As I munch on deceptively soft hard rolls, spread thick with cashew butter and orange blossom honey, my spirit flails gracefully. I have been overturned by a solar eclipse and the transformative winks of anarchist witches. This house ticks along to a comfortable rhythm that I am reluctant to disrupt; these mixed ambitions befuddle me. I am swirling, slowly, testing out my convictions on this rigid battle front. Moses mary crown chakra lemon wheel sudden explosion curtained baby sheep genuflect to flowing robes tilted down and to the left. Window slats to my right. At times, my lack of fear astounds me. My shifting moons relay to me the location of my center, but the directions are not always legible, and always a song, so I ride the watery sands of this mountainous terrain. I often cling piggyback to the scales of a lovely, worrisome, mutating fish-creature. He talks me into silence, and I calmly guide him towards complications. Necessary contemplations. He is earnest and beautiful. I am strange, and magical. Together, we are revolutionaries. Lifestyle luminaries. Urban-skinned river fairies. We drink trees and dance with bees.