followed me around Paris the summer after that semester, where I would stay with my aunt for a little over a month. It didn’t taint my memories of my time in the city, thankfully, but I remember spending days alone in the house, letting what was likely grief swallow me whole. I’d find comfort in collecting lyrics to Paramore and eventually Twenty One Pilots songs, further codifying my grief as a mental malady.

Eventually, when it became so overwhelming that not even a church camp trip to the Swiss Alps could save me, I confided in an adult, as the internet outside of Tumblr suggested. It was convenient that said adult looked so much like Brendan Urie, which I of course let him know. Never let depression hold back a fandom-obsessed brain.

I went home and told my mother, who had known real depression, and she dismissed my experience. The melancholy would follow me for the next two years of high school, manifesting in angsty friend groups and creative projects. The most quietly successful of these ventures was my poetry collection, which garnered a humble 1800 reads on Wattpad of all places. For those familiar with Wattpad’s game, you can understand why I’m still proud of that accomplishment. It’s probably why I bothered to keep writing poems at all.

I don’t remember what made the worst of it stop. It wasn’t my existential philosophizing turned blog or my angsty teen friends’ trauma bonding until it all combusted. It may have simply been time. Enough time passing for the change train to slow to a stop of stasis for just a second. I would still get sad and emo, but it was a normal teen amount rather than the concerning life-threatening variety.

I’ve been examining that summer often the last month, holding the crystal ball to my eyes and swirling it around to reveal some hidden key to getting out of this mess of emotional landsliding I’ve been experiencing. As my therapist (and anyone with eyes can probably) identify, I struggle with change. Most people do. For me, change has usually been a case of all or nothing, a tug-of-war between wisdom and guilelessness. When I left Kansas for Los Angeles, it was a change I embraced by sheer will. I knew I would hide in my cocoon if I gave myself the chance, so I forced my wings open and embraced an array of experiences for better or worse. Many of my closest friends come from that period of time. Some of the worst events of my life can also be traced back to that choice. C’est vie.

My final year of college and first year of post-grad were a split version of this pattern. I kept my feet on the pavement at full speed in my final year, attending every gathering under the sun to “make the most” out of it. At the same time, I would retreat to my room between every class and outing in an attempt to soothe the stress-induced body aches.

This battle of valiance relented until I came back to Los Angeles from my final class trip and settled into my first real apartment. It felt nice for almost a week. Inevitably, I was hit by a wave of depression that was disturbing even by my mother’s standards. I would cry at least once a day, sometimes for no reason in particular, the gaping void of unknown soul-crushing.

I don’t remember this period of depression very well, only the recovery period. I flew home upon my parents’ suggestion for a month, settling into my renovated childhood room. I spent time with a home friend, interviewed for a job I would later turn down, and watched Interview With The Vampire for the first time. When I returned feeling a bit better, I moved toward any creative venture that helped propel me forward. I took up watercolor, made a mini poetry collection from my much larger draft, and did the Artist Way from fall to winter. I tried dating, got my heart broken, and sat with it. I found two jobs in the span of a week and accepted them both, feeling ready to take the big swing.

Life felt like it was flourishing into something I hadn’t been able to imagine was possible the last two years. I was able to accomplish things a younger version of myself would have squealed at. Naturally, the cracks began to show.

Around eclipse season last September, I decided to take on the most monstrous editing gig I could’ve signed up for. About four hours of video, split into two separate installations, completed within two months back-to-back. I would have a forced break of two weeks, thanks to my semi-convenient trip to Paris (mirror, mirror, if I’ve ever seen one), where I would have to jump back into the cutting room as soon as I returned to Los Angeles.

If I could go back in time and turn down the money, it would be pointless. That project is why I didn’t have to stress during winter last year with my forced time off. Still, it was difficult working every possible hour of my waking life, only stopping to eat, sleep, occasionally socialize, and work my other job.

The burnout was inevitable, the final blow being in November 2024. If you’re a subscriber, you may be familiar with this spiral already as I chronicled it in my Welcome Back post and subsequent Grief Studies series. Not long after, I gently quit the editing gig and pivoted into more balanced means of living. The calibration still feels like a work in progress.

Outside of work, my life did improve significantly. I managed to alchemize the breakdown into a deep healing opportunity. I reflected and worked through a lot of subconscious programming that had been holding me back. It allowed me to tune into a version of myself I hadn’t been in easy contact with. It anchored me during other turbulent periods of emotional upheaval.

But the storming is relentless. I know it doesn’t make sense to be upset about the slow, stuck feeling that’s been weighing me down for months this year. I have run tests on navigating my life in a way I approve of. I have yet to crack the code.

In my notes app the other day, I penciled this:

I’ve been in this void state recently where I am alone in the world and no one else gets it. I talk to others and they reflect my thoughts and feelings back to me like a cassette tape of your own voice speaking affirmations. I look into a mirror or people watch or scroll on my phone while my laptop pretends to be TV and it is one resounding voice of lostness. I don’t know what I’m doing, where I want to go in this life, how to get there.

I’ve been on a self help kick all year from varying angles, trying to fix up my brain from cracking as bad as it did the year before. No luck. No clue as to where the dam has broken from this time. Only triggers that create more triggers and leave less answers and more questions. I don’t know how to “move forward”. I don’t think any of us do. I feel we’ve all been stumbling along. Sometimes you get to land on your feet and more often than not you trip and fall around for awhile.

I’ve been so exhausted by my efforts. The cocooning effect was truth this summer. My fight to hammer open my shell always came with blow back. Push too hard and I’d be shown exactly why my desire to hide was right. I hate it with a passion, the need to bundle myself up so tightly.

I can’t explain what this lost feeling is, other than that it’s hard for me to know exactly who my friends are these days besides the ones I’m really sure about. I don’t know what I should be investing all my energy into other than the stuff that drives me to fall headfirst into the process. I’m not sure what I need home to be, only where I’d like it be one day and what I’d like it not to solidify into.

I haven’t decided the life I’d like to live right now. I feel it’s time to pack up for the next thing but it’s not the time to move forward unflinching. It’s a stumbling through the hell of trial by fire. I wish the fire would swallow me whole so I’d never have to think again.

I am in the painful struggle of recalibration. The I-Ching would call this void energy k’un, hexagram number two. Here’s the Wen Yen Commentary in the version translated by John Blofeld:

“The Passive Principle thanks to its exceeding softness, can act with tremendous power. Silent, tranquil, its virtue is amorphous until, receiving into itself the subjective force, it becomes clearly defined. Embracing all that exists, it becomes bright and shines forth. Its essential characteristic is glad acceptance.”

The gentleness of this void, of this receptiveness over action, has been a recurring theme in the last year. Toward the beginning of the year, I had written about the void in an attempt to piece together my own understanding of it.

The void says, “Helloooooo,” with zipped lips, eyes shut. To stare into the void is a mirror. The whispering you hear is yourself — offerings from the beyond of your own understanding.

The void isn’t here to deliver anything. It is a blank canvas, a tunnel, a bag for shuffling. The void is the hand holding the swirling dice before they emerge, totaling up to seven, nine, twenty-five. Every number is lucky to somebody.

The void in all her absent glory is you and me. Not deep inside, just is. You stare at me, I stare at you, and we are a black hole of being: siblings, parents, jobs, grievances. The stuff that’s held and stretched across time. This is called a life.

The void is over you. And under. The void sings the song stuck in your head. Write it down or you’ll miss it. The void is tired. The void is so, so tired.

The void is calling. It is time to be nobody again. If you could stop filling it up with objects and the weighted mass of your importance, if you put down your scheming and plotting and take a second to sit there with it, you can sit inside of it again.

I have no grand conclusion for you. There never truly is, only the illusion of one. All I have right now is that an emergence of something is incoming. A butterfly is cracking open its cocoon, struggling to get free.

