….I am on a bus with my brother.........we are talking and I decide I want to fly and go have a lucid adventure... I tell him 'remember when you said you could do anything if you believed?'....
..he says 'yes'.
........I say 'well im gonna fly out that window.
...he acts as if i cant...
I say that I can and I am going to.... and I just stand up and dive out thru the bus windwo…..and fly up into the sky lucidly...I think to myself it feels good to be really lucid again...I decide Id like to travel into my body....so I dive deep down toward the ground, intending to dive thru my body...when I peirce the ground, I have actually peirced my body and I am a point of light.
....I am traveling high speed thru the different layers...first the skin and tissue etc thru to the cellular level...thru to the atomic level.
...and I am thinking how amazing and wondrous it all is....and its very high velocity... come to what seems to be 'the end' and its a massive 'ocean' there is mist rising from it...and I just stop, right above it, suddenly....I then have a body again...and I make a decision to dive into the ocean...knowing ive found the core...and as I go to dive in, right before immersing, a hand or something grabs what seems to be a t-shirt on me, and stops me....really suddenly....I think...am i not supposed to go there at this time? I hear a very light subtle voice say, echoing all around and thru me, my name.......”Charleen, stop!”
….I hover there for a bit wondering why I was stopped, who or what was holding me back.....and I think then...perhaps its better not to leave my body...which I know will happen when i dive into the ocean...that I will be in an 'out of body' state..or however you want to view it...and I think that perhaps its best for me and baby for me not to spend alot of time away from my 'body' at this point.... wake up then...thinking about it all.
Dreamtime November 6, 2005, Ireland
(I Dreamed It All)
A midnight mood came to me asked me what I wanted to be all I knew was nothing at all and so she watched my angel fall
Again I sing in sweet repose treasures are hidden where no one knows Fairy wings spread and flitter through the cascade of summer glitter
I dreamed it all I dreamed it all I dreamed creation I dreamed the fall
Angel tears washed me dry kept me clean and purified
I closed my eyes and began to see just a little and nothing more faint shadows crossing the plains heading for the ocean shore
where does the secret lie where does my secret lie dormant beneath the rainbow placid in the sapphire sky?
Angels know angels know and they can tell walk beside you ring their bells the shepherd is gone the sheep are lost vulnerable to the threats the cold midnight frost
Can you break into me pry open my disease find your way inside give me your secret keys
I dreamed it all I dreamed it all I dreamed creation I dreamed the fall
When I awake I'll start again I'll make my world new again.
One of the most controversial posts I ever made in Facebook, and most shared, in 2020…sparking some terror and fear and angry debate in the comments….trickster heretic poking holes in paradise…. I wonder how many views have changed or deepened with hindsight. Poem avail em along with other heretical expressions in Linguistic Trickster Volume 2, available on Amazon.
Play dead said the devil, and they did, in fear They wrapped their face with poisoned lace And mapped disgrace with leaden tears
Play dead said the devil, and close your eyes So they stitched their lids and ran and hid And twitched and cried and begged for light And ate the lies that they were fed
Play dead said the devil, dressed in Red Cold and still with broken Will And isolate in iron gates and wait until Fate has made the Devils bait A foundation for the future of Pills and Kills And Willing shills who deveState And speed the rate of fleshly ills.
Play dead said the devil and wear your muzzle The puzzled panic enDemic in this gimmick DemonAcrobatics thick with automatic tactics That stick the sickly crowd in homogenous tax brackets with InTentsive Care packets That shackle the scared borg factions Into complete submission of mind over matter Of fact-Checkers stuck in the whack Job Sideshow of undeniable homeWreckers Who have mediAted crass mind control onto The medicated masses, RedRose colored Glasses tipped in a salute to fascist Masters Who cash in on disaster like fortunate Forecasters that blast programmed hashtags into the minds of all classes and kinds Of women and men trapped in the delusions Of their own illusive split Ends....
How gloriously the We hold tightly To desperate dreams Of victimhood Clinging to the seams of Right And Left Wings Born from Memes Painted with Blood
How magnificently the program Takes hold The lies and cries and Ties that Bind Are blinding in their bitter goodbyes As the foothold of ones soul Is Lost to the magic Mold
The cost of freedom As minds are bought and sold
How shocking to watch the wounds Peel and pry the tombs From the loom As the Masters spin The tunes and rip the song From the Mothers womb
Inverting the Music of men And women who jump too soon
Into the abyss Of That & This Baring bleeding fists of rage Undisciplined Shifts Of the gears and the twists Of the fears that seed The Shadows sweet Mirrors... Shattered Stewards of this New Age
Oh how the We holds so intently To the identity Of being the victim
As the Sick Dictum grips their mind And erodes the Codes Born in Time Into imploding roads of crime And sideWinds into highs Of euphoric rhetoric built from blind Adherence to inferior minds
That Pride themselves on GroupThink Size of Lines Drawn in sand
Glass eyes staring blankly In artificial bands of Light Splintered thru the cells In fight or flight Wherein the We Dwells
So terrified And paralyzed And petrified like stone Afraid to See the Wounds Have been born from their own Image
Hiding itSelf in the Dreams That damage The minds and the Mes Of the Corpus That creates Scenes Of Be.
Sovereign Selves Always and AllWays Dwell In the Deeper See Beyond the Shell
EmPowered by the Currents Ease
No need to Buy and Sell Or trade Souls in Hell In proclamations of Victimhood...
The We is a Me that Speaks in Blood
The Time is nigh The Waters are Tears and Cries Shall Flood From theFountain of Freedom That Springs from the Heart Of Mud
The Infinite Art of the Earth As she Births the Beginning Again
The masses aghast at the tasks of the Rat Appetizers fed thru the many Masks of Maat Have you been led to the edge of the map Been read the pledge and tricked in the trap? Swallowed by the sickness and the sadness And the scripted ripped-up madness and The afflictions of the depictions of badness Next to the Operants underCover in badges? Course of Electric through the body politik Is instantly captured in nerves soft and thick Being picked like scabs and left to drip Served on slabs & bloody strips of ClickClicks Shall we enter once more into the Trance The desperate drama of the disparate dance Eagle and snake in a Synodic Romance Be Twixt the Twisting of the strands of chance Swallowed by the Shadow and seeded in time By the banks of the river of the giver of Mind The ranks of the Soldiers bleed and bind Early initiation for the Seeders of the Sine Worm is the germ of the future Sperm ReTune the gestating body and bring to term And birth the earth through this epiDerm Remove unTruth and stand Free and Firm YourSelf is the Kernel of sovereign spark From within the Void of Fertile Dark this Drama unfolds like mold from the Oligarch Episode 10:45 in the Pen of the Script of Mark of The masses endeared or indentured to fear The blasts of the trumpEts clash in the ears Shadow masquerading as Other thru Years Syndicate Saturating the SoU(i)L with Tears
Charleen Johnston 5-31-2020
(From volume 2 Linguistic Trickster) https://a.co/d/63y5e5p
“Into the Abyss” begins in January 1999; I had been in College since September, I was set free into an entirely new environment in which no one had any prior history of me, or 'story' of who I was. I had been ecstatic for the new adventure of living away from home and exploring a new territory. I had already been in a very manic period, since the summer of 1998, and by the end of winter had fallen headlong into the Saturnian pendulum swing of depression and angst and my external indulgences and debaucheries weighing like lead in my soul as I struggled to come to terms with the other pole of my being. It was 1999 that saw me through college and all its run-ins with authority, all the experimentation with mind altering substances and the dance with the demon of alcohol and the intensity of my wild self and having no real structure to tether the reigns. As the year progressed and became more and more unhinged, I lost all interest in school. Mostly I played basketball in the rec center for hours a day instead of going to classes, and spent my nights in a whirlwind of partying and seeking the mirror of self in all its forms. By the end of the school year, I knew I would not return, but also didn't want to go home. So I stayed in Greenville for the summer, as I came more and more unwound. Eventually, I left suddenly, and returned home, as I feared I was about to enter a chasm I could not escape from. (See 'Autobiographical Fractal Framework' in Volume 3 for the more fleshed out version.)
Once home I had more life and death encounters with the Dark Lord and the Mania and Madness that was following me, that I called the Madwoman's Whisper. I was spinning out of control.... and then I dove into the Abyss. (See "The Trip' at the end of the book). In one sense it saved me from complete obliteration and a fate worse than death. In another sense, I was completely dismembered, and my nervous system shattered by the weight of baring Eternity. It would become the task of the rest of my life, to unfold all that I experienced and Saw and Underwent. I would be given the decree to Embody the Promethian Flame of Inspiration and Awareness into the Fleshly Abode so fully that the Body ItSelf would be the Divine Vessel of Transfiguration and Life. Would I be capable of Grounding that incredible Current, into this vehicle?
Not yet. I had to undergo a complete re-wiring, which required me to Let Go of any semblance of a 'normal' reality. I was banished from the everyday participation of life, and pushed so far inside that I felt like I was simply witnessing everything around me in utter shock and dismay......all boundaries obliterated between I and Thou, Self and Other.
“The Pain of Purgatory” starts off in January 2000, struggling to come down to Earth, flailing in the supersensible realms, trying to reconcile my pulsating Awareness of AllThatls with the strange clumsy body and mind and nervous system I was operating in. I was essentially an ancient Being trapped in the body of an emotionally immature and manically arrogant and impatient human form. An utter crisis. I had the option of doing what I was witnessing in my Soul Brother, which is to attempt to fly further into the Promethian realms and Neptunian Boundaryless waters of ever-more mind altering substances in order to avoid the shock of dismemberment and loss of Ego and to incubate further the grandiose messianic consciousness that always finds us when we rip away the veil so completely before having the inner structures necessary to ground the current or to integrate the Enormity of It All At Once. Or I could take the opposite path. The path of Initiaton. The path of the Adept. The path of slowly finding all the shattered pieces of the Mirror and reMembering the Self Seam by Seem to Be.....like Osiris, I was Scattered and strung among the shadows and wraiths of Psyches Dream.
I chose the path of Initiation. Even back in college when I first had some very deep hyperspace experiences, It was not the 'product' I was interested in. It was the Process. The inhabiting consciously of my own Synaptic Song......I would attempt to Put Myself Back Together, to Gather the Trust and The Truth of the Mother......
I ended up in Jamaica in early 2000, for a month; It was filled with further initiation and ledges of the abyss. I made it out Alive, and was able because of my time there in the Liminal, to drop some of the rage and darkness that had bubbled to the surface after all boundaries had been shattered.
The thing with Ego Dissolution in a vessel unprepared, is that all of those traumas and Shades and demons now come to the surface, the protective mechanism that keeps them away til the capability of dealing with them constructively, is gone. So I had Lifetimes of baggage and ephemeral feelings and traumas and shame and dangers pouring out of my seams; I had no guidance, no support, no tether to cling to, except my ability to express through my art and writing, the battles and the neurosis and the near psychosis at times.
After returning from Jamaica, I was staying at my parents, in a small little room my dad had added on at some point, that you entered via a little ladder, through the floor. It was like a little prison cell, or a womb, whichever perspective you choose. Oh the metaphors. Now that I was out of the tropical sunshine, in shell-shock still, and having been trapped in my Mind for millions of years in the Trip Space, I was so desperately craving the touch of Human Flesh, of something stable and secure to tell me I was Real and Here and Alive, and not still trapped in the PrizmCell. I can remember crying so long and hard and fully that I thought what was left of my body would just disintegrate into thin air. I knew I was trapped in the tower but didn't know how to get out. On the outside I tried to play along with the game of reality but It must have been pretty unconvincing. I finally got a greyhound ticket to California, after some visions I had that made it pertinent that I go there to meet my Destiny. So June 13 l left on the bus, with almost nothing and about 100$ in my pocket, headed for the unknown once again. I was still 'tripping' after all that time, my consciousness in such a state that it was like swimming through the Codes and the Nodes of the program. I felt completely watched and protected and in tune with everything on an existential level, and yet was suffocated by an unbearable loneliness. As I arrived in my new Playground, | was back inside the Manic space, for another ride on the MerryGoRound. But I met my Tether there in SF, and I began to reWeave a sense of self, slowly. Living in dingy hostels and hotels and maneuvering through the underbelly....how my Plutonic Soul cherishes those experiences! There would be plenty more adventures and struggles to come, but the poetry after arriving in SF begins to take on a more cohesive feel and there is less frazzling and disillusionment.
This journey would continue and by mid December I was once again en route home to Va, for what ended up being a longer visit than planned....and in which Saturn's misery was revisited as I was cast back inside myself to make sense of all that had come before, and find a way forward into a next step on the ever-turning wheel.
