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Today I dreamed of someone I have never met in my life, only in words, and in fleeting photos. And that one time she shaved her head because she was volunteering for cancer folks. It was odd. We walked together as if we were lovers, and we did lover-ly things. I woke up in amazement, but also in one of the most refreshing mornings of these past weeks.

I guess the moon had done me well. Dreams are often aspects of life we deny clarity to see, and they come up in unconscious forms, overlaying the wishes of the day with the darker, more intense knowledges of the night. Isn’t that what the moon, symbolically, is also about?

Today, I am seeing someone for food. Or food is seeing us, for transformation. The organic changes of the physical must happen. Life must seek death, destruction, in order to be reborn. The phoenix is not an alien being, it resides within all of us, our thoughts give birth to the phoenix, and our work gives rise to the fires that turn things to ashes. Like the moon, rough on the surface, but an enveloping and sorrowful white in its entire spirit.


Author: oligothoughts

poetic hermit

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