This has been a 13 year for me, a Death card year. A year of endings and pain and full stops. A year to die again and again and again until the Phoenix in me has no choice but to rise up from the ashes and dust of all the death she’s seen.

It hurts while I die, but I won’t go quietly. And when I am done, I will sprinkle this fertile landscape with the seeds of my dreams, water them with the decaying corpse of my fallen Phoenix, and watch them grow into the life I’ve hoped for. This is the time when the morbid and grotesque meet the glorious and the joyful. Together, they unite in my sacred feminine humanity. I am terrifying and gentle all at once.

When Death comes for the last time, my Phoenix and I will be watchful and ready. We’ll put up a fight because resistance is all we know. When we concede, we do so gracefully. Everything goes quiet.

The pain of birth shocks me back to life. Once again, I am a fool-hardy offspring, ready to bare my soul again in a fight to the death. It’s the cycle of struggle, the cycle of humanity. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.

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