Lo! An enchanted invocation rises out of an ancient redwood grove. The soft chime of bells drifting downward through outstretched branches, spiraling, smoke-like, into the center of a clearing. Now, stretch your paws out in front of you to signal your receptivity and send deep slow blinks to your favorite ghost. You have been dreamt into existence by the invisible-infinite. Go forth moon doggie, enter the dragon.
A snake uncoils itself once danger has passed. This is a symbol of sovereignty. Self in service to the ego will not save your life. Only the sacred bare-boned fury of faith is up to that task. Then, and only then, transfiguration. That which seeks to destroy you is putrified leaving behind only ash and the aromatics of rebirth into self-sovereignty: cypress, petrichor, clay.
You probably know by now that the moon is shaped like a lemon, but try to glimpse tonight’s strawberry moon anyway. Meow.
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Meditate on the following: the sound of a tea kettle whistling on the stove, the chalky matte surface of botryoidal howlite, music in the key of C, the smell of a damp mugwort wreath hanging over your bedside, and the graceful heart-work of strawberry.