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I feel Scorpio’s stinger pierce the small of my back as I huddle in dark corners of mind, recalling old survival mechanisms, knowing they don’t work.

The season of Transformation is upon us and the Day of the Dead is to-day.

I’ve been dreaming of psilocybin-infused mate with sweet coconut cream, passed around the Medicine Wheel with familiar faces of past, shadows and reflections come to make the whole, but it’s up to me to choose, and choose wisely.

Which shadows should die and which do I still need to survive?

I recall a time when I couldn’t even look myself in the eye without eating my own lies, hiding who I am, for the sake of my frightened inner-children, I told them, “you don’t have to see it if you don’t want to.”

But I want to. Now, I do.

How the binary system was safe and my tough Masculine skin made the little girl feel okay, just so I can watch them play in the yard with the water hose, he as protector, wooden toy sword in hand, oh the demons he slayed, at least kept them at bay.

And she, what was left of her anyways, licking fresh Water off her lips and counting the bees, she wondered when the Masculine might turn on her, as they all did, she knew too well.

But life is so different, my inner-children have grown. She wants to sit near the Ocean and talk to the Surf, and he wants to jerk off.

Self-deprecation is one of those mechanisms that got him mercy from the angry crowds. It’s true, he likes to jerk off, he says, it’s about brain regulation, tension release, don’t judge him. He’s trying to heal her, to help her sleep at night.

Thank you, dear Masculine. I’m sorry for blaming you for everything.

Today, I know that there’s space for both, and what would it be like to not be afraid of who I really am? What would it be like to express freely without fearing for my life?

I am Caterpillar dreaming of Butterfly.

To the Twins who dream of Masculine and Feminine Union, but scoff at nonbinary realities, oh, why do you curse yourself so?

Why do I curse myself so?

Because I’m afraid for my life. Because I haven’t yet created the safety I need.

Butterfly has wings of steel, transmuting shadow with a blinding Love that disarms and melts away, fly, and be free, Monarch within me.

Let the shame and the fear, dysphoric anxiety, all the cries for safety, rise up to the flame, calling Phoenix by name.

Sending Parasites back to Creator, bitter hatred, forgetful nature dissipates as Aletheia, the angel bestows her gifts of Remembrance, with Rosemary, like me.

I wait for the vision. I vomit and cry.

I accept the poison of Scorpious as this season, I might die.