We're doing Virgo new moon manifestations. But the specific aspect of it, I wanted to record for, put down somewhere, but I'm not— I'm like, “I need to write this down.” I'm someone who gets very in my head about presenting as an authority, and I've always felt very anxious about being an authority figure in any way when it comes to my writing, my work, anything. I really struggle with the idea of being someone with knowledge. And I've been playing this month with the idea in both me and others that we all hold knowledge for each other and that it's not so much about being an expert and it's more about showing up and allowing ourselves to put together the pieces ourselves. And that nobody owes you their expertise.

And there are some people who are experts to a degree or knowledgeable in certain ways because of life experience or study. But for the most part, we all have something to learn from one another. And because we all have something to learn from one another, I feel like we don't really owe anybody the need to show up perfectly a certain way. Like, I'm not here to be your professor on life, and you're not here to be my professor on my life either. You're the only one who holds the answers to your life, really.

And when other people give you advice or we have people… Especially as someone who loves self-help realm, who loves self-help world, like, there are lots of people out there that will share just their life experience, their research, their observations on how to live well, how to be well. And some of it is going to resonate with you and some of it is not going to quite resonate with you. And you have to get good at being able to tell which is which. I feel like that is the big game of life is getting really, really good at listening to your frequency.

Because I deeply, deeply believe that each of us are sent here to live the life we're meant to live. And if we are not careful, it's way too easy to get trapped into someone else's matrix of ideology. And it's really important to be able to discern the difference between someone else's life experience that happens to align with yours and when it stops aligning with yours. And when you need to just allow yourself to be an observer. Maybe pocket what is sitting with you or what is causing friction in you to reflect on later, at whatever point later, maybe. Because some things come back around, will hit a different way back around, and it's beautiful.

But I feel like— It's almost like— I've really just been playing with the idea of seeing the world as, like, a tarot card. Like, seeing the entire world as, like, one big tarot deck and being very, very hyper aware all the time of the fact that we are constantly projecting onto things. And that's not to say that you should never take anything seriously or you should never consider other people's intentions. You should never consider things to be something happening separate from you.

But I think it's perfectly fine to understand the fact that when you're interpreting something or understanding something, observing the world, taking in the world around you, that the information you're taking in is an interpretation always. And the interpretation you're taking in is more reflective of yourself and being very, very aware of why you're interpreting things in the way that you do. And that sometimes you'll take things as truth because they resonate with you and other times you'll take them as truth because you don't want them to resonate with you or you feel insecure about the fact that they don't resonate with you or — There's so many different reasons why we intake things in the way we do. To give this further context, I've been in, like, a tarot video hole recently. And at first, I was really worried about it being, like, this really maladaptive practice of, like, “Oh my goodness I'm in, like, super control freak mode. I'm needing to know everything all the time.” And then I realized the other day that for me, when I watch tarot videos, I'm not reading it as tarot. I'm not reading in the same way I would read a tarot reading I'm physically doing myself or a friend is doing for me. Like, I'm not reading it the same way as in-person tarot at all because that's not subconsciously how I'm interfacing with it.

For me, it's like a weird form of manifestation. It's like a weird roundabout way of playing with dreams and possibility. I get to step into this little world where I pick a card or a section. I hear a little story, and then I imagine myself in that little story. And then I get to see what parts of the story I really connect with and attach to.

And I see the parts that I don't. And the parts that I do, I take home with me and I sit with and I integrate them in whatever way is most useful to me. And understanding that that is what it is and that that's very different than the tarot reading, at least in the way that I do it, that will allow you to look at these cards, gain a message from them very intuitively that reveals your inner world to yourself. It's a very different way of going about reading compared to how you read tarot for yourself. And I feel like that approach and perspective has really shifted my world in such a beautiful, illuminating, powerful way, and I would highly encourage you to get in the habit of doing the same thing.

It's basic stuff that you've been doing since you were a kid. When you watch, like, a show and certain characters really resonate with you and really considering what that means for how you see yourself or how you experience or wanna experience the world. You're reading a book and a certain quote really resonates with you. What— I'm now looking at that and being like, “Okay. What message am I telling myself subconsciously?”

I've been in my little romantic movie phase, and I'm really hyper aware right now. The fact that, like, a lot of these movies are showing very similar themes around dreams, very similar themes around following signs of the universe. That's something that's really resonating with me right now. It reveals something to me about myself and what I care about and what I want deep down and what I'm secretly deep down subconsciously wishing for. So that's really what I'm… I think I'm getting at here.

Maybe I'm still a little woozy out of it, but I'm like, I feel like I might have just actually legitimately channeled some sort of message here. Because I was like, “What? Where did I get to this point from?”

But I remember because I was talking about messages. So I was thinking about my voice and defining that in terms of the new moon, being very clear on what I mean by that. I'm being very clear on the fact that, again, you don't need to be showing up as an expert to be useful to someone. You don't need to be showing up as an expert to be someone's teacher. Anyone can be a teacher. You don't owe anybody expertise. To be an expert or perform the role of expert for anybody. It's a privilege. It's a privilege. It's part of a larger journey.

It's a very different interaction, I think from what I'm really talking about right now. Yeah. I feel like the learning process for that is just very different when we're working with experts as learners. When it comes to life stuff is really what I'm talking about here. I suppose for general research and facts, like that's gonna be a completely different thing.

But when it comes to like life s**t, like introspective philosophy-based life stuff, like that should not be approached in the same way as, like, research and expertise. And I need to hear this as someone who can be very type A and black-and-white thinking about this kind of stuff. And I also need to tell myself this because I need to be writing and sharing my writing and recording stuff like this and sharing what I learn and see even when it's not a complete thought yet or maybe when it's not perfectly perfected as an idea. Because someone will hear something in this, and it's gonna hit for them, and they're going to add that to their puzzle piece or their larger puzzle of their life. You know?

And I feel like for me, what I've been realizing is that it's less about finding the perfect guide and more about allowing the same messages to hit over and over and over again from many, many, many, many different sources and synthesizing that information. That's how I used to do research. That's literally like, that's also a research basic. Like, you're not ever supposed to go and look at one source for your information. You're supposed to be going and looking at many, many, many, many different sources for your information and synthesizing it and seeing what the consistent thing is so you can clarify to yourself. So getting picky about only searching for experts is silly. You're depriving yourself of so much valuable research and information that you can have. And you holding yourself back from sharing the info you hold within yourself, from others, is also doing a disservice to the world around you. You need to share your thoughts. You need to share your thoughts.

You'll know which thoughts you're meant to share and which ones are inside thoughts. You'll know which ones you're meant to share and which ones are inside thoughts. Let's put our thinking caps on. Let's put our, let's put our thinking caps on. Let's put our little third eyes on.

Turn them on. You know what they are. Yeah. I feel like that's all I have to say regarding that. Yeah.

We have… I'm gonna stop recording because the rest is for me.

I’m not comfortable these days. I didn’t realize it was getting to me until an enlightening therapy session. I sensed the rods inside of me hiding — they burn fearfully now at my mentioning. They come up for air when it’s safe to, otherwise enjoying their time inside the dark warmth holding them in place. My little fossil.

What does it mean to be yourself? I don’t know yet, but I’ve come up with a series of ideas.

* Not overthinking. Blank brain, full Id, do do do.

* Overthinking. Enjoying the drum of piecing it together, rapid from one idea to the next, returning, rehashing, restitching over stitches to nail down the sticky stuff.

* Melting into the background. Letting the dark blanket you in the unknown. Feeling the soft rocking of the boat beneath you, eyes shut, the whir of wind and water your guide.

* Dialing in. Taking in every detail of the world in 4K technicolor. Feeling the texture of the sidewalk in your teeth, smelling the glittering rays of light hitting every surface —full sensory overload to never miss a beat of life.

* Playing the game of conversation. Tossing the tongue back and forth. Building on the bit until it flops over like Babylon’s tower, leaving us in giggling disarray.

* Holding another’s hand and heart. Taking a deep breath without saying a word. Being on your way.

* Putting on the costume, dancing around the living room, imagining yourself as the star, the villain, the lover. Putting on a new face when you’re done.

