Planetary Signatures

THE WEAVE:

Sea gulls swoop,

as Persephone steers the Ferry.

Minthe walks into the steering room…

"Persephone, the Nymphs 
are getting restless,"
Minthe says, "They are tired
of dancing.  They want to know:
Where are we going?
And when are we
getting off this ship?"

"It would be better
if the Nymphs could just
let go of that," Persephone says
more flatly than usual.

"Is that what you want
me to tell them,
to comfort them?"
Minthe protests.

Persephone shrugs,
"I don't want
you to comfort them.
We are still Moons a-Way
from the Flood.  If they are going
to have mental breakdowns, they should
do it presently, so we can move
through it, build endurance, and
cultivate their individual expertise.
Reboot their systems
to the Now, and stop trying
to See the future of an uncertain
Weave."

"But you have seen it.
You made all
those images for what is
to come in 2022."

"The images are the husk of True
Faith.  Meaning comes through
living into them.
They are touch-stones
into the Dream that is
Dreaming We."

"So we aren't on this Ferry
to be saved?"

"Who exactly would be
the Savior?"
Persephone asks.

"You?"
Minthe propositions.

Persephone sighs,
"Just because everyone is
alWays looking for me, does not
mean I can save anyone from
the Dark that surrounds us, currently.
I brought the Nymphs Here,
so they could stop their searching,
and web us together in the Flood.
Is that not enough?"

"Pluto?" Minthe continues,
as she wracks her brain
for the next viable
super-hero.

"Minthe, you've really got to
let him go."

"Or what?  You'll turn me
into a plant?" Minthe questions
as she crosses her arms.

Persephone looks at Minthe,
unblinking, for a long moment,
"I changed you back.
This is the state of things,
Minthe.  We save ourSelves,
in this part of the Story.
If you have not yet felt
Doom, go lay down in
your bunk, and breathe it in.
You will be raw, but real
when you feel complete in
filtering it.  And I will be
Here, with hot cocoa, affirming,
'Yes, Life is uncertain.'
We are aiming for inter-,
not co-dependence."

"But what if we cannot
save ourSelves, Persephone?"

"Then we have lived,
and we will die, just
like we alWays have been."

"Here, give the Nymphs,
these diaries," Persephone says,
as she hands Minthe a rucksack
from under the ship's wheel,
"These will help them,
put their Stories somewhere
when their brains malfunction.
They will want the wisdom
of their own Tales, later on."

"Why are they barcoded?"
Minthe asks.

Persephone smiles, for the first
Time all morning, "Vesta
wants the diaries in the Library,
when the Nymphs are finished ."

“He knows the real doom

that rises with the Moon.

BEWARE: When you hear

the swooping, trouble looms…”

-The Oracle of Passeridae