The soul, the New Year, and attempted honesty.

Hello blog readers :)

Normally the first thing I do when I write a new blog post is entitle the thing. But since this post is more of a venting-out than a defined statement about anything particular, I shall leave the title till later.

Anyway, I've been posting a lot here for the past few days, I guess because I'm in pain. I don't want to suffer so much alone. I don't want this relapse of depression to be a closed-off experience, because I'm really much happier when I keep myself open. To close off from the world is to tell the world you're losing, and that things are really so serious and heavy that you can't function as a regular-Joe assembly-line automaton anymore. Naturally, I don't want to let the world win. I will continue to be witty and sarcastic and smart and intense and curious for as long as I'm breathing and there's another tomorrow. I want to be open with my depression experience, to say, "This is what I'm going through. It's very real, and it frightens me, but it's a phase. The cloud will lighten in color. The earth does not collapse into itself despite all the crises it has had to witness, and neither shall I."  

This way of thinking shows me that people are capable of change, because I have changed. The way I'm dealing with this depression now is a lot different than the way I've dealt with it before, in the past. This time last year, actually, I was completely unable to deal with this weight on my shoulders. I reached a point at which I wasn't operating too well in the real world without having to run off and cry buckets at several intervals of the days. I closed off. Sure, I ate, slept (either too much, or far too little), and drank like a human being, but I was dead. It's curious. I don't really want to talk about this much, at least not right now, and not in this way. I should be writing, and working on the stories I've been up to. But I feel at least for today, I want to focus on my own practical, tangible emotional issues, rather than those of imagined characters.

So anyway, I don't want to derail too much, a tendency of mine. Let's go back to the changes in my coping style. I notice I don't cry as much anymore. Moping about my "misery" has become an outdated tool in my life that no longer serves the purpose of helping me release. I'm observing a newfound aggression in my approach to life. The further I see my happiness slip, the more empassioned I become about maintaining heart and good faith in myself and the purity of my spirit. I know my inner strength, and I don't need anyone to assure me about anything. I have always found my own way in life, and I believe in my experiences and approaches, and the Universal plan for me. I shall continue to live my life the way I see fit, regardless of whether people praise me as right or condemn me as wrong. At least that way I will be real, and present myself with the opportunity to extract valuable lessons from both extreme pain and extreme happiness. And this is why I won't take myself too seriously with this depression, and am not afraid for myself in the long run. If you don't expose your soul to reality, and consequently suffering, then you can live a certain kind of life - the shielded one, protected by all the values of proper, civilized, and utterly mundane society. But you should be aware that, once you choose this life, you also insure your spirit against genuine happiness. What do I mean by "genuine happiness"? I mean the light-mist-after-the-rainstorm version of it, the kind only those who have suffered can know, and understand, and appreciate as a gift from the heavens. I believe in the purpose of suffering. It is because of this belief that I can stomach it, no matter how bad it gets. The purification and maintenance of the soul is not supposed to be an easy, problem-free process. Humans have to actively fight for the preservation of the soul, and its right to assert itself, because such an untamable energy struggles with the confinement bodily existence places upon it. Why, for example, do some people support the idea that "sex without love is an empty experience"? I guess it's because the soul does not process the physicality of sex - this is a foreign concept to the soul, an intricacy of the body. Love, and passionate existence, and the willingness to go through the suffering that inevitably accompanies all great love, is the bridging factor between the soul and the body, the merging of these two elements into an alive human being. I don't know if the soul is quite such an intellectual/rational entity, to be able to process input the way a computer does, but I think maybe the soul energy is innately different from the body energy. And this is where the Universe, and God, come in handy. The greatest vibration the Universe has ever bestowed upon us humans is love. We're not the only creatures responsive towards the love energy on this earth - cats respond to it, plants respond to sunlight, ice melts in the presence of heat. But maybe the reason we're so lucky to have been born human in these incarnations of ours is that at the level of the human, the soul is given the chance for a) awareness of the love energy and b) the ability to harness this love energy in ways beneficial to the human. Now what is the point of all this talk? I, myself, do NOT know. And I don't have to know a certain point for it. Having a point doesn't make something a useful activity or whatever. So many things that don't have a point give people so much joy. If it makes you happy, isn't that it, really? Do what works for you, and be the way that works for you.

Well, the stuff above doesn't bring me around to anything, but my mind is a wonderful instrument that loves to spin around upon itself and navigate me around the oddest ideas at the weirdest of times. It's not the New Year (according to the western calendar) yet, but I have a Resolution worth trying out. And it's this:

For this year of 2013, if God will have me follow through with it, I resolve to examine my relationships, and specifically, the way I relate to people.

This is the simplest possible version of my one Resolution. Here is where I'll expand upon it. I realized this about myself recently: for as long as I can remember, I've been rather passive and uninterested in the way I communicate with the friends, relatives, and lovers I've known over the years. There's a sort of "que sera, sera" attitude I've adopted towards people. Maybe it's because I never believed I have much say in the way things go between me and people, that I can't truly steer my attachments in the directions I would wish them to take. A part of it has to do with being a woman, but I don't want to get into feminist issues right now - my mind is too tired, and I'm hungry. It's a fear of going after what I want, because I've tasted rejection, and it's pathetic. A lot of it has to do with my Dad walking away. Not really. I wouldn't be doing that relationship, or lack of relationship, justice if I just said that. My Dad traveled back and forth when I was a baby and little kid, so I never got to develop a strong friendship with him. He's always felt more like a distant stranger to me, coming and going and visiting in our home in Lebanon. Then my parents got a divorce when I was eight years old, and that process stirred no emotion in me at the time (I do, however, remember moments of feeling out-of-step with the way of the world at that age, after the divorce. But then again, I've always been a little out-of-step). The divorce didn't really cross into my mind until much later. I didn't start to think or feel seriously about it until I was fifteen, maybe sixteen, even.

I resent the feelings people have forced me into regarding the divorce. The first thing people will usually tell me once they find out about it (it has to be "found out", like it's some dirty secret) is a generic, bland "I'm sorry". What have you got to be sorry about? I'm not even sorry about it. I didn't know the guy, goddammit. Whatever confusion and frustration that I've felt, and feel, about my Dad leaving the family, is not my own. A lot of it is my mother's left-over resentment, and the stereotypical reaction society preaches to children of a "broken home". As far as I'm concerned, my home was never broken - Dad has always been excluded from the family fold. But still, you can never completely prevent these "how-to-behave-after-something-like-that" notions society throws upon its children from seeping into you. Case in point: I look for my Dad in every relationship I have. I look for that sense of acceptance, that approval I was supposedly denied, the approval that never belonged to me in the first place. Yeah, I resent the way I was brought up to hate someone I barely even knew, whose face has been all but wiped off the slate of my memory. To be more accurate, in all my relationships, I'm just looking. And in my opinion, it's not wrong to look for affection, and understanding. It's a human need. But there are ways to look for it, and then there are ways.

I've always been highly impulsive in the area of love. It takes me about five seconds to become infatuated with someone, and it usually follows that I'm "in love" with more than one person at the same time. I think I've hurt some people's feelings with this impulsive approach. And I have to ask myself, "Why don't I take my time to fall for a man or woman?" I take my time with everything else. Actually, that's an understatement. I live on my own time, meaning to say, I'm sometimes stuck, other times happily floating along, in "slow" mode. I'm coming to wonder if the reason I latch on so blindly is a fear that if I don't latch on immediately, and "get it before it's gone", it'll be exactly that - gone. Before I even have time to process the "loss". And I would have to go through a re-run of all the crappy feelings of rejection and abandonment, yes, abandonment, that were spurred on by my dad leaving, and my feelings of emotional detachment from my mother.

So you see, all this is very good news. I'm finally being able to understand why I do the things I do. Understanding why things work a certain way is the key towards manipulating them to work any other way you please. Now that I'm aware of this unhealthy dynamic propelling my relationships towards potential friends and lovers, I can begin to catch myself before I jump too far down an empty well with no flooring to fall back on. It's not romantic, to jump into someone's arms if you don't even have an inkling of who that person is - it's sickening. Because otherwise, I'm an independent, open, and free soul. I want to get the root issue settled before I start "falling in love" with people whose essences I'm not truly aware of.

