Purple Rains, Purple Pours

My back is still in spasm (it gets better, it gets worse), which makes such tasks as fetching groceries, changing cat litter, going to the laundromat, cooking, and cleaning deeply challenging if not impossible. All the lightbulbs in my apartment have blown out over the last week and I can’t replace them in my current condition. My car battery died this morning. And though it’s not a color I normally embrace, I crave purple purple purple–purple nails, purple clothes, purple flowers. I am adamantly not an “FML” (Fuck My Life) girl; I consider that attitude such an ungrateful response to the gift of being alive. So I view these disturbances as indications of a serious soul transition I’ve yet to comprehend, let alone embrace. The question is: how can I?

Feel free to respond, Sirenaders. Though I’ve shamefully overplayed the damsel-in-distress card in the past, though I now firmly believe “metaphysician, heal thyself,” all this intuitive can intuit at this juncture is I can’t intuit this on my own. The universe is bellowing at me and I need a translator to grasp what it is saying. This is me, waving a white flag and pushing the “Uncle” button with the wanest of smiles. I guess if we understood everything about our own paths, we wouldn’t have to incarnate at all.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy