Scared Sacred

the grand rising

…888

---

When smoke curls against the sunlight, creating a veiled floor in the air, and the room starts to feel congested and smudged, that’s when I’ll come home.

When the broken gate slams against the iron frame four times in the dark moon wind, I might arrive. Mysteriously I’ve been said to show up more often after five. It’s been documented once in this timeline.

When the lunar eclipse falls on an autumnal equinox and women gather to dance their grief fantastic, I will appear. I’ll feel guilty for how long it’s been. I’ll be crying in your doorway. I’ll smell like amber resin.

Ohhh, my love, when you stop looking - you’ll see I’ve stood by you.

---

Good grief.
The ghostress posts.

My silence is fertile. Rebirthing.

Recognizing.
Remembering.
Retaining.
Revisiting.
Respir8ing.

Speaking is sacred.

Speaking is for important things like truth and poetry and comedy.
It scares me.

Here’s that super-conductor mural I left you all on read over. The one that took me way too long to finish. The one that no longer exists but in the concept of time:

The one I poured my soul into and then painted over. Back to black.

The one that lasted 8 weeks because our business outgrew the space.

The one that crushed my soul, and knew all along it would be gone. The stars. The cards. The 8’s. They all conspired.

Alas, I was tasked with releasing attachment and wound up burning everything on my path. The synchronicities were overwhelming. So dramatic.

I was grieving and relieved at once. How is that possible?

I needed you guides…but I wouldn’t allow myself to feel seen (or good) in the subtle depths of sudden death. Not in the compost and regrowth mess I was.

That darkness tho!

It’s not avoidance. It’s an understanding of mY PoWEr.

-Cut twelve inches from my hair.
-Wrote more FIRE for Bad Girls Club.
-Making amends and reaching out.
-Had to examine the way I rel8 to the masculine.
-Maxxxed out my capacity.
-Hit all my upper limits.
-3 2 1 self destruct.
-Rebuild bigger and better.
Nothing new to report, really.

Now I’m back, and I’m a master of the now. SO WHAT’S UP BLASTAAA??

Please, forgive me. My essence wasn’t made for this. I’m built to bleed on wild moss every ~26 days and hide behind sparkly waterfalls. Not click little buttons like FUCK. (yes, I just welded the shift key & F-U-C-K to the keyboard with my fingers…)

I return with gifts from the unexpected.

I never stopped loving you.

Mer K8 Ba