This doesn't mean that I want a relationship with my Dad. The time for that has passed. I don't have the need for a father in my life. I never did. My mother filled the roles of the male and female parent well, and now I'm emancipated. I've grown up, in a way. And it's mighty embarrasing for this grown-up to go on living in the parental nest for much longer, figuratively speaking (since I don't, after all, live with my parents).   

So I guess the key word of my Resolution would be "examine". A teacher of mine, whom I hadn't seen in a while prior to that time, once asked me if I was still a questioner. And I reply to that, "YES." I am a questioner, and a discoverer, and an uncoverer of truths, about myself, and about others. And when it comes to the area of human relationships, I want to know a given relationship is something I can believe in before going any further than my usual interactions with people. I now understand why so many of my friendships and loves have failed - because I failed to believe in them. I am currently failing at what my mind deemed "my two best-friendships" because I don't believe in their value anymore. And I guess in my heart there was always a big "NO" where these two friendships were concerned. And that's a major area I have begun to work on in my life - I don't want to include in my life people who don't want to make things work, who are negative about the chances of a friendship surviving and providing nourishment for the spirits involved. A friendship always has a low chance of surviving. But odds are established, only to be beaten. And these are the lessons I wish to reacquaint myself with in my time to come.

So, blog readers, I'm done for today. This has been a nice release for me, and I hope you guys can relate. I hope this gives joy to some, pensiveness to others, a little sadness, a hint of laughter, and maybe nothing at all. But I'm giving myself the right to live, and that's a nice thing to do, especially around this holiday season :-) I hope the sarcasm isn't lost on you. My e-mail: bemgcasrbaquarian@gmail.com

Have a nice evening, morning, or whatever-it-is in your country when you're reading this.

Signed, your friendly Water Bearer.

Leo and Aquarius

Leo

• Fire
• Fixed
• Yang (masculine)
• Sun (masculine)

Aquarius

• Air
• Fixed
• Yang (masculine)
• Uranus (masculine) and Saturn (masculine)

This is one of my love-hate matches, as with all the 7-7, opposite sign patterns. Except that this specific one hits a little bit closer to home, me being an Aquarius. I'll try not to be biased, and detail this compatibility match with as much detachment as possible.

I have Leo problems. That much I will say. This is an incorrigible, cut-and-dry rule with me. Usually I'll guess a person is a Leo when I feel both intensely attracted to them and intensely repelled at the same time. Getting into astrology has helped me make sense of this consistent energetic polarity I feel when dealing with Leos.

I thought this feeling worth mentioning because it's a perfect description of two polar-opposite energies meeting. When Leo and Aquarius first meet, most likely there is an instantaneous charge between the two, followed by insatiable curiosity about the other.

Aquarius is fascinated by the regal way in which Leo holds themself, and might be taken aback, even unreasonably irritated, by the Leonine pride and vanity where the self is concerned. Aquarius might decide then and there that Leo is self-centered. Aquarius would be right - Leo is, at least, more self-oriented than forward-thinking, progressive Aquarius... the Sun is the at the centre of the solar system, after all. However, Aquarius should not form the impression that Leo is unkind - being a Fire sign, Leo has the spontaneous warmth, playfulness, and impulsive generosity that may be more subdued in the mental Air sign of Aquarius. Leos have a rep as the most generous of the zodiac signs. Anyway, the scientific, logical approach of Aquarius towards life will never allow Aquarius to accept a specific idea about Leo as valid until Aquarius has submitted every facet of the Leonine personality for dissection.  

That's something Leo will find flattering. Leo needs an audience. How can Leo help it, when the Water Bearer, who usually forgets their own name and legitimately cannot tell down from up at any given time, actually remembers who Leo is, and asks Leo those outrageous, disconcerting, and tactless questions about their inner self? But Leo's pride stands a good chance of being tempered when Leo catches onto the fact that Aquarius asks everyone those blunt, embarrasing questions. Here lies the opposition between the two signs: Leo is concerned with matters of the self, whereas Aquarius belongs completely to people. It's not that Aquarius doesn't find Leo especially interesting - Aquarius might, especially if they start acting fidgety and a tad cold with Leo, or start to tease relentlessly. The nature of Aquarius, however, is an impersonal one at the root. Aquarius doesn't see individuals, preferring to look at the big picture instead. People aren't "Sally" or "Harry" to Aquarius, they're just people, and those are mighty interesting creatures for the experimental Water Bearer.

There will usually be an inherent unspoken rejection of the other's ideals between these two. Since Leo is exactly 180 degrees apart from Aquarius on the karmic wheel of life, their approaches towards life can be markedly different. Owing to the Fixity of their sign, there is quite a large number of Leos with traditional approaches to life. Leo desperately needs not only the approval, but the applause, of society. The greatest delight of Aquarius is opposing the conventions of society - it's a funny thing that the older Aquarius gets, the more Fixed in their erratic approach to life they become. Internally, Aquarius doesn't give much attention to what people think. Aquarius will surely listen to a monologue about how they're going about things all wrong, but Aquarius, like Leo, is a Fixed sign - once a conviction is stuck in their head as right, nothing can change the mind of Aquarius. With Aquarius, the appearance of conventionality is just that - a facade. Leo, however, will flinch at the Water Bearer's weirdness, and will not take kindly to being made a fool of by the Water Bearer's antics, funny clothes, and even funnier friends.

A big area of contention between the two of them will be their joined double-masculine planetary influences. Leo is a masculine sign, ruled by the masculine Sun. Likewise, Aquarius is a masculine sign, ruled by the masculine Saturn, and the more androgynous, but still masculine, Uranus. Pride and ego on both parts may be the major downfall of this relationship. With Leo and Aquarius, it becomes necessary to actively put more affection, gentleness, and understanding (the so-called "feminine" characteristics) into their association, or else their home, workplace, classroom, what-you-will stands a good chance of being transformed into a splendid war-theatre. Just as Leo needs applause to feel alive, Aquarius lives and breathes mental and emotional freedom - Aquarius will chafe under Leo's well-meaning, but domineering and bossy, approaches to life. Aquarius will resent the smoldering Leonine jealousy. Whereas Leo is easily roused to jealousy, it takes a studied amount of effort to spark up the green monster in Aquarius. I really feel for Leos on this point, since the free-for-all, inquisitive attitude of Aquarius will anger Leo and cause them to assume the worst. To be honest, Aquarius is not the most fidelity-inclined sign before you've nailed them down to a serious relationship (and feel free to take that literally - this might be the minimum effort you'd have to exert to get Aquarius to commit). That's not to say Aquarians are a particularly sexed-up bunch. Actually, the natural Aquarian inclination is to remain romantically and sexually unattached. Next to Virgo, the sign of Aquarius holds the highest number of bachelors and bachelorettes in the zodiac. Despite that statistic, the experimental and fun-loving approach of Aquarius towards sex and romance should not be overlooked by Leo in the early stages of such an association with Aquarius. It would do Leo a world of good if they could cool their fiery ego a bit when Aquarius goes out with a particularly attractive friend. Aquarius most likely hasn't noticed, or else doesn't care.  

Anger might be a recurring theme in this relationship. Leo, being a Fire sign, has an undeniable temper. The Fixed quality of Leo makes this temper more subdued than in the more volatile Fire signs, Sagittarius and Aries, but still, if Aquarius steps on that cat's tail too often with their weird behavior and breezy detachment, the Water Bearer becomes liable to hearing the Lion's roar. Aquarius, additionally, is no whimp in the temper department. The other Air signs, Gemini and Libra, remind one of the peaceful, floating-on-clouds quality of Air - Aquarius represents the "thunder, lightning, and rain" aspect of the Air element. Uranus is the unpredictable planet of sudden changes. The Aquarian temper is more spontaneous, and ultimately more shocking and dangerous, than that of Leo. What's more, it's always difficult for people born under Fixed signs to apologize to one another. And Leo will expect Aquarius to be the one to apologize, all the time. Leos have too much pride, remember? You can go to sleep at night peacefully, though, dear Leos - Aquarius spits everything out, and then the anger's gone. Little pent-up resentment there over the long run. Plus, the rational thought process of Aquarius won't permit them to leave wrongs uncorrected if they feel they've been intolerant or cruel towards Leo.

