Paraselene: 22° Halo

Orion’s bow points due North,
And a 22° halo adorns the moon

My nostos continues, but the war is over
The truth is through with me now that I have relented to it,
Granted pain, shame, suffering a seat at my lonely table,
Having been disturbed by these ghosts so long,
For few things can be more ruinous than to be haunted by pain:
It keeps recreating itself until some old, generational wound is located, some sad, unfortunate human thing that explains it all, making sense of how some generational dysfunction found its way to making a complete dumpster fire of your so-called reality
As weeds ovverrun a garden, pain can overrun a person
As we pretty much all know or have seen –
Some lives travel those tracks womb to tomb,
The pain – that unseen void – is reproduced, left with child to be passed on
Fortunate are the children who inherit their parent’s self-worth:
Like net-worth, it’s generational;
Okay, we got fucked over, we knew as much poet girl:
So what of life beyond the purgatory of not allowing ourselves permission;
What of the world of feelings and perceptions above the hell of not feeling good enough or worthy enough to be happy –
What of feeling worthy enough to forgive yourself, to let go and move on…. um🔮
When truth is told I feel my soul in my breast, a neon goddess between my temples, and a virile femininity in my gait and glance:
I affirm self love and happiness as paramount eternal truths – one cannot live ones relationship to oneself through another unless one wants to end up someone’s fool…
And I know better, having lived my relationship to myself through one or four intermediarie in the past
Alone, you will find that there are inroads, places within, only reachable by the undivided, the monad self
How perilous to end up belonging to someone else when we do not belong to ourselves:
What thin ice to skate with the summer sun bound to come, missing 2013 love songs
These mathmatics take time, jung padawan –
For it is only in James Cameron’s universe, that the avatars do not grow wild amongst the others;
Into this world, out of this world, a little bit of both;
Oh, so only all perfect Jesus gets the title of ‘not of this world’?
Are we ourselves not alien to the money lenders, the pharisees;
Have we not had Judas kisses;
Have we not been bodied and risen:
His father was not of this world because his kingdom was… within!
Take note wild ones, and save your myths for yourselves and the page,
Lest you touch the minds of those who would call you an emperor with no clothes at best or ‘crucify’ you for living so freely at worst – even a little happiness ought sometimes be hidden, and a huge happiness always buried like some treasure underneath an air of playful amusement; for poker faces have limits, and you will not be able to completely hide so big a hand from those who will try and cut you down
But try, try protect the light of the bright one, inner child
For humans often resent those above their abilities – perceptual, emotional, or imaginal
Better to live in your own secret story, your personal myth, wrested out of your unique darkness, than to try and pull some pale gray light out of the collective black shadow, which, as an average is pretty shitty and unamaginative –
Oh how the abyss loves to torture those who make it see itself!
Your fellow humans will more than happily assign you a shitty story, low self-esteem, ill-fated camraderie, and a free cremation
All the more if you are not “of European descent”, able-bodied, cisgender, hetero, attractive, priviledged
Yeah, life ain’t grand for those in the margins
We grow up basically on hard mode
Many in real hells,
Which they never quite escape from
Life is not fair:
If you don’t own, honor, and heal your own personal shit that you already had to go through, then your shit will own you forever – and it sure as shit won’t honor you, and it damn sure won’t fucking heal you:
In short, no matter how short the stick was, how many branches you hit on the ugly tree, whatever clearly shitty shit you have been handed in life, well, sorry,
But it’s on you to get free;
Your traumas, your heartbreaks, your wounds, your sufferings – they all need to be consciously tended to, like psychedlic weeds that will heal you if you care for them but kill you if you try and pull them up by the roots: because you are the roots – it’s in your brain, you and the gulf of shame and guilt and fear, the pain;
It’s on you to figure out, heal, and accept and deal with it –
There aren’t many lifehacks or one size fixes for life’s shit either –
Maybe you find that drinking a kombucha or two daily is a necessary tonic to keep a teensy bit of alcohol in your system to give homeostasis to the biological, genetic demands of your ancestry … YMMV…
Or that other plants and molecules help – or so i’ve heard,
But there are no shortcuts to doing the work, to showing up for your sorrow like you do your happiness, knowing both are just as worthy, and one really needs you:
self-care – this is the ultimate result of healing, the goal:
To bravely and compassionately tend to your pain, as if you were your own adopted child – hot momma; can I get a commma – nah fam…
Anywho, cuckoo! (SKW voice)
But to return to what is on time, though IRL feels mad overdue:
To heal me, to heal you –
I do declare there is another shoe that has to drop, as after the turn comes the flop;
You see, there are two pains to go through to reach the river:
There is the event, the trauma, the injury, the thing that happened – many things
And then, there’s a second pain for each:
The truth, which we have to stand in firmly, bravely owning our darkness:
And it’s not done with whiskey or other self-abuses, nor are relationships fixes,
This is your life,
Do not be afraid of pain, be afraid of fear, of hurting;
Some pain will be required – those with the grit to lose their innocence and remain pure in heart will endure these trials
Believing in and pursuing the virtue of truth will inevitably make you question your reality, and the answers will not comfort you
The honest search for truth in the light of a dim reality may lead you into schizophrenia, psychosis, or other frightening fucking waters: this is nature’s survival instincts attempting to explain the inexplicable – to bridge the split between belief, reality, and identity on account of the failure of one or more of these
It is most common we fail to see reality or to refuse to take reality at face value, on account of beliefs that do not add up or on account of reality that adds up too perfectly to be anything but…
As Joseph Campbell said, “The mystic swims in the same waters the psychotic drowns in.”
Perhaps the mystic is better practiced at suspending disbelief…
And while such adventures of pained, albeit brave folly and madness can be creative boons, they come with their own traumas,
But these can be life changing breakthroughs, though, at the obvious cost of the breakdown of the self (And we usually only see the latter at the time);
Yeah, I’ve seen a few of my world’s end in my day,
And I’ve even checked myself into places where they watch you sleep on camera to survive the darkest of times more than once,
And dawn may not always follow it:
Sometimes we slip into long Siberian winters,
But when that light emerges, the depth of darkness it comes from will determine its radiance,
Its luminousness –
The greatest secrets in life are all personal, private myths, singular realities, bouys upon which hope floats –
And there’s enough room on that door for the dyad, the trinity –
Whatever OS you run
A poet points you to the moon,
But you must find your way to it through your own darkness

I’ve said a lot of words but the moon was high and so was I:
In a word, heal thyself, accept, care for and tend to your pain; love the dark, depressed parts of your soul – for there is great light to be released from the small hands that once clenched upon a pain they never let go of.

ps. its okay, it’s going to be okay. there is much beauty in store. breathe. relax. rest. trust. breathe. let go.
sleep my sweet selene.

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