writing

Poison Arrows & A Taste for Vengeance

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Nessus in the Pisces/Virgo Eclipse Cycle

How the universe regulates astrophysics can be found in cycles. Tracking the nodes of the moon is not only useful for astrologers and astronomers, but the 18.6 year eclipse cycle is also used to predict tidal patterns and coastal flooding by oceanographers and coast gurads around the world.

Astrological understanding of Solar and Lunar eclipses begins with knowldege of the North and South nodes of the Moon’s cycle transiting two of the twelve zodiac signs for a year and a half, with an overlap rather than a linear progression. Pisces & Virgo’s last eclipse cycle began shortly after Facebook became available to all users (2006) and ushered in a time of global economics with the birth of the European Union and the North American Free Trade Agreement.

Our strength when the North Node is in Pisces lies with logical Mercurial Virgo and the S. Node of the past, actual information balancing deep spiritual and psycholigcal unknowns.  

The N. Node in Pisces whispers, “can you imagine if” and begs us to suspend our intellect in favor of trying new ways based on what we need and want rather than what we think. This is chaos at heaven’s gate, suspension of our quest for empirical evidence for that of unseen energy. Most can agree truth is not easy to swallow while swimming in a sea of information, but this is where unseen principles like archetypal psychology assists us with pattern recognition and benefits of disruption and redirection.

In addition to intensely strong change signatures of Jupiter, Neptune, and Mercury due to their positions, there is an element of hugely karmic energy in this eclipse cycle.

Nessus, a centaur minor planet discovered in 1993 between Saturn and Pluto, is riding with the N. Node in Pisces, and flavoring this cycle with the excessive appetites of centaurs in mythology. It isn’t all fun and centaur games in laid back Pisces, though. Unifying potentials tug at our hearts and the collective may witness harsh consequences for abuse of power. Sowing poison may be rampant, but few poisoners escape their own intentions. Sometimes the most positive contribution in an unhealthy situation is nothing. “I contribute nothing to (_fill in the blank_)”, is a powerful self-reminder.

In Greek mythology, Nessus becomes a ferryman carrying passengers back and forth across the river Evenus on his back; a third chance for the lusty Centaur who had escaped paying for his unapologetically immoral behavior countless times. On this day, Nessus told Princess Deianara, gorgeous, yet insecure wife of Hercules, he would be more than happy to offer her a ride across a roaring river bulging with recent rains to the road on the far side. “Just across the river and no further,” ordered Hercules without even a glance in Nessus’s direction. He may have recognized the centaur if he paid him even the slightest attention. But, he was preoccupied looking back the way they had come as the couple ran from the wrath of his father-in-law, King Oeneus, due to Hercules’s inadvertent killing of his favorite cup bearer. Thoroughly disgusted with her husband, Deianara accepted the centaur’s offer. Across the river, Hercules heard his beloved’s shrieks as Nessus ran his hands up her gown and over her legs and tried to carry her away from her husband. Pulling an arrow dipped in a hydra’s poisonous blood from his quiver, an enraged Hercules shot Nessus in the chest before the centaur made it to the tree line with his unwilling rider. As he laid writhing from the poison, Nessus begged Deianara’s forgiveness through sobs. Even in his weakened state he charmed her with his excuses. Surely, she knew he had lost his mind due to his nature as half beast coupled with her irresistible allure. It really was not his fault she had tempted him by riding astride as he had advised for the safest passage. Blood rushing to her cheeks at his innuendo, Deianara was caught off guard by his inappropriate speech.

As a token of apology to the princess, the cunning centaur collected a few drops of his hydra-tainted blood in a tiny vial and gifted it to Deianara.  A love potion made from his centaur blood was the least he could do to make amends. Potently effective, he told Hercules’s wife to save it in case her lover’s affection was ever captured by another, more youthful love interest in the future. Nessus promised if she used the contents of the vial Hercules would never look at another. While Deianara doubted Hercules would ever fall out of love with her, she still secreted the vial away in her purse. Nessus died happy, confident of his manipulation and eventual revenge on them both.

