Confessions of a libra

Spirit-led joy incoming… | Credit: here

18.10.25

These hands have itched to type, to write and to create while muddled by life’s pressure. I’m still crawling my way out of the Underworld, one clawing hand at a time. I have been busy, being pressed tightly to create new layers of my armour. I have been righting the scales, executing precise moves for my future self. The painful metamorphosis, akin to the werewolf writhing in pain under the light of the moon – bones cracking, growing and reforming.

My nails have dirt beneath them, accrued from every moment I have dragged myself from the dissenting voice. The one that said to give in, to abandon my morals and to accept the helplessness of the human form. Time and time again I look Gods in the eye and say, is this it? Is this all you have for me? And with every cell in my meat-sack, I crawl again and I demand better. Instead, I look forward. The crazy thing about being psychic and highly self-aware, is I orchestrate my next phase of life in my mind and midwife it into being. I’m still new to embracing the speed of my initiations, and the speed with which I grow. I restrategise often, I take my responsibility to myself as the most important thing.

Despite how hard of a rollercoaster I have had the past decade, my current self is so freaking grateful to my past self. I make a lot of decisions – even the crazy ones – having envisaged how it might affect me. I come to acceptance before I action anything. As such, I am ending my second decade of life, starting to feel rooted in some important ways. My retirement plan is going exactly according to plan. My creativity has benefitted from the large expanse of activities I was willing to try, sometimes for fun and other times for skill building. For the first time this year, I can call myself an artist. What was once an aspiration, is now a lived reality.

Now that I have picked up my will to continue existing off the pits of the floor, now that I have grieved the death of the latest cycle of my life, I dream of eating mangoes in the African sun. I imagine the next phase of my life not being one where I must defend my worth, my right to exist with innate respect. Instead I envision myself being in community, the way my ancestors’ values reflect. I’ve often stated how large my dreams are, that there’s no way I could express them without frightening those around me. I am the perfect cocktail of ethical, idealistic, eccentric and self-empowered.

I like many millennials, want to buy my own land. I think everyone deserves permanent shelter. The life I have lived has forced me to find a home in myself. I have moved more times than I have had new mobile numbers, by a long shot. I want to own this land by myself, not with a partner. If I meet someone who owns their own land then the more the merrier. People don’t have to have the same aspirations as me, to be worthy of being in my circle. Within my cultural heritage I am now at an age people will be wondering why I am not clambering to be a wife. Among my people, being a wife is a whole social status of its own. One I am quite happy to skirt for other ambitions.

I adore children, and I very much hoped to be a mother by now. I dream of working with children, not just having children to take care of. I dream of empowering orphans, speaking to children in schools about their future aspirations. Children are the future, corny as that sounds. I think one thing we do wrong all over the world is not to listen to children more. Put their best interests at heart more. Children are something I think about very often. How are we failing them as a society and where are we winning. From the social media bans to the children of influencers, I am very much plugged into the ethics of how children are to be handled.

Once my nervous system has recovered from burn out, I want to be more intentional. I volunteered last year with the older people in my local community here in Melbourne. Yet even then, one of the participants I was introduced to clearly didn’t want me assisting her and her husband because she was racist. I adore being Australian in that, I feel very much like part of the architecture even without being born here. My entire High School was completed in Australia, I was a permanent resident by 14 and we were citizens by 17. I adore the lingo, the devil-may-care attitude. The way nature speaks to me in this country makes me feel like I belong. I went from a highly spiritual land (Zimbabwe) to another highly spiritually land.

Even though Australians themselves aren’t as publicly spiritual. The land itself hums with magick. The beauty is palpable. Those two concepts marry together, and it makes you want to work hard and try harder. You want to work hard to get that beautiful beachfront property. You want your own slice of the Australian pie and the Australian dream. Yet like many Western nations like Canada, the house prices have been driven up due to foreign investment as well as more and more hoarding of wealth by the higher echelons. None of this is specific to the Western world. It’s just un unsurprising result of capitalism.

There is an exhaustion that exists in me now after 17 years in Australia. The myth of meritocracy in the Western world is most harmful to people like me. People that can and will work hard. People that are driven by meaning, driven to contribute to community they exist in. My hard work and the next person’s hard work are never going to be read the same. My personal brilliance feels stifled. The parameters I exist in in Australia are well laid out, and there is very little that can be done to produce outcomes outside of what I have already watched myself produce in a decade, since leaving school.

One thing I enjoy about myself is that restlessness I have. It’s why I can never maintain a state for too long. I want to go back to existing in a way where I can be taken seriously because of what I bring to the table, not because of things I cannot control. I want to be a mentee to artists in Zimbabwe. Not necessarily famous artists but artist who I resonate with. If that’s a random uncle on the side of the road whose stone masonry arouses my ancestors from the other side, then that’s man I will ask to mentor me. I want to dive deeper into my interests.

