Astrological Truths About a Supernatural Existence on Earth

Written by Sonjirose

“ I am the energy firing the neurons, and I’m returning. Just by remembering, I’m returning home. And it’s like a drop of water falling back into the ocean, of which it’s always been a part. All things… [m]ore galaxies in the universe than grains of sand on the beach. And that’s what we’re talking about when we say ‘God.’ The one. The cosmos and its infinite dreams.”  - Erin Greene, Midnight Mass (2021)

1. I am–we–women, are born the pure sinners. Daughters of Eve. Selfish. Conceited. Lethally evil. Born to bodies covered in blood. Kicking and screaming from the weeping wombs of women who bleed twelve times for us to be here. We will bleed too. Women: repent for existing. Existing in the body, a body to be surveillanced, disciplined, punished for our protection from, who? 

 He says Ourselves.

1. I have a hunger. A hunger for birthday cake, ice pops, turkey legs as a toddler. To eat so sensually. Stuff my belly with ease and please. Encouraged by my culture, my family. Seek comfort in soul food, Caribbean cuisine, Blacken flavors that lulled me to sleep and infused into my dreams. Put on the pounds, let me eat more cake, high cholesterol is something that’s fake. I have that hunger–still. What am I filling up, what?

He says the emptiness. 

1. I think I am two and none–beyond 0 and 1– simultaneously. Boy and girl, not quite. Man and woman, not right. Nonbinary? Androgyny? Two souls, two thoughts? Enter this world with she/he/fe/male/wo/man; to be both, no. Still not correct. To be all? Maybe. Easy to play devil’s advocate when I’m both lord and satan, where do I go from here?

He says I’m going nowhere.

1. I feel I had to leave home, but really, what is home when home hasn’t been home for so long. Who am I among those who think therefore they are? Think that imposing rules, regulations, regimes is the regular; therefore that’s the way things are supposed to be. I escape the house, change my number, become a prodigal anti-Ruth. Their people are not my people, their gods are not my gods, I will not go where they go. I will head to foreign lands to get high with all my lovers under the moonlight. Kisskisskissfeelfeelfeel everything. I feel therefore I am free. This freedom, homecoming is my birthright? 

She 

under the thumb of he 

says no.

1. I will find the rhyme in the mayhem that I make on a stage called–the world–on the water’s bank. This is me, swimming roughly and floating gracefully. Unmasking beasts that hide in thick, dark mud located in nature’s womb. That’s me too, isn’t it? Beasts begging to be loved and shown to the sun. Beasts that just wanna have fun crying, performing, destroying all so-called pleasantries. Beasts that maybe aren’t only beasts–maybe–big stars?

He says stars burn too bright.

1. I analyze how she turns green and pink and red and purple and orange during our earthly days. Wild women don’t get the blues, but maybe she was more virgin, maidenly than me. I saw her though, her wild tongue late spring when we jumped off ledges of that bridge off into Devil’s Pool. She screamed obscene words mixed with holy verbs into the air, into my ears.  Si, soy hija de a la Chingada. We sank to the bottom, soft earth squished beneath our feet. Breaking back to the world above with blue-greens, her lips touch my cheek, licking droplets off slowly.  No ‘tes chingando. I breathe: Te amo virgen salvaje.

El hombre dice que no podemos estar enamorados.

1. I balance my time: to stay, to go. Shall I stay in Paris (Texas) where no one knows my name. Or go, for the sake of older generations who raised me. If I don’t leave I leave what hasn’t left me, unknown dreams. If I stay, will life treat me kindly? Walking to the door that slammed in my face that October day. Shun me, starve me from the love that kept me alive but welcome back under the disguise of lies. Checks and balances, this or that, fact of the matter, whatever I pick, I’ll be my own source of lack. I’m scared to go home.

He says the world won’t protect me, but he won’t either. 

1. I create yin. Magic, madness, heaven, sin. Humanity’s devotion to life begins with the woman. Mother nature. The huntress. The mystic, high priestess. The witch. The mother. Blink three times, cast a spell, all is right when a woman is around.

She says it’s a feeling, to keep on feeling. 

1. I perceive I once was the prey, feet bound in chains, my skin dry and cracked, I wasted away. Many days I wished to speak, to act, to protest, to challenge. I hid my feelings;I hid my truths; I concealed my fire; but I kept stroking my inner flame. To be free, but freedom isn’t free. What price could I pay, how many coins would be enough to be authentically me? Not predator nor prey, just me, unseen by many and treasured by two. Undivine, divine, animal, god. I guess I am human after all. 

Who could ever leave me darling, who could stay?

1. I use the secrets of the cult(ure) to capitalize on conditions. The girls told me: go to Church, be a nun, you’ll be safe as Jesus’ bride. Go to the streets, play tricks with glamour and be sure to kiss good boys on the cheek, you’ll be safe to be a whore. Go to the home, warm the stove, carry a child on your hip, blow your husband when you two are alone, you’ll be safe from the world outside the door. Terms of conditions are not for those of us who want to own ourselves. Could we ever though? Own ourselves. If we work hard enough, study long enough, play the game under these conditions. Then we can earn our way to being free. Right? Right? Tell me please.

That’s the secret lie of the boot strap.

1. I know writing the present is writing the future is writing the past. Time is not real yet I know the future will come. The sun will rise and set, like all the days before and all the days after. Writing is holding on to this now to return to it in another now for this now will become the future, slipping into a past and into a faded memory. Not writing though, as far as I know. It stays constant, solid on a page. Unless the language is massacred. What will become of the writing, the future, then? 

He says living language is bullshit. She bites back and remembers.

1. I believe that love is the answer. The memory tends to get hazy, grainy but still I remember. I found you in the rainstorms, humming insect sounds, slow dances at weddings. I found you in the underwater comfort where breathing seems like a second thought. I found you in the first bites of spring fruit and the slipping into a soft slumber with a sticky, cherry-stained mouth. By finding you, I found me. By finding me, you found you. We found each other for this lifetime. 

We will forever try to get back together.