Confessions of a libra

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11.06.25

I feel more lucid than I ever have. No one told me how sweet this Saturn Return clarity would come. I’m stepping into my purpose with great fluidity and foresight. I’m magnetising, every prayer I ever felt unanswered, every second of my excruciating existence. I was early so many times, I thought I had a defect. I must not be someone worthy of bravery. Now with the benefit of hindsight, I see now that I was blinding in my becoming. Now I have become. I’ve just passed the threshold and now the grey is technicolour. I’ve been rewarded for failing to abandon myself in the face of scrutiny.

Now, my hankering comes with a solid foundation. I yearn to magnetise, to channel and to facilitate sensory overwhelm. I’ve claimed pleasure as my birthright, so I feel deserving of losing myself in it. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you sovereign. A co-creator with the universe. I slink further into bed until my face is half covered by the blanket. The electric blanket makes my eyes roll to the back of my head in pleasure. I love the feeling of warmth, especially on my lower back. I settle in, feeling every sensation of fabric on my skin. My eyes close and I slow down my breath. One…Two…Three…

I see us strolling through a market. I stop at a stall and he hangs back, when the lady start asking me which of her jewellery pieces I liked. I don’t mind socialising at things like this. That’s how you feel in community. She tells me I have to smell these candles she’s just released a new line of. I look at him with that cheeky face. It’s so cute that this lady wants to share her craft with me. I’m already softened and I’ve decided I can’t walk away from this stall without supporting her. I liked that she was steering away from the sea breeze scents because some of our olfactory senses need a little more decadence. She has this peony candle, and it makes me roll my eyes in visceral joy. I hold it up to him.

“This is so me,” I say in a lower tone.

I didn’t mean to sound seductive when I said that, I just wanted to pull him back to me. Like gravity. He smells the candle.

“Yep, definitely one of your many shades.” He says with reverence.

My heart does a little jump and I ignore the tingle in my nipples. I pick some earrings and a candle but stop myself there. I don’t want to regret it by the end of the stalls. As I leave for the next one, he sidles up beside me and slips his hand in mine. I grin with all my heart. We explore, slow and unhurried. Soon, we find some street food. I hope he isn’t embarrassed when I start jumping up and down excitedly from seeing a Japanese Soufflé pancake stand. I can’t help the way I express enthusiasm with child-like wonder. He laughs with ease and guides us into the right line. We end up sitting close by, on a mound of grass, watching the festivities before us.

“How’s the pancake?” He asks, mouth full of taco.

My response begins with moans of approval, plenty of pointing. “If I died right now, I would be fucking happy!”

He laughs again and I fear I’m getting addicted to that sound.

“You’re cute. You know that?”

I screw up my nose in mock distaste, “I’ll have you know, in some circles I’m considered to be a real scary hard-arse!”

He snorts, “You’re only scary when you haven’t had breakfast. That’s a whole different woman.”

I hate that he’s right. Except I’m not, because I am self aware enough to know that I get hangry. I’m also proud enough that he has learned me so well. I stick my tongue out at him then take some more bites. The sun is shining down blessings upon us. I am mildly aware of the spiritual presence laughing and rolling in the grass with us.

The world before us looks crazy and chaotic. But when I look at him as he takes a swig of his drink, gaze unfocused – I feel peace. The peace of arrival. The peace of certainty. The peace of prophecy. He leans in, blocking the sun and pulling me from my reverie. His hand gently holds the underside of my jaw and neck. His touch sears me into heightened bodily awareness.

“I’m so happy we’re here, together.” His tone is sure. As sure as a man can be.

“Kiss me, Matt.” I command softly. His mouth shows me no mercy.

Written under Lilith’s juridiction.

Signed in bone and brilliance.

Oshun’s Blessing

May your softness be met with structure.
May your joy be cradled, not contained.
May your devotion pull only those with the courage to stay.
May your beauty never beg for acknowledgment,
but instead be worshipped in silence and named aloud.
You have waited with your palms open —
Now receive with your thighs, your mind, your life.”
— Oshun, through the woman who would not fold.

Anointed in Power & Honey,
Thando