All this inevitably spills into the topic of sex. The sex life of the Water Bearer and the Lion is, I'm more than willing to bet, the redeeming quality of their relationship. Aquarius is innately friendly, and understanding of the quirks of human nature. The open-minded attitude of Aquarius will allow Leo to feel as though they can let their guard of superiority and proud airs down, and give more warmth and loving affection (Leo's strengths) to the Water Bearer than they could towards a lover of another sign. Whoever invented the expression "academic interest" must have been referring to the Aquarian approach to sex. Aquarius has in-bred doubts about their sexual attractiveness and style. Typically, astrology will tell you that Gemini and Libra get the job of debunking those Aquarian insecurities done well. However, Gemini might prove too light a lover for the more persistent, intense Aquarius, and Libra's romanticism and sweetness might leave Aquarius intimidated and unable to respond. Leo provides exactly the right mixture of romantic passion and physical eroticism to warm the otherwise placid nature of Aquarius, and elicit a strong response from Aquarius - stronger, at any rate, than with any other lover besides Leo. Usually, Aquarius might avoid sex for a long time, especially once they realize they actually have to do something. However, Aquarius won't successfully avoid Leo's seduction for long - the polarity chemistry is that powerful. Let's be honest - the reason Leo attracted Aquarius in the first place was probably 100% sexual. The Water Bearer might have found themself absolutely flabbergasted at the dirty thoughts springing up in their head due to Leo. This relationship is erotically charged at its core, and for Leo and Aquarius, sex can be the binding factor that keeps them going through the trials and tribulations of the more mundane aspects of their life together.

On the financial front, Aquarius should be the one to watch out for Leo's tendency towards extravagant spending - not that Aquarius is any good with money. Just better than Leo *smirks mischievously*. Frequently there comes to be a grudging, but sincere, respect between these two, that helps them overcome the challenges posed by their Fixed, masculine natures. Likewise, their relationship will always be a learning experience in tolerance and compassion, and might prove to be more nourishing than an easier sign compatibility.

Have questions? Wanna share your Leo and Aquarius story? My e-mail is bemgcasrbaquarian@gmail.com

See you, blog readers.

Signed, your friendly Water Bearer.

Unhappiness, soulmates, and optimism... my all-over-the-place version.

Hey there readers :))

Let's start with the formalities... Merry christmas, since tonight is Christmas Eve, and, in case I don't post on this blog around the New Year, Happy New Year as well.

It's really nice... I woke up feeling much more light than I've been feeling lately, not bogged down by all this spiritual weight that I've managed to accumulate since being here, in Lebanon. Before I start on anything, I should give you guys some updates, just so you can contextualize some of my talk, I guess. Excuse my style today, the words and discourse aren't flowing as smoothly as in some of my other blog posts.  

Anyhoo, I've been in Beirut, Lebanon for a week now. I'm here to see my family, friends, and "chill" during the holiday season, an excuse for coming which I find prepostrous. There's no such thing as "chilling" for me in Lebanon. This isn't the place I come to when I wanna get casual. These cities, these rooms I wander in, the empty streets and the vacant restaurants, they hold difficult and uncomfortable memories, for the most part. There are daemons seeping out of the nooks and cranies, trying to get at me with their unhappy thoughts. I really do think places absorb the energy we infuse them with, and project it back at us. Now that I'm back in my childhood home, I feel this haunted energy pervading my house all the more clearly. This place always had the feel to me of never being lived in, even when it was crowded. Clinical. Perfunctory. Sterile. No love can grow here. No life. Only the imagined sort. Maybe that's why I dreamt so much as a child, and this is surely why I'm dreaming so much now that I've been back. Always dreams, dreams, dreams, because there's no reality but sadness in this country. People are miserable here. Their eyes are all saying, "Give me something to hold onto, that isn't hatred, or war, or enmity. Give me something to do, emotions to feel, a faith to believe." In short, "Give me my life back." Beirut, I so want you to have your life back. What a beautiful life it could be here, like before, when Beirut was the "pearl of the Middle East", or whatever you want to call it. I was in Byblos, an ancient port town [with one of the oldest harbors in the world, mind], late last night, browsing through the yellowing pages of pictures at this museum established by an old sailor, now deceased. The museum is filled with memories of a world long gone, a natural order to life that doesn't exist now in this lovely city which I can't help loving and hating all at once. Beirut was beautiful, Beirut was bright. Full of beautiful women out in the sun enjoying themselves, world-famous personalities coming around to see what all the clamor is about. But I couldn't stay in that museum for long - I wafted through the rooms like a ghost, and treated every item I came across with a studied nonchalance. It was the reek of memories that got me so uncomfortable, I've now come to realize, during this lucid "morning-after". Beirut is no longer glamor. No longer beauty, and passion. There's nothing here but Cold, and Empty. The fire has to be rekindled from scratch. And this is why I left, and why so many of us leave, this is the reason at the root. We don't want our young lives to be built up after a model of death, and broken hopes, and a disgusting nest of memories left out in the open like a festering wound. It's sick, but there's nothing of life here, not even a semblance of it. There is an emptiness of the soul, and I feel the city's emptiness pervading my skin and trying to make me a part of it.

Only I'm too happy. I'm too basically happy, and hopeful, and insistent on finding joy everywhere I go, in all the situations I'm thrown in (by fate, and usually with the intervention of myself). There's a long life to come, with God's grace. I have faith in the plan the Universe has in store for me. I believe in my ideals and live true to myself. That's good. My moral code, admittedly, is not the acceptable code that society preaches to its young people (Eastern society and, at its root, Western society) - many aspects of my life do not comply with the standards of how a good life should be. And I feel pangs of guilt, and anguish, at being apart from society in these ways, almost like I'm living two lives. But you know, I've never mentally complied with these washed-out ethics to begin with. My mind was always in opposition, I have to admit that. This is the first time in my life in which I actually go out on a thin, wobbly limb and do something for my soul, and let myself live, goddamit. So naturally, I'm going to feel pain. Society creates mores and rules to imprison those who feel genuinely alive in this illusion that their lives are damned, and wrong, and unsatisfying. I'm alive, and I'm feeling. Those are important things to maintain, in any sojourn on this earth. I'm warm, I'm friendly, I'm passionate. Those are strengths to be treasured, surely, and I'm glad I have them. Without these qualities my life would be considerably more difficult to follow through with. I'm forward-pushing, and stubborn, and I believe in myself. These help too. So you see, I really have no reason to be unhappy in this life. No matter how difficult the situations are, and might be, I have the necessary tools to beat the odds. The Universe has energy for me to tap into. There are horizons to be expanded, and thoughts to be explored. God has a loving nature, and would never leave a creation of His/Hers/Whatever-Other-Possessive-Pronoun without that Universal energy supply to fall back on, when their own energy is lowed-out. Everything is energy. Cats and dogs are energy, nature, glass, emotions, thoughts. All of it is an active force in the expansion of the Universe. I'm happy. I'm sad. It's all a state of being. It's about saying, "Negative thoughts are here. But I choose to not let negative thoughts obstruct my path to positive thoughts, which breed positive results." When thoughts are in your head, let's say they're charged with potential energy - vibrations that haven't been released to the world yet. But they still contain energy, and therefore power, and the innate ability to be utilized for work. So it follows, logically, that exerting all this negative thought energy will eventually bring out negative work (or experiences of this lifetime). If we'd just angle the camera slightly, and see our lives through kinder, more forgiving and hopeful eyes, we would bring about the positive experiences we want. Why am I talking so much about positivity, and "happiness"? Well, I hope you've been able to deduce through this blog post that I haven't been feeling too cheery lately. I find questions about my life popping up at a rate equivalent to that of exponential bacterial reproduction, I keep wondering why I have this and not that, I keep thinking. That's the problem. Focusing on what you don't have, what you think is wrong in your life, but really isn't. When I have simple moments in which thoughts don't obstruct my broad-spectrum vision, I feel happy. That use of the word "feel" was a very spontaneous soul-reaction, by the way. It proves that the true way to happiness lies in the depths of the human heart. The heart is a quiet place, full of peace and joy. The mind, on the other hand, could benefit from some military drill training.

Which brings me to the topic of soulmates. No more murky moods (or, in reality, even murkier moods to surface in this blog post - you be the judge).

I believe in soulmates.