* Stripping off the costume. Then your underwear. Then your skin. Unwinding the muscly bits, the string of vessels and nerves. Putting your bones under hot water, soaking them in a bath. Letting them grow elastic. Lying out to dry into the shape you fall into.

* Being all of these things at once. Then none of them. Second by second, minute by minute, because you are alive and fragile and mosaic.

I’m over being uncomfortable in my skin and done with soothing myself into the calmest, coziest state. I am both/and/either/or depending on what the day suits. I am sitting with the anxiety to listen to it and then act. We are co-creators of my experience, all aiming to curate the perfect ambience. Both of us failing to do so.

If my body was a party hall, my soul would be the music, and the fractures of myself would be my party guests shifting in and out of playing host. ‘Where’s the silverware again?’‘Let me grab the chips. ’‘Can we listen to Club Classics?’‘Oh, how about When I’m In Your Arms?’ We sit up, lie down, roll in the grass, run around the deck. We bustle and bustle, arguing over whether this is a kickback or a rager. Either way, we are dancing and greening out on the balcony.

In an effort to grow, I strained my back taking on too much (I mean this literally and metaphorically), so I’m pivoting into becoming softer, recovering from the overload by underloading, presumably. It always feels like you’re taking on significantly less than you should once you unburden yourself. You get so used to struggling with the weight, how it feels to constantly hold tension, that you forget there’s a better way. Always a better way.

In my dream last night, I was someone else. A Sotce looking white woman traveling through Eastern Europe using trains and violating the rules of a region that required women to shave their heads. Some people hid their hair in hoods, but it didn’t work. She arrived at the border with burns on her face despite her silky brunette hair intact. The border patrol was a panel of similar-looking white women, all four intelligent and biting as they assessed the main character's actions in the country she was leaving. They deemed her unworthy of escape, dooming her to gendered persecution. She turned back, accepting her fate as she rode in an elevator with an older disabled man and a young girl. As she talked to the young girl, essentially telling her to stand her ground, she realized she had let those women demean her without a fight. She returned, and the panel laughed, assuming she wanted another round of lashings. Instead, they engaged in a discussion of ideas, sharing their backgrounds, dreams, and ideals. She became one of their own and escaped.

If we consider what my subconscious may have been trying to say, there’s a big theme around how we handle judgment. When we are deemed unworthy, pushed to the side, or away from where we’d like to be, we can either see that as truth, or show up with our full selves. You cannot arrive meekly to cross to the other side and free yourself, especially when you’ve put so much effort into maintaining who you are (& especially when you’ve been persecuted for it). To show up at the edge of freedom with the expectation that staying small will keep you safe will trick the doorway into assuming you can’t handle the other side. The world will treat you how you show you should be treated.

I sense it is time to stop hiding to get through enemy territory and to be proud of who I’ve managed to continue being despite it all. Yes, I feel weaker and more gentle than I'd like to admit, but I've also stayed surprisingly soft and deeply loving. It is time to show up and ask those who are ready to do the same. The very people you fear judgment from may be looking for a person just like you if you’d only show them who that was.

Has that ever happened to you? You try to befriend someone who’s projecting a persona, and you only get along once the facade comes down. Time and time again, I’ve found that to be what keeps me from bonding with people in both directions. I will integrate this and forget it, and reintegrate it all my life, I suppose.

I’m not saying that this alone liberates you from judgment and persecution. Time, place, nuance. All I know is what I know must happen for me right now. Here’s to trying.

Despite life life-ing, I’ve found myself thinking about love again. If you’ve been a long-time subscriber or you enjoy archive digging like me, then you know I had an era on here where I wrote almost exclusively about love and connection. It hasn’t been as much of a focus this year since it hadn’t been as heavy a presence until recently. Naturally, I gravitated toward romance movies.

I feel it’s a very cliché period to be going through as a young woman in my 20s. I spent last week watching movie after movie centered around love in some capacity, which has been clarifying for me in a way other media hasn’t been recently. I’ve always preferred television with its slow character development and rhythmic arcs. However, I needed the ebbs and flows of emotions that movies jam into 90 to 180 minutes. What genre was better at that than romance movies?

Arguably, the selections I chose ended up being all very tonally different but overall similar in feeling. All of these movies held a magic to them, love becoming an inexplicable force that defies logic and reason. Love pushes us into ourselves and out of ourselves. Love bringing together families, tearing them apart, mending them together again. Love as a healing force to ground you when life becomes hard.

The following are all the movies I watched that warmed me mind, body, and soul. Maybe they will warm you too.

* When Harry Met Sally (1989)

* This became one of my favorite movies a couple of Christmases ago. I decided to rewatch it after a particularly rough day. It opened the romance movie portal and ushered in a series of bangers I found myself watching afterward. I love how much this movie is about love and timing. It fascinates me how much love or the kismet moment we associate with finding love is just about timing. There’s no lesson to be learned, only a willingness to be patient and open once you’re ready to be. I suspect this will be foreshadowing, but that’s a story for another day.

* Missippi Masala (1991)

* I first saw this in my last year of college in a film studies class, so I thought I might like it more if I watched it for fun. It’s gorgeous in more ways than I remembered, and I do love how it explores how real political events affect the fate of one family in a way that most people wouldn’t overthink at all. It reminded me in some ways of my own family. It made me reflect on the ways I’ve been shaped that I’ll never know entirely, because they were before I was even aware of life. The chemistry Denzel and Mira have on screen is to be studied. It looks and feels like summer, or at least how summer should feel.

* My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)

* A lighter selection in my spree that dialed down the intensity but kept the passion high. It always fascinates me how much immigrant stories parallel each other. I understand why my family had it in our DVD collection and why I never saw it growing up, either.

* He’s Just Not That Into You (2009)

* To bring myself back to earth, I thought this one would ground my romance movie spree with a reality check. To a degree, it does, but in the end, even they couldn’t resist the sweeping feeling of romance on the big screen. I didn’t expect it to stick with me long after watching it, but I do find myself returning to its grand twist of a conclusion towards the end of the movie. How realistic can you be when it comes to love at the end of the day?

* A Nice Indian Boy (2024)

* As I chronicle this watch party adventure, I’m realizing the gentle flow the universe took me on here. This movie addresses the realism you have to consider when it comes to love and marriage, especially. There are many American movies about pleasing the family to have a wedding. My Big Fat Greek Wedding addresses this issue comically. A Nice Indian Boy takes this issue very seriously because it’s not just about the family approving. It’s about tradition, respect, and knowing the weight of what it means to join ennergies with someone by marrying them. It did help me clarify why I felt so strangely about marriage (which I didn’t realize until seeing Materialists). I have little interest in building a life with somebody, but honoring a deep connection that drives you to want to bind together under the eyes of the powers that be? I could never be resistant to such an alchemical decision.

* Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995)

* After A Nice Indian Boy, I needed to see the movie that had mattered to our main couple so dearly that it made them believe in love. I get it. It’s a romantic movie in every sense of the word: the saturated hues, the lush scenery, the beautiful clothes, the songs, and the chemistry between our leads. On paper, it’s a very silly story. The best love stories usually are. The commitment to having their love exist honorably got me. To be so committed to not being ashamed of your love that you're willing to potentially lose it? Being so sure of your love that you know the risk will be worth it? I’m left to hold the feeling gently and see where it takes me.

I’d love to leave with a conclusion, likely all the essay training from years of schooling. But there is none. I have been note-taking my life for months, hoping to find grand answers on how to be, and I have none still. So instead, I leave you a series of movies I’d encourage you to watch and let yourself get lost in feeling as you do. See where the feeling takes you. And then the next and the next.

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It's more about […] surrendering and being […] open to receiving this next thing now that you've given up all these things that you may have wanted or you wished could have worked out. […] Things that, you know, just weren't good, that just weren't working that had to be let go, and maybe you let them go or they were forced out of your hands, doesn't really matter. […] And now we just kind of wait. We wait in suspense, we wait […] to see what comes next.