I am nearly at the end of my Professional Certificate in Astrology and I wanted this course to fill in any knowledge gaps I have from self-study. Every month this year, I have fallen deeper into my own lore, deeper into understanding the tapestry that makes up this universe. I want to be able to write looking out at the water, feeling the shiver down my spine from the water spirits watching and slipping me the right words at the right time. My creativity birthed over 270, 000 words this year while in the middle of chronic pain, now I dream of what I can achieve without stress – without vultures trying to swoop and take advantage.

Just me, nature and giving back to the community that fed and birthed me. I am ready to test the limits of my being. I knew at some stage I would have to re-engage with my African roots properly. It’s a vow I can feel that I made even before I ever knew I would leave. I’m excited at the thought of the freedom I am grateful to have in my dual citizenship. There are ideas I have about life that are very much inspired by my people, with a Thando-spun modern twist. Being self-sufficient is the goal for most Zimbabwean people. We understand the greater structures that must exist like governments, but people want to not only support themselves but have backup to that self-support. That is the goal I am always working around and towards.

As such it is a dream to own my own land, with access to my own water source and electricity untethered to systems. It might seem silly when you have the option of just paying an electricity company and a water company, but that is my personal dream. I want to be a homesteader, by and for myself. As such over the years, I have worked on my relationship to plants. Some people might be natural green thumbs, while others may have to tune in to the frequency. Hard work doesn’t intimidate me. What is much harder is working hard and not being rewarded because you’re not the right kind of person. If I’m going to work hard at all, let it not be filtered through my skin tone first.

There’s so many wild fruits I miss who may or may not have English names. Fruits that you might overlook because they are so plain and earthy but they move the Spirit. The last time I was in Zimbabwe, the clouds looked closer to the ground. I assume the illusion has to do with the land’s extremely high elevation. When I was there, I enjoyed the intimacy of the sky. Like I could just reach up and catch the clouds. The green of healthy grass doesn’t look as green when I am in Australia. These are aches that come with belonging to more than one place. Most people just think of my country as a place of poverty, not a place of beauty. Not a place of worth.

With each trip back, I have made it my mission to hoard books on the history of my people. I am from two tribes, so I have double the history to appreciate. I exist as a decolonised person, something I have achieved by myself. I want to be able to share this with others. I dream of making appointments with Historians, and interviewing them. I am a scholar in my own right, untied to any institution. I plan to be a lifelong student. The more I have learnt about our culture pre, during and post-colonisation I feel that we have retained many of the things that fortify us, but we have lost confidence. In ourselves and our worth. We fought hard for so freaking long for independence from the British, that by the time we achieved it we were not the same people.

I see us as a traumatised people. Intelligent enough to understand the depth of the horrors we experienced, but struggling to align our post-colonial identity with our past. Until we align the two, learn to shirk the shame we inherited and decentre the greedy from monopolising power, we will continue to struggle. These are simply human struggles. Everything operates in cycles and every dog has its day. My calling has always been to help people. I heard the call in my dreams, under the stars at night as a child. I never imagined it would be so hard. I have served every community I have lived in in Australia in one way or another. Gave with my whole heart, and left pieces scattered all over the place. Now I call my energy back to me.

I challenge myself to build beauty out of the impossible because I am beauty, and beauty is me. I can’t change the world, but I am conscious that I give more than I take. I can’t change the world, but I will move if it’s better for my spirit. I deserve success as much as the next person, and everyone deserves to hear that. It sounds like I want many things, but I intrinsically feel like the things I want are things every human should have. Life can’t always be easy, but I need an environment that meets my ambitions with open arms. Not people who want to determine where my pleasure should be capped. What sliver of the pie I get and when. It feels insulting to my intelligence, and to my efforts.

I want go home and meet some Chiefs and Traditional Healers and ask them about their lives. What it’s like growing up knowing you are built for more. How they juggle personal needs and being community leaders. I want to learn more about healing from native plants. So I can practice making new skincare products, new ritual oils. I want to wear a babydoll dress, while watching giraffes munching on leaves in the distance. I want to ride horses on the land my ancestors used to live, farm, trade and barter.

I’ve had a dark night of the soul and now all I want is to shed this skin. I feel it crackling beneath me, and I’m ever impatient for the next move. Every big move I’ve ever had as an adult has been led by my intuition. I’ve had to accept looking crazy, before other people understood the vision. Now I thrive on the confusion. I feel the opening of the chrysalis, and I’m frustrated I can’t speed it up and fly out. But such is life. I’ve missed you all, I’ve been banking up topics to talk about when my creativity is less impeded by my burnout. May we never settle for crumbs again. Now and forevermore. Asé.