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Welcome beautiful Seeker

The Fool

The Fool

Begin to end

Only to begin again

Walk into unimaginable horizons- Laughing

Playing in the shade of tomorrow’s flower

Not knowing unknowns

I decided to check my notes folder on my phone before writing this piece. I keep all of my poetry and other little musings in there. I searched the word “begin” and there were 27 results. 27 times have I mentioned “begin” or “beginning.” Sooo, I guess it's a theme. My scorpionic self chuckles a bit, cuz you know, you gotta die to begin again. I think that my (and everyones for that matter) personal growth is a series of small and sometimes cataclysmic deaths. The excerpt I entered with is the description I wrote to accompany “The Fool” card of the tarot deck I have been creating. The Fool is the “0” card in the tarot, it is the start of the whole series of archetypes- A jolly fellow walking through a picturesque summer's day, a nap sack slung over his shoulder looking up at the sky with no notion his next foot fall is about to walk him off a clif. Everytime I pull that card, which happens quite frequently, I am reminded that I know nothing, that every second is a new beginning. This is the trust fall card, why try to control anything? You have everything you need in that little nap sack of yours. Wander poet, wander into the eternal depths of now…

I am being born and dying again, and again and again, forever. Like a circle is round, no end or beginning, just the perception that something feels new. Presence is lacking time. And as usual I am waxing poetic. But this is me, witnessing this grand unfolding, er in-folding. Instead of “beginning,” “ripening.” Ripening a reality of new beginnings. Surrendering to the mysterious process of eternity. Rupturing into new beginnings! Tripping through the woods, trusting my luck, never questioning bold magic, following familiar sounds back to center. The center of what? The circle? And now my piscean self enters from the side stage, mmm, no, rather up through the floor, hmm, not right either, ahh, in a cloud of smoke! No end, no beginning. Becoming one. Let's talk about aether. Vulnerabilities glitter like diamonds in the reflection of my eyes in your eyes. Unwinding, re-orienting, dismantling outdated belief system of a Gregorian hic-up. Being a becoming. How does one start? Or know when to draw the line, let alone define who I am in space and time? Un-slip the time grip, I'm hungry for senses but I love sleeping in. Isn't the term beginning just a type of transition? Do you remember the beginning? Reborn. Yes, I can taste your innocence. Even before we woke, I dreamt of you. Precious, perfect, delicate seer. Real imagination lover, dream once more. Define infinite boundaries. 

And while we are at it, what is exactly a beginning? A transition recognized by fire? A re-do, a “It will be different this time?” I call bullshit on consensual reality. Here I am doling myself out in digestible status chunks, while really I'm over here trying to challenge you in long drawn-out ritual watching to see if you are still interested. Cuz this poetic circle goes round and round, each “beginning” cutting a deeper grasp. The limitless nothing looming, we step into the unknown of creation. The descent of spirit into flesh and the ascent of flesh back into spirit. “In the beginning” the Fool is unencumbered, free, limitless. Stumble, jump or be pushed on this very long journey. The knowledge that what begins in folly may end up being the most profound journey of all. When the Fool Jumps, the abyss appears. When I begin, I herald the unfolding of the creation of the universe. With joyful abandon I leap, again.  

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