the weight of the last new moon clings to my consciousness like an unwelcome film, like the scum on overheated milk, like the sac surrounding the embroyo. pisces is the sign of absolute transcendence, the sign that signals the turning of the old thing into the new. it is the impetus that forces the seedling from the seed.
and oh, it clings, and clings, challenging me to enter into a new presence of mySelf, to find a new voice and speak in a new way... where i would so much rather sink gracefully into silence.
because to own this Truth, to speak these words, means i must accept and acknowledege the pain of my own wounding. to share means i must show this pain - not through the screen of fiction, not through distance, not through written words.
my cold's moved from my voice into my ears, corking up my hearing so that all i hear is the pounding of the blood in brain, beating against my skull like the push of a rootling against a hull.
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.