Foul Language & Good Medicine

Yesterday was a good day - for me - until it wasn’t. In the grand scheme of this world we share, doing the personal, healing Work that I do sometimes feels petty to me. Yet that Work is mighty Medicine, and it does support me in what I might deem the more important work of justice in which I participate. Anyhoo…

So, there I was, moon void of course, embracing High Priestess verve, feeling some deep internal harmony that I’d not felt in a long while. And it felt so rich and nourishing. I had taken action that morning on something that felt good, and right, and ripe. I was feeling poised, comforted by my choices and actions. It was - for me - a sweet day. And then the mail arrived.

An envelope with the point of origin obvious seemed to glare at me, challenging the good Medicine of the day that had blessed me. I might have set it aside, as I’ve done with similar correspondence in the past, to open and examine some other day, but some internal impulse tore one side of the envelope and pulled out the contents. There was a second sealed envelope that I set aside, and I unfolded the single sheet of paper and read the words. My palms began to sweat, a heavy, coiled lump of a feeling settled between my solar plexus and my heart. As I type these words in this moment those visceral responses return as I wonder if the tormentor, the tormentor I just wrote of the day before, has an ally?

I engaged my grounding heart breath between each read, as I steadied myself to understand the short message, and not make assumptions. Yet each read knocked me off my center. I felt pissed, I felt frustrated, I felt a familiar intrusion… and then I felt wonder.

Wonder and curiosity are things I understand, and hold great honor for, as they have guided me well through so many aspects of my life, and the Work. Yet the curiosity perceived in the words I read and re-read are born - I am confident - of the shared fabrications of the tormentor. Serendipity. Fucking serendipity. I thought, “this fucking Work, it’s fucking magick, and it’s fucking Medicine. Will fucking wonders never fucking cease?”

I continued to engage my heart breath, and settled in that place of wonder… wondering how it is that there are folx in the world that have so little interest, meaning and value in their own lives that they’re compelled to poke around in the lives of others. How it is that there are folx that are unable to tend to their own business, their own lives? How it is that there are folx so empty that they reach into the personal matters of others to fill their void? And do so with nebulosity.

From that place of wonder I settled into the sadness of it. Theirs, and mine.

Today I wonder if I’ll respond to that correspondence… tomorrow, next week, next month, ever?

So, now, on this gift of a leap year day, I sit with it… and await the Work that will guide me on this healing journey. And wouldn’t ya know… it arrives in my email with March’s Moonshine guidance. Serendipity. Fucking serendipity. Fucking magick. Fucking Medicine. And I feel the gratitude. The fucking gratitude.

Peace. 🕊