The danger with peak experiences and being so focused in the spiritual realm is that one very easily imagines oneself to be far more evolved than one actually is, bypassing the dense human realm, the messy emotional and physical reality that is so insistent. When you are 20 and you have been inside the Center of the Spindle of the Core Processor and swam for millions of years through the SpaceTime field of Mind, bushwhacking oneself through the tangle of Synaptic Vines you are pretty sure you have it all figured out and that very grandiosity and megalomania which is so typical of psychonauts and explorers of hyperspace can force the human ego into a prison and dungeon of abuse and repression which comes out full force at unsuspecting moments. The fragmented and imbalanced emotional reality seeps out of barely stitched seams, an amorphous molasses that threatens to strangle the Puer who struggles to stay in flight above all those sticky human dramas and foibles...that morass of psychic gunk that gets stuck to the Soul as it tries to purify itself in the Flame. I used to read things about awakening and 'the Work' that said until the age of around 40 one had no real ability to truly ‘understand'. I balked at those insinuations....not I, I thought, in my youthful arrogance...they don't know where I Have Been, What I have Seen". It is endearing now, looking back at that Self... but the painful journey of those 20 odd years of Growing Down Into Self and Body, and Actually Activating and Embodying and Integrating, in the Flesh and the Heart, All that One Has StoodUnder Spiritually....and so easily perceived with Mind...is Sacred Testimony. We don the vestment of Life, then, no longer the Puer trying to escape in a frenzy of mania into the unmanifest, but patiently plodding along in a beautiful dance with Saturn, learning to build forms and creating Art from the journey of turning the Poison to Power. The Drama of the The Puer and Senex. No longer burning everything and everyone around one in an uncontainable Fire and Fury of restless angst, but tempering the Athanor to a flame that burns with a compassionate warmth and passion that feeds the life around one and makes things Grow in the Radiance of that Light.
The Journey of Embodiment...
'Welcome to the Jesters Playground", Everything Said.
The Fool who goes through the twists and turns and lives to learn, comes Full circle on the Wheel.......realizes that he is all the characters in the deck....uses the 64 hexagrams, the 64 squares on the chessboard, the 64 Codons of the Human DNA to Weave the Self Alive Again, in Time again, becomes the Jester....... and starts to Heal the Fracture.........of the Imagined Fall from Grace into Time and Space; The Loom ....
Charleen Johnston (From Linguistic Trickster Volume 5) available on Amazon
“Seaming is interwoven into everything I do….I consider myself a Patchworker of Dreams….I pull disparate parts together in new and playful ways, whether my base material be Fabric, Thoughts, Feelings, or Movements. I am Self Taught, a Self Taut InTensions of Multiple DiMensions playing with the poles of the Line, the Cycles of the Sine, the Twists of the Twine. When I create clothing or costumes, I almost always use reCycled materials. These pieces of clothing or fabrics hold the Stories of those who have Worn them or used them. I can feel these stories, they whisper to me, they scream at me, they want to be redeemed, reDeemed necessary and functional. Torn apart at the seams and merged with other Pieces of the dream, and reFashioned into a new expression. A more fun and unique, quirky, comfortable, playful and passionate arrangement. This process is not unlike the deeper mysteries of Spirit clothing itself in the garments of Body….The Soul is in the Seams….the Memories of the places in which we have Grown Together, Come Apart, Merge and DiVerge and play as inFinite Stars of the Dream. The 5 most basic elements of Fabrication are Scissors, Needle, Thread, Fabric, and the Self Who guides the Seams. The Fabric itself, is made up of Thread, and one could say that in taking the fractal deeper to source, the Loom is the higher octave of ‘fabric’. The Loom is the primordial structure on which the warp and weft of the the threads of Self are woven. That initial fabrication then becomes the malleable material in which we Play. But lets not go too deep quite yet.”
🔥🦂🔥:::WordsJustCameOutWrong:::🔥🦂🔥 (AfterFace of volume 6)
I like to say Words are Worlds......Words are also Wounds and Wounds are Worlds....and if we are perfectly honest, All Worlds are Wounds. And I am unraveling my World as I unravel my Wounds. I have been Wound so tightly around a core of Intensity, and overwhelming personal psychic interrogation for my entire life, that I have produced a ridiculous amount of Words in various forms, either to Cover over the Wounds or to Unwind the Covers. I am unsure which. A bit of both. But In diving back into the World Contained in this Tome of descent…..I have been reliving the emotions and confusions and I am emerging from this ritual as if from a Tomb. Yes, Words are Also Wombs.
