I want to be my husband in my next life
“Every moment is new," the Mystery whispers and screams.
Who is the guru offering the teaching?
1. My seven-month-old, acutely-Aquarian daughter.
Sure, she’s a baby—who notoriously, as a species, can’t be pinned down.
But she clearly revels in just how un-pinnable (contrarian) she is.
Are we imagining this, we wondered for months.
No, we are, in fact, not—as she dons her signature cheeky side-smile and twinkling eye.
2. The fact that we essentially spent six straight months as shut-ins. (Not far off for two Virgo stelliums.) Leaving only for appointments and errands.
To add to that;
The soundtrack? Blood curling screams.
Media? Almost non-existent.
Communicating mainly via songs about pooping and various grunting sounds? Affirmative.
Exiting a period such as this, it’s hard to draw a comparison.
Extended Vipassana?
Navy SEAL training?
Black hole? Light hole?
3. Eclipse season.
Or, just generally, 2026?
Which, for me, began with birthing an entire human out of my vagina.
I’ve been asked a few times, what are my thoughts on 2027 being a prophecy year; the year the Human Design cross changes for the first time in 400 years.
For the sake of brevity—something this big, doesn’t happen neatly in the boundary of a year.
We’re in a stormy sea. Sometimes the clouds part, and the purest light you’ve ever felt, warms your bones. Sometimes, you’re drowning. Others, lightning strikes.
Are you alive?
Who are you?
What’s going on?
Every moment is new.
Thanks to the aforementioned gurus, I understand, how little I understand this.
I don’t know it. But it certainly knows me.
The admission to enter this endless birth?
Why, all it asks of you, is everything. Forever.
Everything in the way. Everything patiently waiting for the space to emerge. Everything that pulls you in every which direction, gasping, there must be something better than this!
No, this is it.
This is it!
As I’ve let go of an offensive-linemen amount of psychic weight in the past seven months, I’m tasting this. A tiny spoonful of palate cleansing sorbet amount.
Admission to entry: everything.
The return: being alive.
An intimacy with all things, so immaculate, clinging and aversion will almost immediately join the experience.
Can I be with that too?
Alternative options?
Why, everything of the modern world. Everything, really, can be a means of distraction.
The times we’re in certainly offers an inexhaustible supply of things that could become one.
Distractions have no price of admission; they’re twenty-four hour drive throughs.
Yet, they're abundant in sunk costs.
What will they take from you?
Why, absolutely everything.
It’s not the tool; it’s us, and how we use it.
Standing in the kitchen. A place that used to be perennially pristine, that now, for a good 95% of the day looks like an atomic bomb when off in it.
Body aching from holding my gigantic baby for a three-hour stretch the previous day. Slowly cutting delicata squashes. Friends glittering eyes staring at me.
“Never have we needed to be more diligent than the times we are in,” I say.
But where does that diligence emerge from, without tasting the very experiences, that free it from the depths of your being?
“What do you need to let go of, to have that experience?” she asks.
Why, absolutely everything.
Just for a moment.
Can you let go of absolutely everything?