There, I said it, I put it out there. I'm going to be putting a lot of ideas out there that society teaches us to dismiss as children's tales, and all grades of nonsense. But you know, I've seen the soul-union happen in the lives of people around me, and in my own life in particular. In my life in Lebanon I've had two soulmate experiences that can be counted as genuine. One of these soul experiences is detailed in some of the more wistful, melancholy posts on this blog. I don't care to talk about any of these soul experiences in-depth, for the world to see. Let's just say that recently, I prayed to the Universe and to God to reunite me with one of these twin souls if it is destined for our paths to cross again, and the Universe has answered yet another one of my prayers. I am so happy that this soul is evolving along with mine, that we vibrate to a similar rhythm. I'm not too sure if a soul connection can ever be cancelled out. You still carry on with the person, even if they're miles away, or physically dead. I'm going to throw a pop-culture quote at you now that summarizes a belief I have about soulmates:

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.

A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.

A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master...” 

This is from Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I believe in this attempt at defining the concept of the soulmate, since it's practical. It's functional, and it works. In many cases, it doesn't make sense that two people could go on living with each other forever. What if one dies, or is a world traveler, or circumstances don't allow two people to be together? But at the same time, I think that soulmates have the ability to divine one another's states of being despite physical distance. Look, I don't want to start on another round of psychobabble philosophizing. Enough. I just wanna say what's real to me.

In Prague, I've made some of these soul connections as well. Yes, I have two soulmates in Prague, according to the definition above and some more personal convictions of mine. But that's just it. I don't know what I'm going to do with these soul connections. One might tell me, "Nothing. Energy exists between people, and sometimes as the highly-charged vibration of the soulmate level. But that doesn't mean you have to do something with it. Just leave it there." But you see, I can't just leave it there without feeling a little iffy. It's wasted energy, for chrissake. I would be wasting a chance for my soul to learn, and expand along with the rhythm of the Universe. And my soul is learning, and expanding, thanks to my latest soulmates, and I thank you both. I don't know if you know who you are, and I'm not going to drag you people into this blog. But here would be a good moment to say, "Thank you, and I love you", to each one of you.

Now. Why am I thinking of soulmates? Let me tell you. I had a stirring in my spirit around the early hours of the dawn yesterday, and I can tell you this. My spiritual mate and helpmeet (yes, I used that word. YES) is soon to be discovered by me. My soul is ready, and I ask for the enlightenment to truly recognize you, and know you, dear human.

This type of talk is exactly what gets parents hyper, what makes religious institutions angry, and pessimists a little pissy. This next "We" is dedicated especially to the ladies reading this. Ahem. WE, at least, a lot more of us than I would like to have witnessed, have been conditioned not to desire, not to want. You don't show that you want men. Let men come to you. We get labeled all sorts of things when we exhibit our very real desires to the public. I'm not going to use the insipid, plain stupid stuff people say about "loose" women here on my blog. Ladies, indulge in as much pleasure as you want. Nothing wrong with living a human life to the fullest. But I'm not talking about desiring and wanting sexual stuff only. In every area of our lives, we're pigeonholed into some sort of prerequisites for femininity. Fuck it, we're all just souls living out our human experiences. Oh, now I've remembered why I even brought up the sex issue in the first place - sexual pleasure, for example, isn't necessarily a need. It's a desire. And yet so many people insist on labeling it as a need. Why? Because probably, maybe, just maybe, we're afraid of desire, markedly the unfettered female variety. This isn't something new. This subject of the dangers of female desire has been explored before me, with much more eloquence and depth. I'm just derailing a little bit. I only intend to talk about my case.

And it's this:

Feeling that stirring in my soul last night was the first step through the darkness into a new sort of light, the light that makes the fear of my buried-deep desires inconsequential. I am frightened of saying it, and feeling it, and believing in the vision I have of my soulmate. And now I don't want to use the "We". I will make a conscious effort to use the "I". I have always been advised to tone down my dreams. There should be a swear jar labeled "Petra's Dreams", with all the dreams I've had to alter tossed in there. Or down a memory hole, like Winston does with the censorship requests in 1984. Thank you Orwell. People have said to me, "Your vision is too broad, and your ideals are too high. Live with something more manageable." But I've always been able to make my dreams come true. I don't want to tone anything down, especially in the area of relationships. Let's talk astrology now. A prominent figure in my birth chart is its Libra stellium. A stellium is, to water it down, no less than four natal positions in a particular sign of the zodiac. And baby, you know how romantic Libras can be. It is the unconscious desire of the scale balancer to... drumroll please... balance. I was reading up on the different approaches of the zodiac signs towards love recently, and something jumped out at me which I find has always been a very true and immovable characteristic of my nature. The idea goes something like this: "Libra isn't needy or clingy, but will always subconsciously search for a soulmate, in an attempt to balance yang and yin, male and female, light and dark." Really, that sums up my approach to soulmates. I know you don't have to be romantically linked to a soulmate. But this is what I want, and what I will achieve.

I want that romantic partner to share my life with. This is what I want, at this stage in my life. And I'm saying it out loud, putting it on my blog so that it can be seen, for this vibration to ascend into the spheres of the Universe. I want it. I can envision it. Therefore, it will happen. And it will happen soon. My soulmate is a man, and we shall recognize one another in Prague. More than this I cannot say. I do not know, and I cannot pretend that I know. But I am convinced it will happen.

And now, some words to my soulmate.

Hey there. How are you? It's been a long time, but I can feel you in me, stirring me up from all that pent-up feeling. You're coming for me, and I am coming for you. We have been waiting a very long time for one another. At last I am ready for you. I can love you, and respond to your call, now. It's not nice to rush one another, but please, walk a little faster towards me. Put a spring in that gait. I am clearing out my spiritual shit so that new love and new light can walk in. I am making a conscious effort to prepare myself for your arrival. I have never envisioned anything without it happening. You are a reality already. That is good enough, for now. But come. And see you later, my loved one.

So, back to you guys. Yes, I am talking like this, I am acting like this, I am feeling like this. Why shouldn't I try it? There's nothing gained from thinking you're never going to have what you want in your romantic life. So I'll try the other approach. I can have exactly what I want in my romantic life, and I can have the balance I crave. On my own terms. And that's the Aquarian in me, ladies and gents. And this Aquarian has to go now.

Another blog post, another day, another beautiful moment to be savored. I love this, now. These moments are golden, and I'm happy. Despite what my mind says, despite what it looks like to the world. I am contented. I am perfect. I am okay.

Once again, if you ever want to ask something or talk to me about anything, don't hesitate. My e-mail is bemgcasrbaquarian@gmail.com . Maybe I'll put up more stuff on astrology soon. I'm feeling an itch to write about it.

So, my dears, have a nice Christmas Eve wherever you might be in the world, celebrate it and live it and love it. Eat well, drink well, dance, and be fulfilled. Bye.

Signed, your friendly Water Bearer.

To my dearest friend

My dearest friend, and my truest one (instead of saying the only true one):

I'll keep this simple. I don't have other ways of contacting you from here, and this gets the message across easily.

I'm coming home in a week. I'm staying for three.

Do you want to hang out?

I don't know if asking for that is the right thing. But since I'll be around, and won't be for quite a long time after those three weeks are up, it didn't feel right not to ask.

No justifications, no tearful soliloquys or explanations. I just need a yes/no answer, or maybe no answer at all, who knows, if you don't see this in time, or see it and decide to ignore it.

So, my dearest friend, I'll go now, and time will tell things, as it always does.

Love,

P.

Chat in the rain with a beggar, randomthoughts.exe, anticonstitutionellement...

Whoever is reading this, halloa. No exclamation marks, because I find them corny and am not too fond of them.

Well, it's time for a new blog post, since I have things I could blog about. It's Wednesday evening, no class in the morning, not hanging out with anyone tonight. I have time to kill. So I'll tell you about the chat with the beggar. I live in Prague, btw, a city oversaturated with beggars (mostly druggies, I assume, from the weirding-me-out default junkie look on their faces as a collective)... Jonathan Swift's Proposal, anyone? What I find endearing is that even this stratum of people manage to keep dogs with them. I'm happy for that. Prague is a very canine-friendly place. I haven't seen too much ancient Egyptian-esque cat worship, though, and I only know one couple here with cats, and my friends EK and AH have got some.