My Words are often the result of entering the Portal of Some Other, either in the waking world or in the vast internal realms I inhabited. I have always lived mostly inwardly, with a rich and sometimes disastrous inner life. Some of these poems are written from the perspective of the many battling inner realities within me, with no mirror in the physical world. I have always been submerged in what I call 'Bleedthru-s of Other Lives'……Psychic fragments and scars and emotions from Characters I have played before in other timelines, seeping right through my seams. My inner realities have always been more solid and real than my outer reality. Some of the poems are written from my own witnessing of friends dramas etc, and writing from the perspective of the players in those games. Some are archetypal expulsions of raw material suffocating me endlessly. But most are mirrors of some outer reality. My protean obsessions and compulsions always dragging me one way or another. The repetition of the theme of Love and Pain and Misery and Darkness and bitterness. The depth of my own emotional life was never expressed to any person in those years, in fact, that theme has held for my whole life. I have always turned my psychic and emotional disintegration into Art. Not because I don't trust people. But, I believe, I learned way back then…and find it still true today…that most people do not feel as deeply. Are not so completely consumed by passing moods or inner landscapes and are not so tangibly sculpted like putty by their inner reality. Those who are, have left behind all the great Art and Writing and Inventions of our Collective World Stage. Or they have drowned themselves in addictions because there was no way to silence the Demon, and there was no leap from the abyss to follow the Daimon into Alchemy, instead of suffering the excesses that Demons love so much. Or they have been given any number of psychiatric labels and then pharmaceutically numbed out of life or locked away instead of facing the abyss head-on. Or they have simply, chosen Death head first.
"Thus I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness / transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death-and I refuse suicide." (Albert Camus)
Mostly, people try to commiserate, if I actually let out some of the depth of what I am perceiving or feeling or living, or what I am making flesh. I have often responded, that if they felt and saw and bore what I bear, relentlessly, they would be, like me, forced to alchemize it in some way or to destroy themselves. The kind of charge, the voltage of energy I am talking about, constantly pressing in upon me, is not the kind of fire or electricity that can be safely tucked away behind a netflix series, or a bottle of wine, or endless shopping, or endless socializing, or even hobbies. It cannot be stored in a back room and allowed out when appropriate. It cannot just 'wait til a better time' to make itself known. If someone is able to 'basically get on with their life' by drowning out the voices in any number of ways, they are not in the heat of the kind of flames I am talking about here. One may say that it is the human condition. Yes, in many ways it is. But it is a particular condition that only some people choose to incarnate into here in the Playground. It is a particular wiring, a certain blueprint. And they either learn to dance with it, and create great beauty or alchemize it in some way, or they destroy themselves and others completely. I do not believe there is any middle ground. Not for this initiation. Nothing about this kind of intensity allows for a 'normal life'.
We don't know that when we are young, however. We think if we just condemn ourselves enough for our Inner Fire, we will eventually settle into some typical way of relating to Self, in a controllable world of other people doing people-y things. We think if we just stop doing A, B, or C, or if we just Try Harder to be setted and content within our skin, we will alter the program. If we just make up a bunch of rules for ourSelf and stick within them, or follow someone else's rules of virtue, we will be free. But I have learned over and over, that there is something innate to certain people that will never allow for that. There is an inner prod that has no care for our human proclivities or our body's limits. It will not let us rest. Every moment is lived in absolute Intensity, whether that be the heights of the Manias we find ourselves in, when the blood is quickened within and we are a tornado of exuberance and god-like arrogance behind a bright and radiant smile of possibility. Filled with endless ideas that stream out like a broken water pipe and saturating everything and everyone in the vicinity. Or when Icarus' waxen wings melt and he falls from the sky in a dramatic display of descent back to Saturn's humus, humbled by the tumble from the lofty perch of our own ideals and effulgence.
What else but absolute obsession can make a person spend hours upon hours upon hours of days upon days upon days upon weeks and months and years focused on bringing to life some particular little nuance of their perception and participation in AllOfit. The Daimon drives us. And not All of our Daimons are playing the same game. And I have, after 44 years in the Playground, found a way to dance with that realization. It no longer destroys me and everyone in its path. I know a great many people afraid of being hurt, in Love. I am bass ackwards. I am not afraid of being hurt. I am incredibly reluctant at this point, to allow another to be hurt by me. I saw these patterns even back to this earliest poetry and was aware of the various warring selves within me. The Fire warms but also burns. It lights up a room but also sucks all the oxygen out of the air. Not all things and beings can handle the heat and intensity of a Being who is able to exist only at full throttle. At least not in close proximity for any length of time.
