The moon bearing down--not eternally

I have learned lessons this week--some that I may never willingly share . . .

Looking ahead at the next nine months leaves me wondering how I'll put up with the necessary monotony. I want to flourish right now--I want to breathe fiercely, tasting the iron in blood. I don't want to wait . . . descending, evermore, in the violent circles of self-doubt that comes after all those subtle rejections.

I'm beginning to worry about my financial stability, perhaps moving a step closer to accepting the thralldom modern humans must accept to achieve that slightest drip of fulfilled dreaming. I am starting to reserve alongside fate: I will have to work, or I will be stunned by heroics from unknown sources.

The lessons this week have desanctified for me the heights of some previously structured ideals. The pedestal has cracked, and tilts into its final moments--there are no angels, there are only the fallible and free-willed.

The fires within me eviscerate a weeded, overgrown forest. This is cleansing. This turmoil is resolution: letting go of ancient clutter, to make room for more of the unknown.

I was creatively productive last weekend--and this weekend I have learned important, secret lessons.

I can hardly believe how near June whispers . . .