Celebrate where you're at right now — even in the face of the darkness, of loss […] — know that you do still have things in your corner. You have people in your corner. […]. You still have love in your corner, support in your corner.

That's going to get you to the other side, and it's okay that you've lost these really hard things, these things that you may have wanted, these things that you were really trying to make work, these things that you thought were going to be your in or your out […]. It's totally okay because this is clearing the way for what will work and what will be good for you. […] You have to trust.

What does safety and security look like in a fluctuating life? What does it look like to trust in an inconsistent and imperfect world?

My relationship with trust is a work in progress, as this excerpt from my journaling project makes clear. Even today, as I start to pen this, I’m wrestling Trust on the floor, trying to decide whether to fight back for control or surrender to defeat. Trust in my body has been an anchor, but not the whole picture. I still find myself lapsing in self-trust, let alone trusting the world.

I’m finding that play and patience can help this process ever so gently. Allowing myself not to move too quickly towards something usually helps me trust my actions and intentions because I have seen the breadth of what they are.

My current favorite parasocial mentor on this is Realizations by Pea. They had put together a Reality Creation Profile quiz a while ago (that I unfortunately cannot currently track down). It reveals how you go about bringing ideas to fruition. These affirmations have been sticking with me extra hard recently:

You're allowed to let clarity emerge slowly. There's no deadline on knowing.

Find ways to commit gently, piece by piece, instead of forcing yourself to leap. You can go all in without abandoning yourself.

Grounding into the “feeling it out” space is borderline non-existent for me. I’ve found myself playing with it more, bit by bit, but the process of trusting it has been a tricky one.

I only returned to writing this post almost three weeks after I first recorded the reading. Two extra weeks than I’ve been letting the previous readings sit for. I had to trust that the process I have for these readings will reveal when it is time for them to emerge. This one didn’t flow as quickly, but I knew falling back would allow it to flow as easily as the others.

Unfortunately, this is too easy a process for me with creation. Creating something inherently requires trust. You don’t know what you’ll make until you’ve made it. How that extends to life — jobs, relationships, day to day living — is what I’ve currently been investigating.

For now, I’ll leave you with a series of references until I come back later with my slowly emerging thesis. The following have convinced me that living the creative process in all aspects of life can take one far:

* The Creative Act by Rick Rubin — Full of stuff you already know if you are someone who makes anything ever. However, we forget ourselves, so a point-blank reminder is never a fruitless effort.

* This video by witti.indi on TikTok — There’s been a lot of new chapter talk in the astrology world this year, and it makes me feel like an onion being peeled layer by layer.

* This post by Valeria Maerz — Felt like the path that you’re walking on, lighting up like a Christmas tree. This leads me to…

* Marina Abramovic: The Artist Is Present (2012) — I want to revisit this in a longer essay, so all I’ll say is that Marina’s commitment to process in her work opened a door for me.

* Oblique Strategies by Brian Eno and Peter Schmidt — I need tools that will not give me direct answers and instead force me to look inside of myself. This has been a fun tool for such exercises.

All of these will soon be added to my Masterlist (which you are always encouraged to peruse). We will talk properly again soon.

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Enjoy this piece I wrote in late January after some health and body anxiety. I still really like it, and it freaks me out a bit that I wrote it. That’s when you know you have something good, if it feels a bit alien to you.

I hope it helps you find peace with your body, even for a second.

It’s interesting, the saying “the body keeps the score”. My body is not at war with me. I am not at war with her. We are moving as one, the rider and his horse, the boy and his dog. We switch places. Sometimes my body rides the back of my spirit to get to the end of the day. This is true survival, us taking turns to make it to the end.

But dear body, you have been mothering me. Holding me more than I am willing to hold myself. Letting me know I am safe even when you’re not. Trying to be an indestructible thing. You are flesh and bones. Atoms vibrating with all their might. A brain firing and misfiring, losing lines and traction with time. A heart fluttering and thundering for more blood and life.

Body, you are my enemy because you know how to be. You accept what you are and work with what you’ve got. You store fat for when I am hungry, burn it when I am full. You move before I know where to go, remember to keep breathing when I forget how to. You hold life like it is nothing for you, not even a second thought to want to be alive. Tell me, how have you figured out how to be properly alive? I would spend all day contemplating blank walls if you didn’t force me to eat, drink, and pee. Thank you for showing me the world even when I try to keep it from you.

Body, your desire for life, love, and movement drives me. You are my inspiration, my true muse. My first art piece was making you look like me. I see you in the mirror and laugh. I pick you apart with my eyes. I devour you. I check every visible fold because you will not let me see the ones inside. It’s for the best. Imagine if I could prod at my stomach, the intestines, the uterus. I would pinch leg muscles all day if you let me, tug at my appendix, wait for something inside to burst.

Sometimes I imagine killing you. It’s not personal. I just feel overwhelmed at all the possibilities you lay at my feet, the way you keep track of time through sagging skin and wobbly knees. And you distract me, ask me to upkeep you with stretching and exercise and good food. It’s exhausting, body. I know you are wearing my soul out, so it does not burn itself in the existential void. I appreciate your built-in failsafe. I hate the execution. I do love how you continue to hold me close, especially at night, eyes closing me inside of you like a suitcase, traveling into the future. Letting me rest, saying you will sleep too, only to stay up all night repairing yourself so you can carry me through the next day. I’m sorry I stay up some nights manic. I guess I desire more time with you.

Body, when we die, will you still hold me tightly? No, you are the family dog resting on my lap, eyes shut to sleep forever, the unspoken understanding that I cannot come with you. That you will let yourself decay into dirt and dust in the ground, becoming one with the flowers, because you know how to just be. And I will leave you for the air, join the wind coursing in circles above land and sea because I am motion. I am life as breath, just as you have taught me to be.

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A friend of mine requested a print copy of my poetry collection Love, Fiada. If you would also like one, you can place an order here until June 15th.

This one is short and sweet, so I don’t have much to say for it. I hope it nudges you forward into the future.

“We're able to and articulate truths more precisely when we share them with others. […] In order to kind of come to a better understanding of ourselves, our own light, our own understanding of living, we kind of need to bounce off one another.

…

‘You know, if you were to share how you were feeling [and] what you were wanting with people more often, it may be helpful in helping you achieve what you're trying to achieve faster, more efficiently’ […] and I feel like that's kind of the message here is getting out of yourself. We're kind of taking what you have inside of you, bringing it outside so that other people can come through and help you and support you and be there for you in the ways that you're needing them to come support you, be there for you.“

If this is the first reading post you’re seeing from me, you should also check out the Page of Wands reading. They’re very connected.

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“We are on our journey, our path forward. We kind of know where we're going already, and it's […] more of a matter of trusting ourselves and the path forward versus getting caught up in the big grand pictures. […] When we're talking about sketching out the plan, [it] is less about trying to predict every possible thing that will happen and more about getting real about what we wanna focus on right now. […]

[This] can be in the form of short-term goals. They could feel like long-term goals. But we're really painting a picture based on where we're at currently, and we're allowing that map to evolve as we progress forward. So getting attached to the idea of, like, a five-year plan that you stick to is unhelpful. But playing with a five-year plan is this kind of playful, wishy space where we are putting out our desires and intentions for what kind of life we wanna live, how we want the world to be around us. That kind of thing is helpful.

I feel like the idea of imagination right now in regards to the future is a powerful and hard thing to do because of how uncertain it feels to try and plan out everything down to a T. And so give that up and open yourself up instead to the idea of experimentation, allowing your map to be less of map of where you're going and more of map of where you are.”

Hello again! I’ve decided to continue this series after successfully executing the first one. Today’s message comes from the Page of Wands and times perfectly with Saturn’s return to Aries.

I’ve been getting “it’s time to plan the path forward” messages for the past two weeks. In an earlier part of the recording that I cut out, I even read a Chani daily message that covered a similar idea. What didn’t click for me until after the reading — and honestly, for many days after — was the idea of a plan being a malleable, growing object. My plans were reflections of me and where I want to go right now. Naturally, they will change as I do.