Anyhoo, I walked up from that gargantuan Palladium at Namesti Republiky (I love it, it's really busy and labyrinthine, and a world unto its own) up to Narodni Muzeum, where I decided to sit down on a bench and go through my e-mails as a method of relaxing my legs. I am really lazy when it comes to walking sometimes. If I could have someone push me around in a vegetable cart, I would be happy. A Uranian hang-up, I assume. So... I sat down, and almost immediately this tiny woman with a trailing stench and a weak version of the junkie face described above asks me if she can call her husband from my phone. I know enough Czech words, here and there, to comprehend roughly what she means, picked up inadvertently by mental osmosis, you understand. I'm too lazy to crack a language book open, especially for a language I don't particularly care to learn right at this moment. Well, I didn't really believe her. She wore a wedding ring on her finger and all, but whatever. Maybe she was telling the truth. I don't know, I don't care. But I was glad that she sat down, because I'm having a particular craving for friendly time with fellow humans. Life answers your call in strange ways.

So there we were, just sitting there, me feeling normal as can be with this woman society says I should be afraid of, her thoughts a mystery to me. It seems my osmotic process works better than I thought, for I could actually carry out a half-hour (I think it went on for that long) convo in Czech, as she talked at me in Slovak. Well, her name is Kveta, her husband is Jirka, she's thirty-two (an absolute lie, I'll wager. But whaddya know, maybe it's the boozed-out-ness that does that to a person, and the drugs. She wasn't drunk, though), she's been here in the Czech Republic for I-forgot-how-many years, and she thinks I'm a smartie (this I like especially). She asks if I'm Italian, if I'm English. I'm South African, I say, from Johannesburg. A downright lie. But hey, at least I won't lie to you about the big things, like my heart and things to that effect. She doesn't buy it. "Africa?", she says. "But you're white." I tell her we have many white people in Johannesburg, that our country was colonized by England before. She extracts from me my single status, and my age, and my parentless state, and how much is charged for a room at my mother's house, which she leases out to boarders. We talk about men. Her husband is an alright guy, she says. But he's "nervozni". She tells me Czech men are assholes, a statement I've heard reiterated by I think almost every Czech woman I've met in this country. My friend AH, who is close to eighty, I believe, said to me one time, "Czech men are bastards. No manners. You will learn it for yourself." I am learning. I live with Czech men. They can be bastards. But so can English men, and American men, and Arab Men, and Congolese men, and Haitians. Kveta tells me Czech men piss in the streets. German men don't do that, she says to me. She says to me, a German or an Italian or an Englishman, those are good catches. She also tells me to be careful, that if I don't speak Czech here somebody's going to fuck me up. Point well taken.

We chatter. We laugh. There's a light mist, and a drizzle. She gives me her phone number, asks me to call her tomorrow. I say I will, but I won't. She reads my palm. Tells me to watch out for this invisible friend of mine with long hair and blue eyes. I'm going to have a handsome husband, and a long life. I ask her which sign is she. She tells me Capricorn. I've wanted to ask a beggar that question since I've been here. You'd expect water people to be addicted to drugs and alcohol, or someone with a lack of water in their chart (like me. I avoid drugs and alcohol like the plague). Capricorn is an earthy, realistic sign that can't stand shilly-shallying with stuff that goes against social mores. What natal afflictions lie there, I wonder? Anyway, she asks if I'd like to walk around. I say yes, that I have to see my friend anyway. We go up to the Muzeum metro station where, sure enough, her druggie friends are gathered. Does it make sense to be jealous of a druggie? I envy her the feeling of camaraderie. It's what I love more than anything in life. I'd take friendship over romance any minute. This guy with spaced-out blue eyes asks me if I have meth, by which he means to say, "Would you like meth?" I say-what-now him, my protective look of wide-eyed dingbat playing on my face, my guard coming up, only slightly. This guy doesn't look like he's going to sock me. He's shorter than me, and thin. I could take him if he tried something. But he won't, because I'm about to leave. He asks if I want meth, if I want speed. I feel dizzy and high-spirited inside, a little frightened. I say no through a smile. I say goodbye to my friend Kveta, and I tell her I'll call her tomorrow. She tells me to stay strong, and I tell her she should stay strong as well. I leave, go up to I.P.Pavlova, sit down for a minute. You know, that group probably would have fucked me up if there hadn't been anyone around. You could easily say I'm an idiot, for even talking to her in the first place, down on that bench. It's the friendliness. It's the curiosity about people. I love to communicate with people. Not just a certain type of society, but with everyone, on a large scale. I want to go high, low, and in-between. People are people, regardless of whether other people see them as pariahs or not. And I'd like to get to know people. And she's my friend. No matter how brief the moment, how ephemeral the time. I like her, and she likes me.

Why are we all so sad? I've noticed this, there's a lot of sad people in the world. Everywhere I go, it's the same sadness all over again, an iPod stuck on replay, so to say. I've met Czechs, I've met Slovaks, Kazakhs, Nigerians, Estonians, Arabs, South Americans, USA-ians, Armenians. Name the nationality, I've probably met someone from that country. And everyone responds to the same things. A friendly, if a little neurotic, smile, gentle conversation, listening to someone as they talk, a warm hug, a squeeze of the hand that says, "I've been there, and I feel your pain."

We've all been "there". We're all human, and we need people we can rely on for fun, jokes, laughter, and companionship. It doesn't always have to be this burning passion and romance that people need. Granted, this isn't something you can have at all times in your life, and when it's there, it only comes in moments, at least from my experiences of it. What you want is someone you can call up on a lonely night, and the two of you sit together and play a game, or watch a movie, or just talk, or just plain sit there. Because it helps to have the human presence near you. You're not just stuck in your head. There's someone there, to keep you from falling. That's why I like having housemates. You don't need to be there in each others' lives 24/7, but you know that if you're on good terms enough with them (which I am), you can knock on one of their doors, and tell them you're bored. And you'll figure out something to do.

People lean a little heavy on me sometimes with the emotional demands. I like giving friendship to as many people as possible, so it's a little hard for me to invest my soul into just one human's personal needs. That's why it's a little funny to me when people pour out their problems and feelings to me, expecting some strong emotional reaction. I've heard that I'm cold, through the grapevine, you know. I understand feelings, on a rational level. But what do you want me to do for you? Hold your hand forever? People cry, people get lonely. It's a part of the human life. I feel lonely enough to burst a lot of the times. But I tell myself, "Okay, no reason to get hysterical, this feels human. People live this, you're not the first, and you're not the only. Just wait it out. Feel it through. It's material for your story." Wow, maybe that is "cold". I have my way of expressing emotions. It's not the sappy, over-sentimental way, that's all. But you'll know it when I love you. Problem is, love is a theoretical concept with me most times. It's more of a spiritual love, too. I love Kveta. Kveta's soul, that is. Under that reasoning, I love the whole world. And my heart swells with passion as I say this. It's true.

By the way, I never feel spiritually lonely. I feel safe making that generalization. I'm loved, and I love back. I'm protected by H, my guardian angel and best friend my soul has ever had, now and always. She understands this, even if others don't. That's the thing. I know she's feeling the same stuff I'm feeling right now. We're spiritually synchronized to run together. It's like, life is grand, and magical, but I miss that sort of laugh I've only laughed with her. I laugh with careless abandon a lot of the time, but it's just something different about my laugh with her. What I'd give to make another joke with her. Another silly face. Another intimate smile between our eyes. I miss my best friend. That's what shook me up the most. She's a really pretty girl who I'm in love with, you could say. What shook me up the most was that I'd lost my best friend. Not in spirit. That's still going strong, even till now. But we can't sit together anymore, and make jokes, and talk about the things going on inside ourselves, and dream, and be close through words and looks and restrictions anymore. Because the past isn't as bright as this future I see in front of me. I feel like if I go back to it, I'll never get out alive, spiritually-speaking. My soul wouldn't remain intact. And I have to preserve my soul, and my newfound sanity. But still, it would be nice to have a real beloved friend.

Sometimes I find myself thinking, as I walk around Prague, "H would love this. It would make her happy." Like today, when I passed through the Christmas shacks being put up at Narodni Muzeum, where people sell trdelnik (a really yummy dessert. You should try it, if you're ever in Prague. If you're here already, go and have some. I give you the spiritual permission, and will help you diet if you get fat), and scarves, and general knick-knacks. How much fun we'd have, doing nothing, and wading through the streets of people, and coming home every night, and sitting and talking. I really miss her.

