In The Cards
year 27
Saturn returns are bullshit. Not in the sense that they don’t exist—astrology is inevitable, whether it’s acknowledged or not. They’re bullshit because, like… fuck that shit! The turmoil and pain of becoming has always been hard for me. The eminent stress of surviving through it. As my world is capsized, I do all the things in my capacity to hold it down. None of which really put a damper in the blow. It still turns my insides out and upsides down. And at this point, all I can do is sit with a mean mugging side eye. Sometimes I wish it could be an enjoyable struggle, and sometimes I spend time prioritizing a laughable crumbling of everything I once knew about myself. But I know (partially through this publication) that grief weighs heavy on me. While grace has been a commonly used adjective during my journey through things I know little about, let me be clear in saying that I haven’t felt an ounce of grace this time around. I have lost sight of a single blade of greener grass. Yet, even within a mustard seed of faith and hope is just enough momentum to keep moving forward.
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