Having changed quite a bit internally over the past few years, it’s harder to attempt to plan anything. I used to feel very destabilized when my plans blossomed into something new until I eventually learned to lean into it. I leaned so far into it, that I’ve abandoned the process of planning anything. I’m now turning the dial back a degree toward where I was before, without turning the heat on high.

Since then, I’ve been revisiting some old ideas and playing with new ones that are helping me re-open my planning books. The first was the Saturn in Aries reading from Astrobutterfly. Shortly before, I had read the poem “The Scaffold” by Fernando Pessoa.

“If Saturn in Pisces was ‘fake it till you make it,’ Saturn in Aries is ‘make it real.’” – Astrobutterfly

“The illusion that kept me going Was a queen only on stage: Once undressed, her reign was over.”– Fernando Pessoa

I also watched “How To Put Up Scaffolding” from How To With John Wilson a week or so before, which plays with similar ideas regarding taking risks. Of course, I sat stubbornly with all these puzzle pieces and stared them down to see if they’d take their shape.

Instead, I found myself handed this video by Anna Howard, which detailed ways to plan abstractly instead of in the targeted SMART goals style I had used for years.

I can’t deliver a grand conclusion for this reading because that’s never been the point. The point is to try and figure out where you are now, then where you’d like to be, and see how your feet shift. Life is a series of experiments instead of sprints. It makes everything feel softer and easier, taking it one piece at a time.

If this resonated with you, please let me know!

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This audio is the second version, equally as honest, and coincidentally catches me actively integrating the lesson in real time.

The next morning, after re-reading Savannah Brown’s essay “on astral projection” via Patreon, I found a comment recommending Letting Go by David R. Hawkins. Within the first chapter, I realized that the practice Hawkins was outlining could be distilled into exactly what I say in this reading. I’ll report back on how I enjoy the book, of course.

I share this to say that this message moved quickly to find its way to you. I made all the graphics in less than a day, which is rare. You’re getting this post less than two days after I had the initial idea for “daily” pulls. I’m not surprised because it is an idea we need to return to, especially during an intense week like this one. I’m fully aware of the mirroring Scorpio energy of our queen and the Monday full moon (who’s still taking casualties).

I hope you feel held by this realization like I have. If you’re listening to this, I sense it found you exactly when it needed to. It even came in a bite-sized 7 minutes (the original was half an hour)!

“She's not interested in your games, your stories, your lies and beliefs around what your feelings mean. She just wants your feelings. She wants to sit with them. She wants to hold them. She just wants to hear you. That is what the Queen of Cups is about. […]

Having an emotion doesn't make you automatically honest. But allowing yourself to feel an emotion is the most honest thing you can do for yourself. To sit with an emotion for all it is — sit with a feeling of frustration or awe, resolution, or expansion, or tightness, or whatever — for what it is,[and] it not be disturbed by these ideas around it is revolutionary. […]

She wants your mess. She wants your snot, your tears, your core. She wants it all. She wants your depravity. She wants it. She wants your elation, your hyper, your hyper hyper-feeling. She wants your hyperness. She wants you to open up and be free with her. Freedom with her is feeling without filter, no performance, no dimming of the self, none of that nonsense. You’re just going to feel in whatever way it comes up. You'll say stuff and you'll do stuff and it is what it is and she's just gonna hold it with you and she's gonna say “Okay, okay.” You're crying and you don't know why? “Okay.” How often do you need to hear from someone that it is okay to just be?”

I hope you like it, because I definitely want to do this again. If you’d like the transcript, let me know and I’ll update the post.

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You know when you call for an answerit leaves wet prints outside your door.Shoes soaked with the ocean,crawling through riptides of What if,Maybe tomorrow,Better left to someone else.

In its haze of fatigue,back slouched against the good couch,we sigh in unison at its arrival:11:59.Just before the pumpkin returns.Reality in the shape of fall squash.

The sun rises quickly as we slumber together.Arms and legs tangled,nerves swimming with possibilities.The answer brushes my hair,whispers sweet somethingsuntil the sun drags me awaketo wait for more answers to come.

My current definition of grief has changed. It is no longer only mourning loss. It’s not about purging or metamorphic growing pains. Grief announces the presence of difference. Grief comes after the change arrives. Sometimes you grieve what you have gained: burdens and ideas of the world that do not belong to you, the beautiful home you thought you wanted, the freedom you had promised your younger self you’d take no matter the cost.

Grief is making a bed to lie in. Sometimes it is made for us, in fact often so, by time and circumstance. Grief is the only response to the absurdity of evolution. The way life ebbs and flows with little to no rhythm.

As I was putting this series together, I unintentionally completed my grieving ritual. I listened to old ideas run stale, cut the fat that no longer belonged to me. Only two of the six audios I originally edited made it to your ears. I was a little ashamed of my lack of follow-through until I accepted that this was a part of the process. You have to let things fall away when you create. Grief is essential to make anything because change must happen in creation. You must love the initial seeds and accept that some may never see themselves bloom.

I say all this knowing that Grief, big and small, feels like this foreboding force threatening to drag you underneath water as some sick retribution for your past life sins. Unfortunately, Grief is simply evidence of a change. It's our attachment to what was being felt fully, and there’s no shame in the various ways it will find us — death, heartbreak, dissonance, existential dread, and many, many other forms.

I hope this small series has helped you. I hope you’ll come and meet me on the other side because there is so much more waiting for you.

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This one is my favorite. I’m still decoding its magic in all honesty. Editing the audio and cutting the video was healing for me. There’s something about seeds you can eat.

This is also the last audio pre my Welcome Back post. The period is like a quilt I’m slowly stitching together.

Thanks for listening/watching <3

Transcript

Went to bed at midnight because I was watching James Baldwin videos, particularly the one with him in Nikki Giovanni, which is interesting. You should watch it if you ever get the inkling too. I was trying to get to bed at, like, 11 latest, but I was up until midnight doing that. Oh, because I was just so in it. I was just crocheting and watching that.

And then I woke up early this morning, earlier than I thought I was going to, but early. And then I wrote. I wrote for, like, a bit like, hour and a half for, like, 2,000 words just going for it. I haven't been writing as consistently as I used to since I started working. I used to write, (moving my stuff around,I used to write, like, every day for at least an hour or two, usually after my morning pages. So imagine 3 pages of long-form handwriting, whatever. And then after that, I'd get my laptop, and then I would start writing. I would start doing my real writing for the day. But the way I was able to do this was because I would write pretty much the same way that I was writing in my morning pages.

Morning pages are free association writing. Good for the brain. I highly recommend trying it. Look into it. I'm not gonna explain it to you.

It's very good for the psyche because I think it allows you to let yourself breathe in this very… The space that's dedicated to just letting yourself breathe in a way that I think we're not always the best about letting ourselves do. And it's very helpful. It's helpful for everyone, but especially if you're a creative, which everyone is to some degree. But, like, if, like, creating this thing that you do, like, you've you're dedicating your life to this stuff. You should be doing morning pages, to be quite honest with you.

But I used to do that, and then I do my writing for the day. And my writing would range from being a couple pages of similar free association style to me writing, like, 6, 7 pages of stuff similar to this morning, depending on the day. I'd have bangers. I'd have things that weren't bangers. And then, eventually, when I started Substack, I would pick my favorite pieces from that week, and I would share those on my Substack.

Hence, the Art of First Drafts. I have not done this really since, like, April, May, but especially not since July. It's hard. It's not an easy practice to write every day in that way, especially because you're really putting yourself in a very particular mindset that can be hard to, like, move in and out of to then go out the rest of your day.