I know it's not just me. There are many people who feel that way about a special person. There are many of us sad ones out there. We all are sad ones, I'd assume. My friend EK told me once, over lunch, that when she gets home and closes the door of her flat, she cries her eyes out. You wouldn't think she's a depressed sort, she's so joyful and happy and gives me an added dose of pep when I see her. And my friend CK told me once that his loneliness gets so bad he holds onto his pillow at night, and hugs it. You can feel the loneliness of so many people permeating through you, it's hard to tell it apart from your own. Like on the metro. Why won't anyone look me in the eye, and smile at me, as if to say, "Hey, you're not alone. We're lonely together. It's the human condition"? When I know that would solve all the problems. Yes, ALL the problems. Understanding, and brotherhood. That's all it takes, to brighten someone's day. World. Dreams. Sometimes I feel like I really want to flash my craziest smile to every person I meet on the way to the bus, but can't. The love is dying useless in my breast. You feel like you won't be smiled back at, and that they won't accept the love you give so effortlessly, so relentlessly. Oh, yeah, and before I forget, her future is a lot brighter without me. We improve when we're not with each other. That's something that ought to be heeded, even though I really don't want to.

What makes your heart sink the most is the ones who don't want your love. The ones that tell you openly, "No thank you". They misinterpret things, assume I want something, like a relationship, or a penis, or vagina. I just want to be friends, and assert my right to love another human being, my brother and my sister. But still, they misinterpret, and leave you traipsing on the line, about to fall into sadness about being misunderstood again, or rather, feeling misunderstood again. No one's completely misunderstood, I think. There are always like-minded freaks to fill in the blanks for you. All I want to do is love, and be loved back, in my own way, on my own terms. I can ask for that. Yes, I can, and I do. I don't care about the conventional way of loving someone. If it happens, it happens, but if it doesn't, then I've got some ideas of my own. Anyway, if passion is fire, and relationship is practicality (earth), then passion is killed by a relationship. Fire and earth are opposite, after all. So why should I search for a relationship, if I want passion? Because people think it's wrong to have a short-lived, but real, fling with someone. Because there's so much talk about not whoring yourself around, and not putting out, which is a really archaic expression, to be honest. Personally, I'm a little afraid of sex, and I like mental relationships more than physical, so you can deduce that sex isn't really my cup of tea, when I look inside myself and ask myself the serious questions. But I suppose if a girl or a boy want to try to be promiscuous, just to see for themselves if sex outside of a relationship is really a draining experience (which I believe it is), then these people should be allowed to try. They won't be. But they should do it anyway. Society's rules are always changing. Why should you adapt yourself to something that's always changing? It doesn't make the least common sense. In a few years, there'll be new rules, and what was so sinful before would mean nothing then. So whatever, do your thing. But I'd think twice before you drag innocent third-parties into potential hurt. The world has enough of that already.

So, I'm leaving for now. This has been a long blog post, and I hope you relate to some of this, at least, and feel that you're not alone in this world. I'm going to listen to music, then have dinner, then probably think and do stuff around the house, put a bandage on the heel of my foot, which hurts, then wash my face, brush my teeth, sleep, and wake up in the morning, with God's grace, and start a new day. Life's okay, when you think about it really. Life's really okay.

Once again, my email is bemgcasrbaquarian@gmail.com

Don't be shy, don't be scared. Talk to me, about anything really. I am a master of talking back.

Signed, your friendly Water Bearer.

A Response

To her.

   This is hard for me to write. I don't like showcasing my vulnerability. But it has to be done, it's therapeutic and it helps, hopefully both of us.  I wish I wrote this yesterday, when the emotions were still fresh and not muddled over by thought; then, the words could have come out easier, and better, but definitely less honest, cuz I would have been trying to be all literary and annoying and poetic. God damn that.  

   Why is it that thoughts of you always evoke a sweet kind of sadness in me, and are always followed by tears? Not necessarily sad tears; sometimes ridiculously happy ones. But I don't know, it's always tearful, and it's never casual. I love the way you write. So much. I'm actually jealous of it. I like the way I write, but yours is so fresh and clean and "ahhhh" and gorgeous and pure. Mine skims around the edges. Yours is straight to the point, and I love that, being straight to the point, knowing what you want out of life and feeling out what you're entitled to. That's a quality I admire about you.

   I gotta say, when I found out you wanna leave education and go to Bali and nurture your inner spirit, I felt just about flooded over with relief, and an eccentric sense of joy and gladness. You should so do it. If not one other spirit supports your choice, mine does, and by extension your own does. You're like a part of me that's been chipped. I hope, though, you never have to be broke and lonely and, scariest of all, homeless. Being broke is not pleasant. But I don't think you're lonely. You're too in touch with the universe to be That. But maybe India's better for this kind of thing. I read in a book that you can't really stay in Bali for more than one month at a time. Just for practical purposes, India might be better. India, Bali... as long as you get out of the shit-hole existence that is Lebanon. Man, I promise you, once you get out and you're away from all the nagging and shit, whatever depression you have will just melt away. It's living with these assholes day in and day out that does it all, turns you into this Thing that you're not, this dark and desperate Thing that takes a piss on all the light. Screw that.

   I love you. But I don't want to be always crying when I think of you. Because I will think of you. And that's a given. I acknowledge that. You're my only true friend. I have the most fun with you, in the past, and when I think of the past. You know, I meet at least one new interesting person a day... it's like an assortment of toys you ought to be playing with, only you don't want any of those, you want THAT ONE. You're still Most Interesting. You are the single most beautiful woman I've ever met. Really. Nothing overly romanticized. You are, and you know you are. Love is for keeps. I always will love you. I don't try to unlove people anymore. But what can I do with this love? A big fat bowl of nothing. So I'll just keep you in my heart, always there protecting me, like a human angel. You know my soul well. You are a part of that soul. And you have been its mate. But the road is open, and the night is long, and the daylight is burning. You can understand that.

   You have so much God in you. I'm so happy that you're living up to your birthright of being a unique and universal This. You are That. And it's great that you're doing what's right for you. I don't know if you messed up somewhere along the road. Surely in their eyes. But you haven't messed anything up. It's a mess to start with. So how the hell are you gonna mess everything up? And even if you did, so what? At least you have the courage to be real and believe in your dreams. Sorry to say it, but all the people who are gonna tell you you're crazy, are crazy themselves. And mighty irrational. Because what the hell are you gonna do with a college degree anyway? Especially if you don't give a shit. Just go to Bali, with tons of spiritual blessing, not only from me, but from the universe. The universe smiles upon This, which you are.  

   Infinite love and prayer and well-wishes. You are great, and very powerful.
   Lovingly,
   A part of your soul. 08/11/2012 + always + never + eternally.

Boy and Girl, a Moonlit Night, the Adventures Of

Disclaimer
 
Dear all, behold the fruits of my Tuesday-night boredom. I'd like you to think of how bored I must be to actually be writing this. I live on the edge of nowhere, none of my housemates are around for me to pester, I don't own a television, and I'm in no mood to go out in this horrible weather. So I'll just write. I don't have a lot of time for this, so I'll try to make it short - it's not really supposed to be anything more than a drabble. I also am dying to see what comes out of my head when I'm in this slanted mood, adding to that the influence of the full moon... that never fails to do crazy things to me. Again, this is part of my desire to experiment with opening up a little bit more, so it's sort of a self-validation thing. Lastly, I hope you enjoy it... or whatever :) Ready, set, bounce.

