Confessions of a libra

Fever Dream | Credit: Here

03.11.25

My dagger whips through the air, landing at the very top of the bullseye. Certainly enough for it to count. I cheer before my mind even registers. I’ve been practising my aim through darts, axe throwing and dagger throwing. Only occasionally I’m not a complete psychopath. It’s Scorpio season. My favourite season.

There’s something poetic about having this season during Spring in the Southern hemisphere. Life blooms, animals procreate, all the while humans are burying their old selves 6 feet under denial and repression. Well, most of them anyway. For me I make space for death. Quite literally, I had to bury a rat I found just the other day. The poor sod was in an undignified position, so I rescued them from being devoured by prying eyes. Instead I placed him in the earth and let her grainy arms, compress into a tight embrace.

It reminds me of how the neighbourhood kids save their falling teeth to do a ceremony with me. We bury their fallen teeth into the earth, sometimes burying and planting a tree whose roots will one day hold that tooth in its grip. A reminder that death and shedding do not have to be the end. That beauty comes in every part of the cycle. And you’re never too young to start rituals of bonding with the earth. Freedom to me lies in being able to wake up without an alarm and throw a dagger because the impulse calls for it.

My feet shuffle into the kitchen, mind already whirling with possibility. My spirit feels called to dive deeper into making my own spiritual school. Nothing dogmatic or exclusive but something rooted. Something real. Something to uplift communities and quality of life. A full embracing of the spectrum from Magick to Science. Holding evidence in one hand and faith in the other. Never superior, never posturing, only true and inquisitive. None of this anti-intellectual shit my childhood religion was full of.

I bake a new batch of breakfast muffins. I’ve been doing so fortnightly, in a comfortable rhythm. My earth moon is comforted by the consistency, but the cardinal energy in me will need to shake things up one of these days, just to keep things interesting. I’m placing the muffins on a cooling rack when it strikes me that time is a concept that does exist, and as such I might be late to an appointment.

Isn’t that what happens when you rewild your nervous system? When you stop waking up to alarms and trust the first cock-a-doodle-do. I take out the muffins from the oven, and stay present as the heat rises, like incense. The scent of cheesy goodness waters my tongue. I took a bite. One moist succulent bite for the road. The flavour bursts in my mouth, and I wanted this moment to last forever. I put the muffin down for my own sake but pleasure lingers as I grab my keys and slip out the front door. I have a date with death.