Saying the truth can be the highest of tricks, if we have used our pre-emptive harumphitude composter to create playful, ever-expanding jaunty tolerant kindness as the Mars delivery fuel.

(And remember our quiver of arrows, tipped with compassion, with tyranny as their target.)

These are dodgy worthy realms to explore, to re-write so many scripts, plays, stories, actual life, “why don’t you just say the truth,?!” we encourage with dead back-stage chorus.

 

The invisible back-stage is especially eager for incarnational invitation. (And dedicated acts of beauty serve as energetic invitation: An altar, a veve’ drawn with cornmeal on a threshold, a poem, a manifesto of dedicated devotion….New Orleans beverage ritual to honor the dead.(Will re-mind.)

 

During these very strong inward Days of the Dead,

small kerfuffles pull up larger kerfuffles like ribbon grass.

(Raise your hand if you, perhaps, like me, poisoned self with candy on Halloween. Why do we do these self-sabotaging things? we wonder.)

Fortunately we resurrect the Pub of the Hurling Coyote, where we follow Stella Coyote’s jaunty self-healing protocol. Stella Coyote has zero self-recrimination, only tricky, “how can I modify my capacity to metabolize poison, to get away with more next time?!”…Coyote stories to follow.)

So many portals to customized Underworld available. First we are humbled then jaunty defiant luck

 

 

Mars, exalted in Capricorn at the “Heavily veiled Hierophant, Leading a Ritual, inviting the Divine.” Community Medicine Being.

 

Let’s all be that.

 

(In a way quirky square, sesqui-quadrate cahooting with the Moon in Aries, and Jupiter in Leo at the “Drunken Chickens” degree, that seems to preside over imminent “mid-term elections.”

Jupiter says, “remember, in the fairy tale journey, good fortune often doesn’t look like good fortune for quite a while, as we ascend-descend…”

 

Voting for Reality is Perpetual,

as is In-augur-ating. We are especially receptive to Nature’s auguries. If invited, She will find us no matter where we be.

 

The prefix “dis” means “Underworld,” “where we are taken down to a place where our souls can speak more deeply to us,” a Greek scholar told me once.