January 04, 2002: pomegranate afternoons
it's not that the transparency
of her earlier incarnations
now looked back on, weren't rich
and loaded with beautiful vulnerability
and now she knows.
now is greater
and she knows that
she just wants to be somewhere
So on New Year's Day, when I was over at Laura and Bryan's, I did a three-stone spread of runes for myself.
The overarching theme was Joy.
The challenge was The Self, Reversed. (Where you realize that you're you're own worst enemy.)
The immediate action was Destruction.
I both love and hate drawing runes. Runes, unlike cards or other forms of divination, tend to slap you upside the head and go, "Hi, this is what you already know. Get ON with it already, eh?"
So, yesterday, I did.
Nothing's going to be the same, really. But that's what I like about it.
I rewrite the rules from moment to moment, I throw myself fully into my own nature. If nothing else this year, I want to learn how to be more myself instead of what I think people expect of me. I want to be more myself on the outside, call a spade a spade, learn to trust my instincts about people as they have proven over and over to be overwhelmingly true.
I have a falcon-mind, where all the world comes down to my foot and what I can grasp in it. I have a wolf-mind where I can smell those without a personality or a soul and without a thought cut them out of my life or out of the pack.
Everything will change, everything will remain the same.
New Year's Eve was fun. I went with Abbe and Joel to Harmony, which was, um, sort of an art-rave. There was much loud techno music to be had, a nice comfy padded space to crash out in, apples and oranges and bread spread out on tables, little shrines everywhere with lots of lit candles, and fire dancers at midnight.
It was the very first rave-type thing I'd ever been to, and I had a good time. I danced some (the bruise on my knee was limiting what I could do), I talked some with both Abbe and Joel (it was the first time I'd met Joel in person, and I found him endlessly fascinating) and just watched all the pretty people go by.
A pretty good way to ring in the new year, I think.
calystegia silvatica
This life machine, this rich banquet
of starry ambitions, climbing,
her face to the ladder and stone wall--
she loves the sunlight, vining
upwards. When she breaks a tendril
she bleeds white; when the light fades
she closes her hands behind her arrowed hair.
All the summer long she is a dancer solitary
from May to September in the wind from the lake.
She loves the scent of salt. She climbs.
The wild weed, the runners and rhizomes, the colonization
of all places broken and desolate are her desires.
She binds and shatters the hard earth beneath her feet.
And when the frost arrives on the hard wings of October,
she yeilds her territory to the cold. But devious, she sleeps
in the hard ground, her wiles fooling winter
and granting access to the next spring that comes
whenever springs happen by. And with summer, she springs into motion,
the slow creep towards the eventual impossible goal.
