Updated: Jun 13, 2020
Fantasia. Wow, what at name! That was mom’s idea of beautiful girl, but she called me Julie. Fantasia was too femme; too fancy for her squelched creativity. She could draw pictures from her mind, and they were photographic, expressive, delicious. She rode horseback and flew airplanes, in high school. The womun was a genius. She married for sex and never looked back. She stopped being talented. She just stopped.
Being an angry young woman got me into trouble, but better to let it out than to let it fester on the inside like my poor mother.
The Quincunx in Two Parts
Venus in Aries
“How dare they do such and such?” I rant, then I decant. Rant and decant. Like pouring a fine vintage of anger into a fresh container; possibly cut glass or a thermos to go, depending on the urgency of the event. Each situation has its own truth. When in need of a decanter and none is available I chug anger directly from the bottle. Wake up and do anger like a champion.
Mars in Virgo
“Oh do go on about that!” God-Essa of the fight. The masculine woman. She hunts and kills. She moves on, allowing the mild mannered God Mars in Virgo to carve away all the ugly parts, perfecting. No one understands him. He gets his rocks off from seeing wrong stuff and making it better, but the objects of his concern resent his zealous pursuits on their behalf.
South Node in Libra with Moon/Neptune
You will be just like your angry, sick mother. Un-Diagnosable. Mysterious, creative and overly sensitive to all that is, so do it better than she did. Seek out the maladies that plague you. Understand the malaise of emotional illness and how it manifests in your body, like she never could.
So it’s now. I rest on the couch with my feet propped up they think I am trying to get away with something. I am faking pain. That is what I used to think about her. I sucked. She knew what was wrong with her back and it's the same with mine. Shit!
“Lordosis, Kyphosis, Spinal Stenosis.” She said it out loud too often, because we did not care about her pain. Too many wolf cries from her side of the room. We tuned out. She suffered so. We treated her badly. We thought poorly of her. No compassion for the pain. And now…
I am living in a house with a man, and this is the third or fourth man, who is sick of my pain stories, sees me as selfish and disrespects me, like her husband did. I once had a husband who threw food at me while I was recuperating in bed after an operation. Wash, rinse, repeat, mother.
I treated the men as if they were womyn, girlfriends, and feminas. Men don’t do that relating stuff. They fix. Repair. When not appreciated for the fixing, they push away.
Men do not want to know our feelings. My feelings are only for me and my girls. Accept isolation. Seek out friendships with womyn and for Essa’s sake, stop talking, keep writing, feeling and expressing. Write it out. Walk it out. Pet the cat.