As Nessus predicted, eventually Hercules grew restless and dreamed of his love for the fair Iole. Her grandfather King Eurytus had reneged on granting Hercules her hand in marriage as a prize for winning an archery contest before he married Deianara because Hercules was cursed by Demeter and could be driven mad by her at any time. Years later, it bothered Hercules when he thought about how he, the most heralded hero in the entire universe, his strength equal to his father Zeus, was wronged by a mere mortal king. Vengeance was sweet when Hercules killed the king and his sons and took Iole as a slave after sacking the city. They would all know the price for denying him the respect her deserved.

From the balcony, Princess Deianara saw Hercules and his new richly dressed slave as they came through the estate gates. Deianara’s heart clenched at the young woman’s fresh beauty while the smug look on her husband’s face filled her with jealousy. Carefully, she laid out a new dark shirt for her beloved which perfectly hid droplets of Nessus’s love charm.

Within seconds of dressing Hercules fell to the ground screaming in torment from the hydra’s poison he himself had collected and used against his foes. The pain was unbearable and unrelenting, but he yelled out that it was his wife who gave him the poisonous shirt. Finally, he built his own funeral pyre from nearby trees, climbed onto it while still writhing in agony and begged for someone, anyone, to be friend enough to light it and end his life.

Deianara was heartbroken her jealousy had been used to kill the Hero Hercules and she knew she would be punished severely by the Gods. Deianara rushed into their home and stabbed herself to death. In the Greek language her name stands for “husband destroyer.”

In astronomy Nessus has an unpredictable orbit, making its future movements unknown, much like micro aggressions that fester if not forgotten. In archetypical psychology some or all of the characters are within our psyche. Do you recognize:

  1. The Arrogant Hero displaying superiority and entitlement to the point of violence and murder.
  2. The Wild Unbridled Horse- a part of the human psyche which celebrates freedom from man-made rules and cannot be tamed.
  3. The Villain is morally corrupt and brings all the nasty emotions which drive violence like lust, jealousy, and spite.
  4. The Jealous Wife who tries to manipulate and control her spouse.

A modern Nessus narrative may show up as a friend who leaves you alone to pick up food with an extremely attractive stranger who you mentioned was your type when you arrived at a party together. Hercules’s traits may be seen in a random person who assumes you want to dance when they grab your arm and spin you in a circle while announcing it will be a night to remember now that you are with him. Deianara may appear as you telling the overly enthusiastic dance partner that you have a friend who is perfect for them then introducing the two as soon as she returns. Meanwhile, your friend does not have the chance to tell you that she talked you up to the person you thought was extremely attractive.

We all have shadows/behaviors born from unmet needs or victimization, but it is the hiding of our human weaknesses that destroys relationships. As we travel with Nessus conjunct the North Node of fate over an unpredictable period, being aware of our desires and what we need to feel fully free keeps us safe from poisoning, or manipulation and misunderstandings. Revenge carries an energy in the Nessus mythos that doubles back and self-destructs.

Parnus- Part 1- New Earth

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

After being cast in darkness for weeks, blushing Parnus moonslight flooded the cabin and allowed him to shut down pin-prick lights overhead, saving what power he could for landing. Her eyes darting behind their lids, Scotia didn’t surface as quickly as Dusan desired. A staccato beat reverberated in the cramped space, his giveaway foot in sync with short and quick breaths. A relaxant mist no longer delivered in tandem with oxygen and nitrogen would be helpful at the moment, Dusan thought. Two years he’d waited. “Scotia”, he bent down and whispered close to her ear, long nimble fingers brushing her hair back from her creased forehead. Always serious Scotia. An initially positive indication of cell coherence despite its’ silver hue, Dusan noted hair growth in her record with a nod. If anyone was made for this sunless planet, it’s Scotia, he thought and traced one vividly blue vein the length of her clavicle.

“Approaching Parnus”, the craft announced. The remainder of her physical inventory would have to wait. “Secure your person and all loose objects within the next sixty seconds before momentum shifts”. His hand lingered against her cheek for a moment longer. Momentum shift, indeed. Whatever lay ahead, at least she was here with him and Zehmy.