Right now, I need to hop into editing, and I'm struggling because when you do this, you are excavating some stuff within yourself, and you're also essentially channeling. And even if you're not woo woo like that, like, you still are a part of that process. It's tricky, and I was writing about the stuff that I've been talking about a little bit here as well, where I've been feeling—

So much stuff to do. I'm throwing out these squash seeds. I was gonna roast them, but I just don't care. I don't care to, or maybe well, let's see if they're still good-ish. Maybe I'll try. Yeah. They look a little they look a little off. I'm also intrigued by the idea of roasting them.

Let me trust my gut. Okay. I'm gonna throw them away. Oh, I feel so bad, though. You know?

I feel… It's funny. You don't feel bad when you throw away, like, bell pepper seeds, but for some reason, it's like I feel like I'm depriving myself of an experience that could help me, like, grow or something. But even sitting in the fridge in a container for, like, a week. If I won't cook them… Yeah. Let me cook them.

Yeah. I'm not even gonna pull up instructions. We're just gonna pray. We're gonna pray that I figure this one out. Yeah.

I need to order more tinfoil. Menial stuff. This morning, I was writing about what I've been talking about. I mean, I realized yesterday, which just feels so silly, and I still haven't been able to articulate in my own brain because it feels like too much. But I feel like I may have realized yesterday that, like, I may be traumatized, like, genuinely and not in, like, this really passive way.

And I think I've struggled with it. You know why? It's cause I had a conversation with one of my friends years ago. Isn't that funny how that works? I had a conversation with one of my friends years ago.

We were talking about trauma, and the friend that I was talking to objectively has experienced a lot of trauma in their life, indisputably so. And when we talk about trauma, in Western psychology at least, we'll often talk about the idea of big T, little T trauma. Big T trauma tends to be trauma that, the general basis is that your life is threatened in some way or your safety is threatened in some way. So things like assault, murder, witnessing such traumas, and things like that, being in a war zone, like, these really extreme situations where, like I said, your life is being threatened in some way, which is why childhood trauma is tricky, I think. Because kids, in their understanding of what is a threat and what isn't a threat is warped because you're a child, you know?

Think about what's considered the end of the world for a kid. The end of the world for a kid could be things that range from not getting to go to, like, Disneyland or something to getting beat, you know. And it's just it's not consistent is what I mean. And I feel like, it's something that when I had that conversation with my friend all those years ago, in my head, it was like, well, okay. I probably have not experienced trauma then because I can definitively count on one hand the amount of times that I felt like I was going to die.

And it made big sense that I would have felt like I was going to die. There have been other instances where I felt that way, and it was the more anxiety-ridden, irrational version of that, but very few instances where the trauma makes sense. When we look at the idea of trauma though, in terms of a less non or a more non Western lens, or even looking at trauma in terms of living under capitalism, living under white supremacy, and that kind of thing. I feel like there's almost a trauma that's inherent to being a marginalized person in the society that we live in, that then gets mirrored in the trauma that we experience interpersonally and in our own lives. And that's something I've been reading about or listening to.

I've been in my audiobook era, my self-help audiobook era. I've been reading about that in Who Is Wellness For? this week. Since post election and me having to call out at work, because I look so not mentally well, and so on and so forth. And that's essentially what the thesis of Who Is Wellness For? is for. Is the idea of, a, wellness has been co-opted by capitalism and then distorted to fit the goals of capitalism.

And then, 2—again, who is wellness actually for? Is it addressing the people that need it most? Which is people who are marginalized under our system.

Resting on the tinfoil. So I take these seeds. It's tricky. It's a tricky, tricky thing. I guess I've never in the same way that when I was also younger in, like, high school and whatnot, doing things like diversity council, which was a group that was started at my school to address issues we were having with not even, like, diversity in the school. I actually went to a surprisingly diverse high school for Kansas. Like, there were more people of color at my high school than at my college in Los Angeles, like, statistically speaking.

I still find hilarious, but, you're hearing the plopping of the seeds. Feels like a metaphor. Yeah. I was doing diversity council in high school, and whenever we would, like, go to schools or do panels talking about racism and our experiences with racism and whatnot. I always felt really weird about it because, in my head, I hadn't really experienced racism in the classical sense of, just overt, discrimination and abuse.

But I definitely had in a more microaggressive sense because I had been in things like gifted programs growing up. And I also didn't like, I didn't grow up around a lot of black kids, let alone other black girls. I think there was, like, one I can count, like, on my hand how many how many black girls I had in my classes growing up. Like, let alone black girls that look like me or that I felt like I could relate to or you know? And then also TV, and so I didn't really process my own isolation.

I internalized my isolation as the result of me being who I am, and that happened to be why it was so hard to be a kid in that space and not fully acknowledging the reality of what it probably was like or how it was affecting me being the only, like, black girl in a lot of my classes and how even, like, the reprieve of having, like, a black teacher for, like, a semester or even one other black student or, like, one of my friends that I am still, like, in contact with from high school. But then we were, I think, yeah, the only 2 black girls in our accelerated learning program, whatever you wanna call it. Things like that. Small, small things like that that you don't process how they probably are affecting you. And also being a neurodivergent as well.

It's like, Jesus Christ, dude. You know? It's so much. It's so much. And I never considered that all of that plus the more classical form we think of was trauma may have been traumatizing, may have been traumatizing and felt isolating and may have had a negative effect on how I carry myself through the world now, to the point that I'm currently feeling.

Like, the consequences of it, the amount of, like, health issues that I've had over the past few years going through school and having to navigate, like, the amount of times I've had, like, some sort of mental break that's, like, taking me out or just, like my ability to handle stress now is so fucked. Like like, I can handle, like, I can handle life-threatening situation. I can handle s**t getting real real, you know, s**t getting scary, but I can't handle small stresses very well. It takes so it takes the same amount of energy out of me because my brain is so fucked in processing that stuff and I haven't really acknowledged that well. And I don't know why I'm now picking up on that now with the election and things and whatnot.

And I wonder if part of it was feeling that isolated feeling again of, like, I don't even know how to describe it. You know? It makes me feel crazy. It makes me feel, like, gaslit a little bit. But I'm now kind of in a space where I think I have to prioritize healing myself.

And in that process, it may look like working with people and organizing in the sense of helping people who are organizing, but I don't feel like I have the capacity to be active in those spaces right now. And that's, a lot to sit with at once. The fact that it kinda came up all in one big swoop. And the hope is that you can, like, get it all done in one big swoop and get over it. And then it's done, it's over.

You can go back to your normal life. But the issue is that my normal life is probably also killing me. So I need to figure out what I gotta change bit by bit by bit by bit, and it could take the rest of my life to figure this out. I'm also in my 12th house here right now, if you're familiar with astrology. If you're not, we have profection years according to astrology.

Everyone has a birth chart. When we think about birth charts, we often think of our sun sign. Now people know about their moon sign, their rising sign. But in our birth chart, we also have houses. We have all the signs in our birth chart because of this because you will get all the signs in your houses.

And the sign, depending on what house it's in, will characterize the house and how it plays out in your life. And then where your planets are in your chart, which houses they're in and whatnot, will kinda tell you how these planets will express themselves most often. For example, I have my Venus in my 10th house of Taurus. So my 10th house, which is related to public image, career, purpose, that kind of thing, is being expressed in a very Tauran way. Grounded, Earth energy, creativity.

Taurus is under Venus or ruled by Venus as well, so there's a sense of, groundedness, things feeling a bit more acclimated. There's not as much tension versus me having my Saturn and my Jupiter in my 11th house. There's a back and forth here. Saturn is restricted. Jupiter is expansive. And Gemini that likes to move very quickly, but then is forced to slow down. And we're talking about community as well. So everyone has all these houses, and then our profection years mirror these houses. They may tell us which which it they tell us which of the house themes are going to be emphasized during our year, and they go in moments of 12.

I'm 23. I'm in my 12th house perfection here because it starts as soon as you're born. So you do your year 0, you end at 1. Now you're in your 2nd house perfection year. Does that make sense? So as I'm moving towards 24, I'm experiencing my 12th house perfection year. And 12th house is the unseen space. It's related to Pisces because the houses have the signs that they're natural in. So Aries is first, Pisces is last. So if you wanna understand what the houses represent, knowing your signs will help you. Tenth house naturally is in Capricorn. Capricorns are diligent workers. That's why it's associated with career and purpose. And that outward dimension whatnot and hard work because Saturn: restriction, discipline, and so on.

