Transmissions from the final frontier

Notes from a deranged cowboy cult leader

This morning, as the Moon moved into Virgo, preparing for its upcoming Lunar Eclipse, I felt sucked into the content machine, once again. I felt the pull to be linear, accessible, available to the most attention-addled of minds. Available to the people who lap up the easily digestible.

But Spirit is pulling me to be undigestible. It is beseeching me to veer off into the obscure, the unknown, the gnarled and dark inner wilds of my own creative landscape.

I have met parts of myself that rest in the liminal—parts that I can’t be sure whether they hail from the collective, archetypal energies, or from my own past lives, but they feel so close to me. I feel at home in their bodies as I travel with them across the astral plane. I feel distinctly myself, a passenger, even as my energy blends with theirs—as I borrow from their image and identity and repositories of knowledge.

I am an astral cowboy, a causal cult leader.

I am a dark sorceress, a succubus of creative energy, consuming the rotting flesh of other people’s creative blocks and moving on with the wisdom they can’t synthesize.