THE MATH: (Mercury + N. Node CONJUNCT Taurus) = it’s All about you and your Epic


Mercury chats with Destiny

as she Waters her plants…
"So, how's it going,
out there, Mercury," Destiny asks.

"It's Freak Out season
-I mean, Eclipse Season,
again, what do you think?"
Mercury sends the question back.

"I Love Eclipse Season,"
Destiny shares.

"Of course you do.
It's All about you, and your Epic
mash ups, with the Sun and Moon,"
Mercury dismisses her.

"It's alWays All
about me, Mercury,"
the North Node teases him,
"I'm Destiny.
I am what everybody is
learning how to Live into."

"Well excuse me,"
Mercury grins, reluctantly.

"But seriously, what is
going on out there," Destiny
pokes Mercury again.

"Everyone is moving
in slow motion, like soaking
nuts, almost ready
to bust," Mercury's eyes
go misty, as he describes
the Garden of Beings, to Destiny.

"That doesn't sound
so bad, for a Freak
-Out season," Destiny shrugs.

"It's not so bad,"
Mercury agrees, "yet
the nut tends to have
a series of existential crises,
as it loosens itSelf
from its toxic sheath,
buried in Darkness,
to make like a Tree,
and bloom again."

"I get that,"
Destiny nods,
"Lilith says, the crows
go through a similar shift."
1/6/21 Transit:
True Lilith CONJUNCT native Vesta


All the pieces of my Heart
are very close to the surface
of my chest right now.  But I

guess, that’s what happens,
when you stop numbing it out,
and sit your ass the fuck down

and meditate.  Sometimes the tears
just come, in haggard, heaving breaths,
and there is no One

reason why.  I could be
reaching for a sock, or looking
for a Light.  The Questioner suggests

I breathe,  “When you are
feeling particularly
Chirotic, the breath will help you.

There is no real
stopping it.  The Centaur is
so much of who

you are, but you can breathe
there, if you practice.”  
And it’s true, the breath does help,

but it is in the moments around
the breath; when I let it go,
but my Heart keeps Opening,

without consent; like a soaking nut,
husk pulping -in the middle 
of the Night, and after Dreams,

when the grief floods
in, or the anger rises,
with a memory.  I tell mySelves,

this is the final cleanse, these last
dregs of a life that I no longer
Live, and I believe it into Truth. 
The speed of thought may heal
Mind, Here, in the Age of Air.
Yet there is Still

no Way through, but through,
little baby
crow, that I am.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: