Would you could you travel miles and miles for delicious deep-fried artichoke hearts? I wanna go to Castervile CA and eat some deep-fried artichoke hearts with spicy mayonnaise. Near the lovely coastal region close to Moss Landing, a fucking pint at The Whole Enchilada with a shot of hot vodka with my anniversary man. Take a walk on the beach Smell the garlic in the air mixed with the salty smell of tide pools under the earthy breaths of golden-green eucalyptus trees. Lovely multicolored Monarch butterfly sweet bites of yellow-white lemon margarine pie Pacific Grove embraces never-ending waves breathless roller coaster rides.
Not reaching out
But reaching within.
Agathos daimon holds my heart
Humidity holds me back.
“Coninuctio” “in mercurio”
Which do not ripen.
Outside my oasis
Seeds dry in the heat.
Inside the cave
I listen to Mercurius speak.
“The desires of the mind
Will take you nowhere.”
Urania is talking to Uranus Ambassador to the planets and stars She calls to Earth As a friend of friends, Catalyst of goodness and humor, to Uranus ascending electric magma Eccentric insect antenna muses Human Beings To be the best we can be.
Receptive, illumination and synchronicity, I’m a wise old blooming flower, waiting to be pollinated, I’m receptive to what I shall become, Let life approach me, I do not have to go seeking, I have all I need to succeed, I’m a beautiful rose,
wise, good and ready.
I can be trusted, I follow things through, I speak my mind, Let the spirit of god / goddess, move over my deep dark waters.
Receptive as an open flower. Now, waiting for life to impregnate me.
“The Rose makes honey,” the rose gives honey in return.
The wild fennel is growing in my garden, From the Santa Monica Mountains, Only a few seeds thrown around my land, From the staff-sheath that I have, Near my hearth. My wild Promethean fennel, Smells of licorice and earth, Feels like numinous beats, Waves from the coastal region, Myths revealing through my soul. Prometheus freed by Chiron, Fire consumes my heart, Compassionate green healing, Of my mind and dreams, Love will grow tall and strong My wild Promethean fennel.
Thalia (/θəˈlaɪə/; Ancient Greek: Θάλεια, Θαλία; "the joyous, the flourishing"
Breaking through Breaking through the membrane Of turning 60 Letting go of Youth, maidenhood and giving birth Entering the world Of crones and seniors with purple-grey hair. Wise witches who stand By old dark shedding trees they sweep the cobwebs away My repellent membrane. Holding me back Calls of youth, music, and romance Death must be a friend Calm and gentle friends It’s my heart I worry about! Will my tenacity be strong enough To make It through the membrane Will I be whisked up By my elder ancestors? My hands that look like grandmother’s My need for love, friendship and companionship Will I take my magic with me The golden thread that brings meaning to old age? Mystery, adventure, humor and longing Will these qualities still inspire me As my muses tease Will my muses be waiting for me On the other side as I wrestle With this dark and flourishing membrane?
I reposed this poem due to Saturn's retrograde today...
Winged centaur Invisible sounding hooves Upon the backyard cement. Lifted me upon his back We flew through The rain, clouds, and satellites Rounding the earth. Straight and fast towards Saturn’s castle He is to give me a gift. I have waited upon the words Of Buffalo yesterday and today “Today Saturn will give You a gift… today today!” I waited and wondered Tonight, as I watch the hearth fire I heard the call towards Saturn As before … I rode over frozen land Blue ice and white paths Overall, we flew centaur’s wings outstretched Gracefully I slip off the centaur. I walked towards the big door Dark but when opened Filled with light and beings Those who lived there Those who were visiting like me. An earthling's visits are often short Saturn, I found Up the golden spiral staircase Waiting with a smile And comfortable charm. Saturn gave me a gift A green box Asking me Not to open it now. Wait until I am home And place it over the fire On your hearth, The gift will reveal Itself to you. My journey home was fast I made a space upon my hearth Above the fire Then turning to look out the window. The wet outdoors From a cold rain Found me hoping For a drop of cymene. Of the ascending centaur Glissading and glistening Away from my soul through the rain Under a full peeking moon. Saturn told me To write a poem about the green box A gift from him And so, I have.
An event to read and talk
I got lost
I woke up encrusted with “how could Is?”
Lost I found myself fishing my dream
finishing my dream in waking time
awake with a cup of coffee
kitty on my lap.
The large ten-inch-long lizard
3-inch width creature
still reminds me that
it might still be at my front door.
It’s encrusted skin of scales
as it pushed against the rosemary bush
and the lights in the night sky
after the crescent moon set.
Winter is cold
family wants to sleep
more food and coffee
studies, words and protesting.
Astronomical, astrological, metaphysical ~ trinity. Saturn: Time, Philyra: Form and Chiron: Solar egg sack.
It seems that people
are talking about…
Saturn on steroids
to the high land of his home.
As Capricorn alerts the master !
Chiron to take on the power
A healing of this shadowy world …
much more beyond our knowing.
I am not worried
because of my years of
friendship with Saturn and Chiron
Education and evaluation
I am stimulated with wonder and energy.
Keeping myself grounded
becoming impassioned with life.
I was thinking how Crones, older women, are not as influenced by the cycles of the Moon! I look back over my feminine life Seeing how unconsciously I was driven. Influenced by the phases of the Moon, my powerfully changing hormones! Best described as chemical slavery. A female body a lunar ebb and flow alignment with the continuity of our Moon! I now see it also as a partial cultural brainwashing where; sex, power, and self-worth, is somehow all tied together! Yes, Crones have desires needs of love and intimacy I have come to experience Crones are no longer ruled by the cycles of the Moon or our hormones! There is the higher octave of the Moon, known as planet Neptune dancing with the astrological sign of Cancer I join in this brightly aware dance! The flutter of hormones emotional ways become silent to the constant moving river of insight! For Crones our external beauty wanes our internal beauty waxes as a luminous pearl I embrace my pearl. Consciously I slough off many burdensome illusions This is the correct time An ongoing relationship Between psyche and the cosmos.