I have learned to create vast amounts of Space for myself, and vast amounts of Time for myself, to make of my life a sanctuary where I am fully aware of my strengths and weaknesses, and thus able to now use my gifts in Service, and minimize any fallout from my own perpetual emotional instability....(which all things considering, is very mild compared to the bulk of the prior 30 years).
A testament, these 600+ poems are, to the desperate restlessness of an unfolding psyche, that could only vaguely intuit, at the time, what lay right around the corner. It was only one full year later that the major confrontation with Self and the dissolution of everything I had begun to believe was me, was to take place. (See Volume 5)
I see in these poems all the foreshadowings that came to delineate the myths of my life, in germinal form. I have simply unfolded the tapestry through time. And now, as a ritual release, and as a precursor to Drawing My Stories on the Skin of this World, these Words Made Flesh are the final recapitulation of a long Poetic journey that has led me to this point in time. And I am casting off the garments of the old life, again, this time to be born anew without carrying the weight of these juicy nuggets of my Living Experience screaming into my psyche constantly, to be birthed into Flesh. Word Made Flesh. So Blessed. This Journey.
"Every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong, so I'll have to say I love you in a song"
I'll have to Spell it out in Rouge, the Red from the blood thatl bled as birthed myself anew
"There's something that I just gotta say, I knew you'd understand…...”
Charleen Johnston 3-6-2025
"Words are like pillows: if put correctly they ease pain."
Approximately four days before I died I called your house to remind you of my funeral. But you were not home. And so I crawled off into the woods to die alone, without social gathering and without open casket viewing. And the moment after I breathed my last breath as I began to drift from consciousness I heard your voice in the distance calling for me. But it was too late. For I had already perished into the depths of my own denial- the denial that you cared for me. And now I am dead and I can still hear you calling for me...
12-16-1998
( deep down in the abyssal waters of the Descent….From Volume 6 Linguistic Trickster)
I am very excited to be making great headway into this project that has been haunting me for a very long time. I have volumes 1 ,2 , and 3 available on Amazon and volume 4 is being formatted and edited now. I’ve spent so much time lately in ocd pursuit of completing up to the 6 volumes from January 2025 back to 1996 of my ‘dreaming back’ narrative of lifetimes writing . The next three volumes contain more writing by far than these three, as I wrote profusely during those years ( trying to stay sane 🧐)
I’ve done almost nothing else lately, so many hours into these just in the formatting and editing and rereading and all the rest. Reading thru 200 pages several times double checking for missed mistakes 😂 whole new appreciation for this process but I’m a little bit obsessed and am making good to my vow to complete the publishing of the whole series thru volume 6 by the time Jupiter leaves Gemini. The chart for this one is amazing too.
We must plant seeds at the right time for them to bear fractal fruit of beauty: I have lived my entire adult life with the astromythographical mirror of magic at my side, what an amazing gift we have at our disposal of we only learn the Languages of Life and Light🌟🔥🌟 Aquarius Electrical Impulse of Light and Awareness Opposed Leo Fiery FireLight of Warmth and Action and HeartBlood.
My north and south node are Leo/Aqaurius exact conjunct my MC/IC axis. To bridge the Heart and the Mind………as my Mercury ( communication/mental processing:language/writing/expression) sits exactly atop my Ascendent (Scorpio….the Psyche,deep insight/penetration/life death sex mysteries of existence, the deep dark of descent) and opposing Chiron( the wound, the gift we bring forth from that wound, the antenna, the area of healing the existential drama) that sits on my descendent in Taurus ( the body, the senses, Form, the roots, the inner values and substance of our being, the flesh). The modern rulers of those four signs are exactly conjunct….Sun/Uranus in Scorpio first house, and Pluto/Venus in Libra 12th house. Mercury straddled between the two. The psychopomp that travels between the UnFormed(12th underworld/unBeing) and the Formed(1st Self/Being). The Jester, the trickster in the liminal space. The Fool must come Full Circle around the circle of the zodiacal wheel..::earning its degrees by the decree that Life Must learn to Feel the Real.
Yes the fixed cross I am fixed to the cross Bearing The weight Of tearing fate From the forms I create As a testament To Destiny… Alchemy….. Burning the dross To make way For the best of Me
Volume 2 available soon. These are retrospectives working backwards and will eventually encompass all the way back to 1996, an astropsychographical adventure awaits the completion of this project. This had to be finished before I could move on to the task at hand 🙂
BlissNinja 