***

   She leaned back against the ruddy stone wall, and watched the moonlight cast strange lights upon her pale leg, half-exposed under a sweet summer dress, her skin dewy with the balmy night heat. The road was solitary, and she was alone. She let that sink in. No one would be coming back from the village to disturb her quiet; all of nature seemed in favor of her solitude.
   She drank in the light of the full moon. How strange, for things so sinister to be attributed this brilliant sea of purity illuminating the rocks underneath her bare feet. She felt so at peace. 
   A hiss. The creak of brambles within the cold forest behind the wall. Scampering, puppy-like footsteps. Climbing. Boy straddled the wall above her, cushioning wild berries in his arms as though they were a baby. He threw some directly into her autumnal hair. She started, and hissed like a cat. He laughed, an airy, ringing laugh that rippled into the moist silence of the night.
   He jumped down unto the rocks and grass as she shook vigorously the remaining berries out of her hair. He took great offense at this, for he had just been gathering the berries in the wild all evening.
   "Hi, Girl."
   "Hi, Boy."
   "You need to pick up these berries off the ground."
   Fire in her eyes. Wide innocence in his.
   "I say, I will not! It's your fault for throwing them at me anyway."
   "I didn't know you would drop them!"
   "Oh, and what else should I have done with them, pray tell?"
   "I don't know."
   He pouted.
   "You oughtn't to of handled them so viciously."
   Her nostrils flared. Her hair was rumpled, with stray berry juice making it sticky. She would have struck him, for her nature was impulsive and easily provoked.
   "I know you want to hit me," he whispered somberly. "That's why I'm ducking away."
   She laughed. A spontaneous, riotous one. He quirked an eyebrow at her and grinned.
   "You followed me."
   "Can't prove it, can you?"
   "You always follow my trail."
   Silence. The crickets sawed away. Making sure to keep a distance between them, Boy leaned against the wall much like Girl had done instances before.  
   "You didn't ask to taste the berries."
   His voice was hurt. She rolled her eyes tenderly at him.
   "I haven't a mood for sweetness."
   "But I picked them fresh off the bush just now."
   "I say, will you stop pouting your lips?"
   "I am'n't."
   "The night is young."
   "So it is. The air is sweet."
   "So that is. I'll try later."
   "Could you keep some with you? My hands are sticky."
   A nod of her head. He passed a handful of the savage wine berries into her open palms. Instinctively, she tried one, wetting her lips with its sultry juice.  
   "I say, Boy, are these safe?"
   "What?"
   He had taken notice of a squirrel on a majestic fir yonder, and had been just about to toss it a stick.
   "The berries. Are they of eating quality?"
   "I'm not sure."
   "You're never sure!"
   In a fit of anger she flung the berries onto the ground.
   "I shan't argue with you."
   "It's your fault."
   "Let's go."
   "Where are we going?"
   "Down the road, of course."
   And he looked at her like she was very much a silly creature. Smiling, he interlocked their arms, and laughed when she scowled. She didn't move her arm away.
   "Let's go down the road. I'm old. I'm old, and my bones ache."
   "You're not."
   Their eyes met briefly before he broke the gaze, and looked forth at the stony path they would tread.
   "As for me, I'm quite young."
   "You're not."
   He was silent. They made their way to the start of the country road, and stood there for a while, himself staring into something beyond the open moonlight that herself could not espy. She was getting markedly bored waiting for him to finish, so she kicked his heel.
   "Let's," he said, and they started walking in the nighttime. Along that walk not one of them said anything, for there was little of note swimming inside her head that night, save for the endearing blueness of his eyes and her gratitude at his intrusion into her lonely scene. Likewise, he was very much intrigued by the sweetness of her dark hair, and how beautiful it must be to comb through it wispily; many times when he wandered through the forest scavenging for discarded firewood and rosemary and other such useless things, he wished she would join him in his frequent quests down that same road, though her brow be lowered in anger at him most of the time. She was his friend.
   They reached the lake, the centre of which glimmered in the moonlight, with its deeper parts caressed by shadow.
   "I would like me a drink of water," said he, and, letting go her arm, trotted unto the edge of that downy pool and tipped some water into his lips.
   "I should like me a small dip," announced she. "It's all thanks to you, you know."
   "Your hair is prettier with the berry juice."
   "You're poking fun at me."
   "No. It smells nice."
   She hesitated slightly for fear of the cold water, but waded in with determination, the hem of her dress gliding across the surface like a ghost's train.
   He sat himself cross-legged at the edge of the water. His pale hair was rumpled, and he had dirt on his nose. His clothing was likewise sullied, from rushing through the forest and getting involuntarily splotched with soil.
   "You wouldn't be fancying the rest of the berries, by any chance?"
   "You ought to throw them away."
   "I dug the dirt myself. I've worked too hard for them."
   "Why don't you have some yourself?"
   "My hands are dirty."
   "Give some here."
   "Get out of the water."
   "Get off the shore."
   He rolled up his shirt-sleeves and trousers as though it would make a difference once he was in the water. Yet he felt it was customary etiquette that needed to be obeyed.
   He entered the water, and waded toward her, the berries in his hands.
   She swam towards him. Her hair hung dark and moist and limp against her soaked shoulders. He opened out his palms for her to take some berries, and submerged himself more fully in the water.
  "Will you have some more?"
  "No, I'll toss the rest."
  He let the berries slip out of his hands down to the lake bottom.
  "These berries," said she. "They leave a sweet taste in the mouth."
  A soft sigh. He leant towards her, and kissed her, the tips of his fingers on her neck, trickled with water.
   She was disappointed with the sweetness of the kiss. She could not taste the berries on his lips, and pulled into herself slightly.
   "Your lips are not as sweet as I'd like."
   He drew deep offence at this. He was not angry with her motion away from him. He fancied his lips as rather sweet-tasting, and did not like this insult to their fragrance.
   "You're not going to kiss me again?""
   She edged closer to him, the fabric of her dress wrapping around his knees. He took her hands in his, and buried his face in the waves of her hair.
   I have kissed you, a thousand times over, in my starlight dreams.
   He jolted in the sudden way that was his custom.
   "What d'you think lies at the bottom of yonder well?"
   "What well?"
   "I don't know."
   Silence.
   He gazed down at the haunted fabric cascading in the still waters. She was light as a squirrel. Hers was the only movement he wanted to know.
   "It grows late."
   "So it does."
   "Shall we sleep, dear brother?"
   "Let's."
   They waded out onto the bank riddled with pebbles. He had managed to not get his hair wet. He wasn't particularly fond of the water.
   On they walked into the singular night. She was aware of no one but themselves, and he could not discern a time other than night, in this moment, living with this dream, which even now spiralled into the acrid sweetness of the ethereal. She didn't want to let him go.
   They reached the house, and she tipped the door open. It was dark, and entrapped the heat that dizzied the souls of young ones on these summer nights of yore. They creaked over the floorboards, until he reached a white bed, soft with the light of the moon extending out of the gossamer sky into the heated silence of the house.
   "I shall sleep," he announced, and plopped down onto it, his clothing wet and his heart relaxed.
   "And I," cried she, violently plummeting into a mahogany rocking chair that squealed out its harsh rejection. Yet it was all contrived. She fell fast asleep.
   Sighing, he looked out into the morning light of dawn, and knew that this is where he wanted to be. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Care to intrude upon a moonchild's thoughts?

   I just wanna talk. I don't want to worry about indenting, or punctuation, or sounding smart-ass and "intellectual" (whatever that means). I want the words to flow, as I don't normally let them. To bare my soul is not my custom. I'm not even sure if I'll succeed mildly at that through this blog post, but I just wanna talk.

   But you know, I'm sorry, I just have to indent. Look at the worry about silly little details. But you know what? They're not silly to me. I have two planets in Virgo. It's important to me to organize my life, to pick apart and rearrange what's not working into something that is. I don't even care if this bores whoever reads it to tears. But I have to express. I want to do it publicly, rather than in my private journal, because it feels more like catharsis, more like a legit attempt at putting my real self out there. When I'm writing in my journal, I know whatever spills out isn't going to be seen by anyone (save for my marvellously crafty younger brother); it isn't going to find release into the open - I wouldn't be airing out my thoughts, I would just be locking them into an extension of myself even tighter. I have a hunger for communicating my thoughts. Sometimes I wake up at odd hours of the night and grab a pen and paper like those are my lifeline and start to write whatever the hell comes into my mind; when my mother left me in this new life that just sprang up out of nowhere, I had a poetry-composition binge, just to prevent myself from binging on something more sinister and potentially harmful. I try to quieten my mind; to be mentally silent is a necessity for good spiritual maintenance, I think. But there's Words, and then there's Me, and we're always either fighting a losing battle or having a desperate love affair. Yes, I am making love to speech, and to verbs, and ideas. I flirt with words, I turn them into something other than what I am - but they rarely, if ever, express the real me. I try. But I know I don't try hard enough to be honest to myself.

