The Alchemist
Good morning. Truly. My goodness, in the ashes of my former life I have very good mornings. I wake up each day and find myself in the very landscape of my yearning. The vision of an existence I've hungered for, for so long that I was certain it was only a mirage. But here I am, at the oasis. Life is rich, momentous, erotic, nourishing, and deeply exhausting in the best way.
I've been afraid to sleep alone for as long as I can remember. As a whole entire adult I've fallen asleep fitful and sometimes weeping on the rare occasions when my bed wasn't shared. I left my husband after 13 years of enmeshment, and I've been sleeping alone for 7 months now. Not once have I gone to bed fearful. My night terrors are scarce. I'm tucked away in the most enchanted corner of my home, surrounded by sumptuous ambience, my own beautiful belongings, and no man's grubby fingerprints on my sanctified slice of heaven.
I wake up before the sun and decide what reality I'm going to occupy each day. My mornings are mine, all mine. I step into my slippers and shuffle to the kitchen in the warm glow of several pink salt nightlights. The hearth is clean, uncluttered, and ready to hold me in my morning rituals. I fix myself a fresh latte, espresso for the ancestors, and mosey back to my sleeping nook to bask in the stillness of the dark wee hours. My bedside lanterns are softly illuminated in scarlet and amber, there is a glorious and cozy vista projected on the wall to my left, a flickering fireplace to my right. I sink into the most comfortable bed on the entire planet Earth and I am the luckiest girl here, anywhere.
I am sovereign. I prayed for this, wished for it in earnest over and over again- with shooting stars, birthday candles, and grueling effort. Duly granted. I'm at the helm. The freedom is delicious, wildly inspiring, a blessing beyond measure. It is also costly. Sovereignty costs heaps of self-trust, devotion, and discipline. It costs in solitude, fear, and grief. It requires unwavering faith as I spelunk in all the caves I fear to enter; for they hold the treasure that I seek. And it is worth every. last. dime.
I am sovereign but I am not alone. I am well-tended by my beloveds. I am truly seen by my community. I am held by the muse, meaning, and magic. I am guided by the gods and ancestors. My experience is divine. Not perfect, not easy, not always pleasant, but always divine. I'll open my arms to receive the gruesomeness of my truest, most beautiful life over the gut wrenching numbness of unquenchable yearning any day. I will bravely endure the grief that comes with a soft, bleeding heart and a life well-lived
I'll be honest, I'm speaking from inside the good times. Full of hope and potential, creatively alive, and madly in love. This is when the fear sets in- the 4 of Pentacles urge to grip it tightly, lest it leave me. I rebuke. I refuse to let fear of devastation rob me of the succulent riches of the present. I am the Empress, an ecosystem of fulfillment, regardless of what ebbs and flows around me. I am an alchemist, purveyor of gold in lead-laden times. The magic cannot leave me, because I am the magic.
In this moment, I am setting the places at my Table of Plenty. A feast of heaven and earth. A nourished, satiating life. I am filling my cup and fortifying my foundations so that I may go forth and pour into others. So that I can help you find the magic too. It is my duty and my honor to tend the embers of faith and enchantment in this life. An act of resistance in a burning world to cultivate sovereignty, true fulfillment, and a better, more beautiful reality.
Your fellow alchemist,
Alexandria
No Guts, No Glory
Where has the time gone? This time I know, actually. Since I last wrote, my time has gone to an ancestral pilgrimage across the ocean and a gem show across the country. To pouring over treasures in the studio, dream weaving, and coming alive in the kitchen. It's gone to feeding my people, being devoured, and falling in love.
I'm becoming. I'm still disembodied in the primordial liquid of the chrysalis as the gods stitch my wings together. By now we know, those wings don't exist without the requisite undoing. Months ago under the Scorpio full moon, I wrote from the place of total dissolution, complete self-undoing. Grief-stricken, lost, uninspired - gutted. I scooped up my insides and wrapped them in the cocoon, with every passing moment praying, hoping, waiting, wishing that evidence of my future wings would soon appear. I won't lie to you, it was bleak. As I clung onto my minimal life force for the sake of survival, thriving felt like a far off fantasy. I felt hollow, frightened, and alone. I was free-falling into the abyss with no idea which way was was up.
I have my lifelines, and I won't discount them. I'm so SO fortunate to have fallen apart under the loving care and shelter of my best friend. To have a community of magic-makers around me. To have my basic needs met and the luxury of being almost completely non-functioning for weeks at a time. Not without consequence, of course, but because of these life-saving tethers, the mess I'm left with is not beyond my capacity to clean up.
Beginning a year ago, I tore my entire life apart. I am not ashamed- for I am not reckless, I am brave. I'd taken a step back to admire what I'd built after a decade of dutiful brick laying, and, to my horror, laid eyes on a decayed foundation. There's no salvaging what's built upon rot. The brave choice, the only choice, is to tear it down and start anew. When it seemed all was lost, I gained crucial experience, resilience, courage, and potential. Free of my warped, crumbling enclosure I have the honor of building anew. No guts, no glory.
I'm thrilled to report that the muse is with me. We're skipping, arms linked, down a dappled sunlit path. We pause frequently to take in the majesty of the landscape, to let the gods inspire us. As alchemists, we pay great attention to omens and honor them in-kind. We dance in the kitchen together and create othwerwordly, sumptuous delights. Right now, we're at the computer, typing away, tending The Hearth's digital ecosystem. Thank god she returned. My prodigal daughter, home with tales to tell and art to create. We're so back.
She will take her leave again, certainly. Grief and stillness will find me in her absence. But loss and pain are inevitable in cultivating a beautiful and courageous life. I am not afraid. I've been here before, but this time, I have wings.
In the gruesome goo of the chrysalis, miracles happen. No guts, no glory.
Off to run with the muse,
Alexandria
