Dearests,

Tread lightly, but with purpose. Everything we need is all around us. This season is for healing, but healing may be the furthest thing from our minds right now. How can one heal when there is only the flood of pain oiling our basins, coloring the waters in which we attempt to bathe. The discord of Earth is palpable and our spiritual minds are heavy with the images of bodies, perfectly preserved, but trapped in our own muds. As children, we reached deep into a bog to unthread cranberries. We held them in our fists, and felt them pearl against our fingers. This was a great comfort. At this time, we are the bog, and the cranberries have been trampled by the peat. We must unearth them. We know this. We must remove the earth to feel something deeper, to find the bodies. We need to help everyone get back home.

But it is heavy, and we have never been asked to hold this particular weight before. The world and worlds are asking us to play with fire. They trust us to know how. When nothing grows, set the fields aflame & make better soil.

We are only one thing, though. How can we trust ourselves not to hurt what little has sprouted with our heat?

We, too, are longing for home, a place where our dreams can rest & chew at fruit in warmth — we want the nightmares to stop, and to drain the worlds of hurt. We are so afraid of what limits us, but we must not let our focus rest there. The internet, yet another realm we cannot touch but often feel, is full of anger & it is angering us. We are tempted to delete. Buttons make emotions lighter. Delete the anger. Delete the negative energies of others. Delete. Delete.

Deletion isn’t always helpful though — not when the fire has already started and the water is already undrinkable. It is a season of confrontation, but it is so hard to know where and how to direct our passion.

The wands are a card of energy & five is a number of union. Our energies are not wasted, only in too many places at once. Like the berries, they are under the Earth. We know they’re there, but to excavate them is yet another task for the tired mind.

We must dig & collect ourselves in fistfuls. Emotions can be chemical. We can pulp our anger into an energy, too. But our pestles are weighted. We must find others to help us.

We need help, and that is okay. Our bodies are not equipped to hold everything we must carry, alone.

Soon, the skies will open & rain will come. It will feel so good, washing the mud off of our heels. The fruits of our efforts will be revealed at our feet, where they have always been. We will take them to the hungry & we will feed ourselves.

A new power will blossom. Our bodies will learn a new way to stop pain, and we will collect this knowledge like something precious. It will go inside the alter of our sternums, and we will keep it in our blood so the newest of us can inherit it.

Drink now of the fruited water. It is a time for love, but not a time for rest. We must care for ourselves, but then we must find our people, and recognize that they are our mentors and we are theirs.

Soothe one another, and prepare for the revolution of our efforts. Rain is forecasted, but our new powers must not stop there.

We must ready ourselves for change.