This is really calming. I think I needed to do this. I'm still putting down these seeds if you can't hear it. There's so many of them. This reminds me of pomegranate seeds a little bit. I love cutting pomegranate seeds just because I feel like it's such a nice practice in patience and mindfulness. Although the last pomegranate I cut up was so easy and fresh. It was honestly quite nice to just get to the point because I cut it correctly, but this is also similar. Yes. Profection. Yes. I'm in my 12th house profection year.

The hidden, the unseen, the intuitive, and I'm also a 12th house Cancer because that's where my Cancer placements are. My sun and my moon are in the 12th house, which sometimes makes it to where it's hard to feel known because so much of you is unseen. It can feel harder to connect with people as well. You're very much in, again, that very, like, woo woo intuitive, esoteric space, but it's very moon energy. The unconscious, the subconscious coming up is emphasized here. And I remember a few months ago as this year was starting, I was like, this feels so 11th house-y still. It's like the thieves around community in relation to community, that kind of thing. You know? Relation to the world around you, and that kinda thing. And then the vibe shifted, and now I'm in it.

And I'm like, “Oh my gosh. Oh my goodness.” And, again, this happens to us, like, every 12 years. So, theoretically, when I was 11, I was experiencing something similar. I don't remember what it was like being 11.

I just remember, going into middle school wasn't the most fun time for me, and that's about all I remember about being 11. It's just a lot. It's a lot to move with. And I have therapy today. I'm gonna have to explain everything. And I was talking to my roommate about that yesterday about how annoying it is to have to explain yourself to a therapist even though that's, like, the whole point of therapy. But yeah. So many seeds. It reaps so much. There's something there's a metaphor in here. I'm telling you.

I love a bread and fish moment. I often ask for that. It's one of my favorite prayers is a bread and fish moment. You'll never cease to be surprised when you ask for abundance to be showed to you, in that way. It's a very beautiful exercise in trust and opening, allowing the simple to be made. The seeds are in the tray. I'm gonna take a picture so you can see it.

They’re good. They’re yummy!

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This is the first video I’ve made in awhile that feels like an accurate portrayal of me and my life at the moment, or at least a moment in time.

Consider this a concept overture, canvas priming, other poetic ways of saying overview.

Thanks for listening/watching <3

Transcript:

Side note. I'm putting away the dishes, so there'll be a bit of clinging.

I've been thinking a lot about intention, and I've been thinking so much about f*****g everything, dude. It's becoming, like, unbearable how much I'm thinking all the time. And sometimes I'll have days where I kind of just break down, and by sometimes I mean every other day at this point. And I'm trying to accept that I'm kind of in a flux period.

For context, I'm not a crier. I'm not really a crier. I'm also not someone that I consider to be a very emotional person. I'm not like a robot or anything. I got over that era ages ago, but I definitely… I just realized what I just said, and it doesn't really make sense without context, but you're not getting any. But I also kind of am still someone who intellectualizes how I'm feeling. But I've also worked quite hard over the past year to stop doing that because it became so detrimental to me that I have started to have, like, a lot of physical symptoms of what happens when you pent up so much stuff. So I highly recommend not doing that unless you wanna have, like, unexplained stomach issues, issues with muscle tension, and all sorts of fun stuff that, like, isn't really easy to figure out and cure easily over time. Just take care of your brain.

And one of the best ways you can take care of your brain is just letting things out and whatnot. But the thing with me is that I hate that s**t so much. I hate it so, so, so, so much. It drives me crazy. So I'm kind of left in an impasse at the moment where there's a lot of things I want to change and do, but I also feel very stuck. But I also am so hyper-aware of every single word or thought coming out of me because I'm so overly aware of how powerful all of them are. And I'm someone who has gotten really good at training my brain to look at life a particular way because I'm someone who has struggled with that a lot in the past, with not having a lot of control over how I'm perceiving the world around me. That being said, it makes it hard to string thoughts together when you are someone who is too good at stringing your thoughts together, if that makes a lot of sense. Like, I've become someone who's very good at creating a narrative, which makes sense. I'm a writer.

It's what I do, ideally and eventually for a living. But right now, I can't really be the full author of my own story or at least not in the conscious way that I'm used to. I have a lot of subconscious processes that are at play right now, and I've been wanting to document them because that is the kind of artistic work I tend to do. If you look back, and I'd suggest that you don't. But if you look back at years years of my work that I have released publicly through blogs and podcast episodes and visuals and, honestly, music, if you're very astute and good at researching.

You'll notice that a lot of my work centers around kind of this process of existential inquiry and what I call bloodletting, which is my funny way of explaining the process of just letting all the feelings pour out in a way that almost feels nonsensical, but then rings very true and accurate. A lot of my more recent poetic work is like this. Right now, I can't do either of those because bloodletting, again, my term for it, is so much, and there's almost too much blood right now for me to be gushing in a way that I'm comfortable with. Because even when I am very open and honest with how I'm feeling, it's in a way that's still comfortable for me because I understand it, and I can curate the lens that's being put through. And, again, you create a very specific narrative around stuff in yourself and etcetera, etcetera.

Inversely, I can't existential scavenge with you because I don't know what's going on. But I'm so intrigued by what's happening, and I find it deeply fascinating that I wanna document it. And I've been struggling to figure out how. So this is another pursuit. I've been trying to figure out the best way to document how I've been feeling and what I've been experiencing, all the deep sense of frustration and confusion that's kind of sitting in my body all the time at the moment.

I have a feeling today is I'm gonna cry again. And if not today, probably tomorrow. I can hear it in my voice, and I can feel it in my eyes and in my body, just grief. There's this perpetual sense of grief, and I kinda feel like an open wound, and I also feel like a really gnarly scab. I feel like a hard shell, and I feel just so soft, and it's too much antithesis in one space.

Sometimes I sit in moments like these, and it genuinely feels like my life isn't real or that I am not myself. The terms into modern psychology for this are depersonalization and derealization.

(I'm sipping tea if you are interested in the clinking. It's a blend of herbs we had gotten for what was it? End of summer. We had an end of summer dinner party, and we had gotten herbs to smoke for it. It was very fun, and the tea is very good.)

But as I was saying, in modern psychology, the terms for this feeling are depersonalization, derealization, all under this umbrella of disassociation or dissociation, which I struggled with habitually for years now. But this feels very different than the dissociation that I'm used to because usually dissociation, I've come to understand, is my brain's way of protecting me from stress by kind of putting me in the space where I have to go autopilot, where as right now, it kind of just feels so deeply distressing. Like, I'm stuck in this box that is my life, and I can't break out of it.

And I also have to do self determination things of taking purposeful action and making purposeful changes or sticking to purposeful routines or values or whatever to where it feels simultaneously like nothing matters or holds real value that I'm giving it, and also everything matters and holds all the value. And I don't know how to hold both of these truths simultaneously. Again, antithesis. So much antithesis all bound into one perpetual feeling. And I imagine that you'll only get to hear maybe half a quarter of what this was.

And it probably won't be very long, but, I kind of need this. A lot of my art ends up coming back to when I need to do it, which is so funny because I was thinking the other day about the audience and performance, saying yesterday about this, in the line. And the best performances really only come out of not caring about your audience, which is so ironic. Antithesis. And right now, I'm kind of in in this place where I feel like someone needs to hear this.

And I feel like that person might just be me. I need to hear it, and I need to hear it documented and placed in a way that makes sense to me. And maybe listening back to this will help me feel seen or understood in some way.

I’ve been thinking hard about the person I am — I don’t know who that is and who I’d like to become next. This idea I'm playing with right now, this sense of impermanence, is because of a bit of an “ego crush” I had recently. “Crush” instead of “death” because my ego prevails but she is mangled, different. She’s hypercritical and scared of what I’ve done to her. I am scared too. I am scared of this hard-to-see other side we speak of because I know it is not the one often promised. Still, I know I can change things for the better. I’m deciding which tools to use first.

