Nowhere girl, you’re living in a dream world.
“Open your eyes”, a voice commands, in a shriek that wakes the dead. Ahh, but the dead are not asleep. It is the living who sleepwalk through life. If you truly want to live, you must learn how to die. But what does that mean? It means eyes wide open, excavation of the inner, and loosening the load. Dig deeply. Unburden yourself. Breathe in. Feel your winged heart flutter in stillness. Now bury your matchsticks in sea salt and pour one out for placental wisdom enfleshed in an eternal smile, because now is here—for never.
And so the stars turn and a cat presents itself.
At water’s edge, a wood ibis. Many layers folded into this symbol. The wood ibis inhabits the in-between; wading at the edges of brackish ponds, wood ibis uses its feet to stir up the muddy bottom of shallow waters until the dead float and rise to the surface. This isn’t necromancy, it is nurturance. This is wood ibis as messenger and carrier, ferrys life at the threshold of death: Hermes larping a stork cosplayed by Thoth. Life is messy and muddy, as is death. Composting eternal plenitude out of the muck is the only way out, and in.
* * * * * * *
Essence of: irridescent oil-slick pastels, the hairy underside of veiny forest bracken, the lustrous pewter of galena, the note of C in the middle octave, the pterodactyl musings of exiled wild green parrots, and the lusty overture of red anthurium.