   My times have definitely changed. I'm kinder to myself. I look at myself through the point of view of compassion, rather than hatred, as I remember doing so many times ago. I'm more capable in these moments of my life than I was during these last five years or so to hold my own gaze in the mirror for longer than a millisecond, and to actually smile with my spirit into my reflection, and know that there's love between us. I don't worry as much as I used to, or rather, not in the same unproductive way that I used to. Trust me, with my two planets in Virgo, "I worry a lot" is tremendously understating it. I feel lighter emotionally, gone back to the days when I was a child. So many things that I'd taken for granted earlier now inspire a childish wonder within my spiritual eye now. I have recovered the joy that was missing throughout the past few years. You know, I'm young, actually. I'm eighteen years old, to be exact. I have to keep reminding myself that, you know, "Hey, you're still a kid, everything doesn't need to be figured out right at this moment", because I've lost so much of my childhood. Sadly, somewhere along the line I let myself grow old, so old that I couldn't smile upon the little things anymore... I took myself way too seriously, and I took things with an iron heart. I've been through war - maybe that hardens one's soul a bit. Ever since I was eleven I can remember things not being quite normal in me, in the inner world that I so love and revert to consistently in times of emotional trouble. That was the year when there was a war in my country; I wasn't quite the same after that. I was so angry and hostile. I had so much ego at twelve. It's not wrong to have ego, just as long as it isn't inflated with empty hot air, ready to burst forth at the slightest application of pressure. That burst happened when I was thirteen. I was so goddamn miserable. A kid shouldn't have to feel that way. At first I lashed out, in anger, I'm sure, but more in confusion. Then I grew morbid. God wasn't far from my heart, He just wasn't there in the way that I needed. I cried. I hurt. I didn't want to die, though. Not really. I'm not too pathological, I was just frustrated with the way things weren't going. Fourteen. If there ever was a social ideal, I was That. Fifteen had periods of alarmingly apathetic depression spells. I took up a hobby, though, besides the usual music, which was more like an education path rather than a hobby. It helped, and it was nice. Sixteen was a horrible year. It was something of a half-remembered nightmare. My self-respect fragilified. I couldn't look into my eyes in the mirror without seeing hatred. It disturbed me. I remember the water burning my skin as I cried silently, but hard; the painful tears of a woman realizing that her sanity is fleeting. I was a woman then. I'm a sweet girl now, but back then, I was a woman. I self-mutilated, and lusted after this manifestation of my troubled daemons. It didn't just feel good, like an orgasm feels good, it just felt. I just felt. It helped me feel. I knew I was headed in the direction of losing my mind somewhat. And my mind lost itself, in its own dear way, at seventeen. I went crazy. It's a painful spot to open up. I don't know if I wanna do this. Let's just say I went crazy with pain and rage. It was a year of loss. I would love to see what in my birth chart indicates such a fate. My emptiness had no bottom. I spiralled into the darkness, until I learned to be comfortable without a light. I can stand in the dark now. I've seen my id inside and out, and I accept it. The contents of my id I won't share tonight. The id isn't meant to be analyzed. I've out-idded my id. I hope no one's getting the impression that I'm some freaky boozed-out lunatic who sits there laughing in the dark at ghosts that may or may not be there. When the day comes out, I'm a pretty friendly and personable charmer. And that's a real side of me. But there's this as well. I don't want to say I'm "crazy". This is my problem with words. The labels they put on me. The cancellation of my charming side that comes with saying I'm "crazy". I have so many faces I've given up trying to keep track of which is which. I'm an Aquarius, but the way I go on, you'd think I was a Gemini. I smile, and it's forced. Yet it's also natural, exactly in that same moment. I'm existing as a walking, talking "doublethink" derivative. This is so cool. But it drives my mind loco most nights. I've developed a habit of talking out loud to myself. I'm careful about not doing it in a conspicuously loud way; I live with people. and I don't want questions asked. Such an instance would be the first time I'm ever really silent about something. I'm lonely. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't go out much (meaning for the most part I don't go out at all - don't fill in my blanks with your own petty assumptions, though - I'm not friendless, and I'm not ugly, and I'm not unintelligent - I am what they call a "loner by volition"). I'm chaste. I've been to strange psychological zones when it comes to sexuality, but I've come out a virgin like I knew I would. I'm a vegetarian. I'm an acutely boring person a lot of the time, because I just don't want to talk. And yet I love to talk. But only when I'm in a situation that's social by nature. When I get home, I just want to close off everyone, no matter how "dear" they are to me. I believe in my way of life, for me. It doesn't work for everyone, but it's what I want, and I wouldn't feel right another way. But you know, I've got some mega-curiosity. Everything I do is out of curiosity. Everything. I can be dogmatic and say that. There's always an experimental edge, I'm never sincerely in love with a cause 100%. I'm a little too objective.

   Which leads me to the topic of sex. Notice I didn't say love. "Love", I have in my life. And it doesn't fill me. Love is meant to go free. I don't think love is supposed to fill anyone, it's supposed to be spilled out to the world, rather, through kindness and humanitarianism. But to have someone completely for me, is linked to sex for me, somewhere in that part of my consciousness that adjoins the id, right before tipping into it. Maybe it's the wrong kind of love. But what the hell does that even mean. "Romantic love", "brotherly love", "parental love"... it's all just love when you stop verbistifying it. And I don't like it. I even don't care. I say I do, and I think I do, and I even feel it back for those who profess to love me. I think of three people when that word comes to mind, and I believe that according to their own individual definitions of love, they love me. But I'm sorry, it doesn't do anything special for me, it doesn't transfigure my being into something higher up than just a mere mortal. It's actually kind of boring. What I feel is a vague unstimulation when dealing with love. Like I could be staring at a water-bucket... or something. Like fucking. I want a man to fuck me so hard my insides tear up a bit. I want him to control me, to take the lead, and make me want to submit. But then, after the orgasm and all that excitement is done, I want it to be over. We had sex, and I love you, but now I want to live my life, and continue on to the many other exciting things the world has to offer, both that of the psyche and that of what's out there. I think romance movies are a a little cheesy like that... you wouldn't want to stare into someone's eyes every day for the rest of your life... besides the fact that it is a creeper-tastic activity, you would get bored. Trust me. That I know. Even with the most pure and deep love. It's the way our spirits are made. We're not meant to be contained, or defined by something. You know, even though I write an astrology blog, I question the goodness of classifying someone as "Aquarius" or "Pisces" or whatever, when our souls are eternally mutable, and our experience constantly changing. When I think of this meeting one person and falling in love with only them for eternity to come, I get reluctant and scared, like I don't really wanna meet them anymore. My heart is extended in love to so many people that I wouldn't know what to do if I had to reserve it just for one man or one woman. I have more than one soulmate. I have more than one anything, with two as a preferred number. I have woman within myself, and I have man. I have a mistress, and I have a paramour.  I am dark, and I am light. But I'm also gray, and blue, and yellow, and green. Why do you need to define me? At the same time, why do you need to undefine me? Why do I need to make sense? Why does sense need to exist to begin with? I've lived in anarchy and it's comfortable. It gets cozy, and you get used to it, and it's hard to break out of that mould once it's been broken into. I don't think this is my idea, that I want to find someone I can live with forever. Why, in passing, does the soulmate have to be someone you're romantically in love with - especially since romance is just a fabrication, an industry, an idea? I've had mates that fit my soul. That's enough of a round definition for me. If you meet someone and you're comfortable with one another and you don't need to talk all the time and feel empathy and know you understand one another, that's enough to qualify you two as soulmates, in my book. What if three people are all in love with each other? Does that mean that one pairing isn't a soulmates one in the true sense of the word? It's all just words - that's the problem, and the great joy of it. I can talk, but I don't have to do. I can fantasize about making love, and that's enough for me, at least for the moment. I can talk it out. I can communicate the shit out of it until it's useless for me to even go do something about it. When you're ever stuck in a pickle, just talk. It's good to hear your own voice, to make sure you're sane and all this world in your head can be hushed up when it gets too out of hand.

   I still have so much to say, but I have to sleep, or else I'm not gonna want to function tomorrow. Well, hopefully there'll be more days of this beautiful life that I have, for more blog posts about what's coursing through my brain as the world rotates in its mad dance. And really it's all perfectly sane. Bla bla bla. Want me to stop talking? Okay. I will :D

   I'm happy I wrote this, and shared it publicly. I need to see the weird roam free for once.

Signed, your friendly Water Bearer.