I fell asleep early even for me–before 9, even—and slept long and hard. Nine hours, maybe. Was downloaded with dictation from the ancestors and guides. Kate Bush’s “The Dreaming” was playing in my head when I opened my eyes, that’s how on the nose it all was. I could see tweaks that needed to be made to the book pages I’d written yesterday, the darkness I’d been tiptoeing around because, shit, with my Libra moon, I’m just not a fan of ugliness on any level. Yet there’s a thin line between dissociation and positivity. An even thinner one between danger and delight. Continue Reading →
Archive | Age Matters
Rose-Colored Wrecks, Edgy Angels
I dreamed a very generous friend took me on what was ostensibly a road trip but really a mission to Harvey Weinstein’s. She claimed to be counseling him in his “convalescence,” but I could see I was going to have to bite a hand that was feeding me, because fuck that shit. I was pissed I now knew the location of his secret lair, even more pissed I found it enviable with soaring ceilings, forest views, loads of pink light. I didn’t see Harvey–my friend was upstairs with the “client”–but my awareness of him was like someone had shoved a pile of shit beneath a million-dollar rug; you could smell but couldn’t see his rotting decadence. I wanted so much to write a whole novel on his enormous pale velvet couch but instead had to go. Of course being me I fled only to realize I’d left everything I needed behind. To wit:
Computer
Wallet
Phone
Keys Continue Reading →
Mercury Retrograde’s Wrinkle in Time
My mother’s mother was not a cozy person. This was to be expected, for no one in my family was cozy. I did not understand I was the type of person who clamored for coziness until I was much older, and by then I’d acquired so many sharp edges that scarcely anyone wished to be cozy with me. This, I believe, is how cat ladies are bred, not born, although I prefer to refer myself as a cat woman. Perhaps this is what happened to my grandmother, as well. Certainly she shared an army-buddy solidarity with her cat Calico that the rest of us never experienced with her.
I’m not sure if I longed for my grandmother’s love or simply to be my grandmother. Alice May, as her few remaining peers called her, was the only true adult in my family, and I duly deferred to her. More than that, I revered her, though at age 11 I already towered over her. Somehow her diminutive stature only made her seem more powerful, as if she were as wise and as peculiarly packaged as Yoda himself. Come to think of it, with her big blue eyes and large, gnarled hands and sunken mouth (Alice May’s dentures never quite fit), she looked like Yoda overall. To the Star Wars-obsessed child I was, the effect was amazing, if utterly subliminal.
As evidenced above, I have finally 
begun working on my book again. This makes sense, for Mercury Retrograde is an ideal time to revisit long-simmering projects. (The negative aspects of Mercury Retrograde in Aries have been fully documented on this blog lately.) Stay posted, dear Sirenaders, and feel free to cheer me on; I could use your good wind. Feel free to request my cheering in the form of a Ruby Intuition session as well, for Mercury Retrograde is an ideal time to tune into the divine intelligence of the universe, and I love reading for people during these times.