Full Moon Dive

Scorpio Full Moon and other deep dives

Well, they said the full moon and eclipse were going to be intense. What that could actually mean was unpredictable. After several years of unpredictability, I am no longer sure if I have shock fatigue or if I’m getting better at riding the wave. Dude.

Last night teenagers were out shrieking on the streets. Even in the quiet little countryside, home to witch trials and massacres. Imagine.

I admire a writer named Tom Cox, who manages to infuse his work with his own meanderings and imaginings. He has a certain faith in an audience, while lamenting the necessity of endless self-promotion to get nearly nowhere.

This full moon seems a good time to reflect on whether people actually care and if it really matters. I’ve received one of my periodic warnings from the universe to conform better.

Conform better. Should be a t-shirt.

Those who care – do they care? How much do they care? And should it matter at all? Shouldn’t I be able to carry on, regardless of whether anyone gives a toss or not?

The moon would like to know.

I read something somewhere, the cheap free guidance of TikTok and Instagram. That if you have been left to your own devices as a child, then you will always withdraw at key moments.

That’s not exactly it. Let’s try again. If no one helped you through your bad moments as a child or young person, then you don’t expect it – and in fact you retreat in a Neptunian haze of isolation.

That’s better.

So why write at all? I suppose it is to explore and explain the Neptunian haze.

I see that the NYT, always right there with pithy news for the rich, has an article on how everything will disappear one day. Their question – who will have the last word?

And this is what editors want for their banker overlords? The fine, scented mix of disaster and competition. “Who wins the end of the universe?”

What a fucking mess.

Today is coronation day as well. They arrested some anti-monarchy protestors because nothing says free liberal society like locking up those that disagree with a pageant that costs 100 million pounds, involves holy oil, and balancing a crown on a grumpy head. His face as his page boys adjusted his ermine cloak. I don’t think out of touch will really cover it.

Conform better.

As a former mistress, I suppose I should be on the side of Camilla. Wrong. I was a dreamy, hopeless, hopeful stupid innocent in love, hoping they’d love me back. For real. To take away all the empty nights, I suppose, the bad moments.  So I am always for Diana. Seeing Camilla with a crown makes me feel ill.

Is the new queen one of the ones that will win at the New York Times? Probably.

There is a French pop song, lyrics by Françoise Hardy. There is a line –

              Je voudrais que tu oublies le goût du malheur

It’s a very sad song.

I worked on it in translation class. Some focused on the poetic rules they had learned in school. Some were fixated on the rhyme scheme.

One woman said it made her cry, and she smiled at me, and we understood.

Those are the moments that we live for. No – I have no trust or faith in you. Those are the moments I live for.

It’s not your fault, I know, that I don’t trust you.

Aristotle would admonish me to be angry at those who deserve my anger. The right emotions, at the right time.

I think back to the class where I learned that, and the jury is still out whether I wish I’d never come back to this country.

Wiser people may say everything happens for the best.

This full moon is fairly ripping things apart. What’s real? Who is lying? Conform better – or just quit?

Sand makes pearls.

Sand is in my shoes, and if I walk on the beach later, looking out to sea, it will be all around me. Gusting up in whirlwinds with a breeze. Imprinted upon by little bird feet, patting down trails towards food, their flock, the water, the dunes.

I might go barefoot today.

This moon burned into the window last night, bright like a sun, it almost hurt to look at it. It cast its cruel light into the room, carving away illusion.

Neptunian haze burning off like fog, I seem to have strayed into unknown territory. All the demons of the past are calling. There would have been a time where I trusted people enough to tell them my thoughts. Now I know they don’t really care. My excitement is not theirs. They manage their lives to live, to win at the end of the universe.

Conform better.

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