Starting backward, I was listening to a lot of Baldwin last night. He comes to me in times of crisis, likely because he sits with crisis so beautifully. He handles the warped nature of humanity with a surprising amount of grace. It is not controlled, but with the grace of a dancer flowing with the music no matter how chaotic or aggressive it rises and falls. It’s not an easy style of living; it’s one of surrender that he seems to hold with him philosophically. I find myself drawn to revolutionary types obsessed with integrating the failing of our world with daily living. I’m finding this is tricky to sit in union with. I am not an activist type, at least not in the way I imagine them to be. I hate protests: walking in the street, no sense of direction, surrounded by people, the overwhelm of movement. Protests are exhilarating in a similar way to running, feeling what the body can do when pushed up against the limit lovingly until you must slow down to a jog.

I am not an activist. I’m a little thinkfeeltank in my room, crying on my yoga mat because there are still children dying in Gaza and they average around 5-9 years old. I oscillate between crying for myself and the world these days. I felt this strange sense of derealization the last month (starting around the year anniversary) that broke around early November (the day after the election). I’ve been scrambling to decipher the pieces for meaning since.

“This world is fake,” Bisan Owda said once. These words are pebbles embedded beneath skin between tendons and bones. Little cancers.

How can one live in a world that exists in this way? Naturally one must die. To literally die would be easiest, the light sleep of escapism for the rest of time. I think it’s funny Christians, Muslims, Jews, and pretty much any spiritual faculty you encounter frown so highly on self-murder. They are obsessed with staying in a world they detest so much despite the joint understanding that the world is a playing field for gifts in the beyond as if the threat of suicide’s aftermath is enough to keep anyone from tapping out early.

I used to dream about killing myself all the time as a teenager. As a kid, I couldn’t conceptualize the notion. I’d spend my nights researching each method in detail, the logic, the symptoms, something about Google witnessing my macabre enticing me. I wished for a hand to reach out from my screen and push me into a reality worth living for. Ironically, I stopped over contemplating death after 2016. I had a future to plan for. College and leaving my parents and all.

This notion of “we’re all going to die” right now feels a bit like Vanessa Hudgens's 2020 Coachella video to me. As if any of us have ever been exempt from death. So if we will all die some way or another, and self-murder is off the table — plus the urge to kill one's self is always a rallying cry to not only survive but to thrive elsewhere — then what does it mean to live right now?

I kept seeing these “wake-up call” declarations after Trump’s re-election. It was the stats of the popular vote and all the demographics backing him, many surprising and unsurprising. I got so angry I wrote a little rant on my story at 7 AM, the day after my mental circuit breakage.

About a week later, I understood the wake-up call for some may not have been “the system is broken” but just how broken it was. For me, the wake-up call was, “No one is here to save you. You are alone”. This is a lie of course. But my mentally ill brain wasn’t reacting to the election. It was reacting to the election and the one before that, and when Trayvon Martin passed, and that feeling I’d get in my house when my dad would start yelling a little too loudly.

No one prepares you for what happens when the thorn stuck inside of you is pulled. It's a leakage that unearths not just your hurt, not just your trauma, but the trauma of the lineage before and the world around you. I don’t see this election as a moment in time at all. I’m seeing a seemingly endless cycle of human suffering chosen over and over and over again.

I was watching Spirited Away on Wednesday after I left work early because I couldn’t stop crying without warning. I was broken inside in a way I did not yet understand. My only memory from 2016 was coming to school and hearing about the Yee Yee Brothers terrorizing Latinx students at my school while my Republican classmate oscillated between smugness and embarrassment at the glorified clown becoming president. How was I supposed to know I would care this much about the results? I still can’t say how I feel about it all.

In Spirited Away, there’s a scene where a supposed stink spirit comes into the bathhouse, his smell so revolting it scares the staff. Chihiro, renamed Sen, is tasked with cleaning him. She tries utilizing the best in-house herbal washes, making not even a dent of progress in cleaning. As she swims around, she finds a thorn in the spirit’s side. The bathhouse bands together to remove the properly stuck thorn. When she pulls, a string of pollution is released, freeing a river spirit that gives her a gift as a thank you. I didn’t realize at the time that I was watching a message, one I had completely forgotten from the first time I had watched it eight months prior:

The current theme is release and I have yet to explore what that means — releasing the past, present, and future. Maybe a release of what we thought was. Release being the process of purging, letting it all go, every weight every burden. Laying down weaponry and extra supplies. Release the birds that fly into the sun, wings melted, wax collapsing into the sea.

Release a neutral stance of being, regenerative and destructive all at once. I pulled the Ten of Wands last night and it talked about letting go of burdens that were never ours to begin with. So where do I put the generational trauma, the stray desires for fame and power, the need for validation and radical acceptance? It’s all lost inside of me, fragments of the sludge coming up during a breakdown or a fallout. I imagine the thorn being pulled out of the river spirit in Spirited Away, and an endless string of debris and memory lost inside of it. So much pain, so much history.

In my James Baldwin diving last night, I watched the first half of his talk with Nikki Giovanni. It’s notorious, with one of the quotes most famous to me coming from Giovanni.

Watching them, I realized how they both circled around the points the other was making, too determined to be understood. Writers are obsessed with being understood. It’s what drives this form of robust communication — all these words just to convey the nuances of the human condition.

In their discussion of the relationship black men and women have with each other — a conversation that is still killing us to this day — you see a split not just from a gendered perspective, but a generational and philosophical one as well. Baldwin articulates the reality of the black man during his time; the abuse sustained during the day that threatens one’s manhood. That anger is then transmuted and taken out against black women, the only group “subservient” to them. Giovanni counters that a) Black women of the 70s are not willing to be so docile and that b) Black men shouldn’t feel so comfortable acting out with so much vitriol. Giovanni wants a man to be a man and to show up as he is nothing more, without abusing others in the process. This is a reasonable and rational request. Baldwin argues that her request is noble but unrealistic because these are imperfect humans we’re talking about. Men are driven by a desire to provide and be treated with respect, two things black men struggle to do under the restrictions of white supremacy.

To me, they both carry very important ideas. We need to have empathy for the conditions we are experiencing. To act in a theory space only ignores what drives humans to act the way they do. To ignore the sense of powerlessness Americans feel just so you can jump to a solution faster is unrealistic. It’s trying to live a healthy functional life without addressing the trauma living inside of you. It’s trying to exercise when your broken foot still hasn’t fully healed. We jump the gun in an effort to reach perfection without realizing how much we leave behind.

Inversely, to accept human tendencies with no criticism is ludicrous. We are not enslaved to our humanity. We are not subservient to fear and insecurity even under a system that encourages us to be. Imagination is key to revolution big or small. The child’s ability to imagine a beautiful life away from a parent who terrorizes them will keep them alive much longer than succumbing to the fear being embedded in their psyche. Imagination drives us to grow and evolve. Any limitation to how we could be is a disservice to ourselves.

I say all of this because I have been taking a break and working inside out. I am pulling out the wreckage to understand how we got here — how I got here as it is one and the same — and working to imagine where I want to be.

What’s been getting me down is knowing I cannot escape this journey. This samsara of suffering must be dealt with head-on — I see no other way to prevail. So I will no longer imagine escapism, feel the “joy” in the illusion of being “elsewhere”. Because wherever you go there you are and I am not a safe place to be right now. I’m not evil or good just this middle ground to cultivate a different thing entirely. I don’t know what that will look like across the world. I cannot solve it on my own or with my friends just yet. I have to dig inside for the light and follow where it leads.

If there’s anything I can say right now it would be I’m committed to learning for myself and forcing myself to not isolate in this journey. So I’ll share it with you. I’ll share it and talk to people about it and branch out. I’ll see where I land despite it all.

And I know you will join me too.