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The moon is being born in Pisces today. After several months (years?) of gestating in a dissolving elixir of unbecoming, I am being born, too.

Stretching, rubbing the lingering illusion of dreams from my eyes, I look around on a fresh and brightly colored world. Snowflakes fall in the brightening sun, winds gust and enliven all of the senses. Clouds take their turns passing before the sun, casting their shadows on the landscape, creating a kleidoscope of light and darkness.

All of the lies, the performances, the ways we bartered for the illusion of safety-they are flaking off us like dead skin cells. Oh, there goes the nice girl. Oh, there flies the submissive, fawning, demure damsel always empowering others by diminishing her own strength. Layers and layers, translucent and dried out, flaking away in the howling winds. Mingling with the last oak leaves that cling to the branches, long outliving their usefulness.

We aren't buying what this world is selling. We aren't filling the void within us with more mask-making glamours. We have turned within and found the gaping void that is the black depth of our power. The place where worlds come moaning into existence, through our very being. The compulsion to fill this void was the effect of an ill-devised plan to dam the flow of the power that birthed this world, and continues to enliven it. Impossible, superficial, inflated in their promise-those who devised the strategies to keep this gaping, gasping, tumultuous cacophany of emergence shut up behind layers of weak, brittle, flaking illusion-they are trembling now. They see us emerging. They see the layers falling away. They feel the Earth rumbling as she receives this wildly flowing sensual nourishment pouring into her and through her as we awaken within her, upon her, as her.

Soon the earth with be thick with layers of dead masks, piled in heaps all around us. And we will stand shining, radiant in our remembrance. Dripping with nectar. Shimmering with the dew of the dawn of tomorrow. The deception of competeition lying in one of the heaps, while we stand arm in arm together. In a linked circle, facing outwards toward the threat of containment and submission and domination. Like a herd of she-elephants around their calves, we will stand in concentric circles around the children, the green and living things, the waters, the sick and the elderly. We will hum with the power that created this world as it awakens within us. A black hole that does not destroy, but births worlds. And it is the power that will transform this one.

This power is here, now, within you. Do you feel it? Let the dead stories flake off you, fall away, lay in heaps, scattered across the Earth. Find an arm to link to, root through your feet, and stand.

This is what we were made for. To stand, and to sing the world back into a luscious and verdant community of beings.


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