Except, Scotia still dreamed of old earth. She paced the gardens of Eudaimonia, normally where she’d find her best friend Haffney, hunched over eggplant or pepper plants, never choosing the best for their weekly portion as she did. Where could he be? Once, there had been sprawling flower gardens complete with an intricate hedge maze and baby animal statuary which separated Eudaimonia’s scientific center from the shoreline a few miles away. A sea surge claimed that parcel not long after most of the population left for Parnus. Her eyes stung from the gusting salty wind, but an almost-full moon helped her navigate a path. “Haff?”, she called feebly. Deja vu fluttered like a sheer curtain in her periphery. She retreated a couple of paces. Sounds from the equipment shed carried on the wind and made her heart clench as if it stopped. Scotia’s shorn head hinged back and forth fiercely in the shadowy night as her mind struggled with what it heard. Preeky’s cries of pleasure were plain, as was his “yeah, that’s it”. Scotia ran then, away from the shed, away from Haff and betrayal, back to their container where she’d plead illness. Just for the day. Then she’d get it together, she thought, but her body heaved with sobs and her childhood sweetheart story lodged in her throat. She damned Dusan, again, for leaving her behind on this dying planet. But… how did she hear him, “Scotia! Scotia”, excited and definitely Dusan, “We’re here, Scotia!”

Although they efforted, earth’s civilization could not recover enough ecosystem to sustain the species. Extinction became probable as catastrophic events occurred almost daily and fertility grew scarce at an equally stifling rate. Those who remained in the western world created Eudaimonia, a new society, in a region formerly known as Colorado. Scotia, Haffney and Dusan were born in Eudaimonia and began training for a new planetary home before the age of five.

Despite world unification, Mother Earth and Father Sun did not open their hearts again for humanity. Her core mantle and atmospheric shield abused beyond repair, she now only needed water to cool her from his raging beams. In only two short decades, they lost most of the world’s artful masterpieces, along with the seven wonders of the world and cave drawings dating back to the dawn of mankind. The seas rose over Vatican City, completing the fall of Rome, while towering skyscrapers across the world fell unceremoniously. Eventually, Eudaimonia’s population sustained themselves on a single meal of millet and sweet potatoes, later adding iron-rich plasma snacks when prisons became insecure. Cannibalism wore a disguise of justice.

Remaining scientists became royalty, and as such, reassigned resources toward discovering an exostar or moon with a habitable zone. They hoped for two decades, at least, of data collecting. Their plan provided time to devise survival necessities and structure developmental plans. Repopulation hopes seemed more fantastical than relocating. For once, every human on old earth agreed discovery was their primary move if humans advanced to another planetary home. After a decade of increasingly desperate and resultingly daring exploration of the Milky Way, only two viable sub-planets were discovered, exhaustively studied, and to everyone’s sorrow, ruled out .

Commander Xavier Parnus hypothesized a harnessing of enigmatic forces between Baade’s Window and the Galactic Center in order to travel outside of the Milky Way. His theories met with scorn, mockery and threats to his explorer license until, with the help of Dr. Urick Parnus’ biophysics team, he found a way through and beyond. The sons of astronauts, the brothers were catapulted into heroes worth worshipping once Parnus was deemed unexpectedly habitable.

While Dusan’s bio-pod had opened a week prior, Scotia had remained in an induced theta state with periodic windows of deep delta wave restoration until they arrived in the orbit of Parnus’ furthest moon. The pod provided several essentials: oxygen, hydration, nutrition, waste removal, and cryogenic sleep. In preparation for Scotia’s retrieval from old earth/Eudaimonia, Dusan himself had added an extra layer of shielding in hopes of mitigating metabolic changes and cellular abnormalities upon morphogenesis, or “reorganization” as Eudaimonia’s elders preferred to describe the process.

Frowning at a tiny oval scar at Scotia’s hairline, Dusan wondered whether he’d made a mistake agreeing to the implant. Coni would’ve let him add his affirmations regardless, he thought, then cast his regret away with a shrug.

Conshoi, Dusan’s sister and reluctant Director of Health on Parnus, added psyche reconditioning and unity consciousness to the orientation modules in Scotia’s biopod. “Coni”, as Dusan called her, also let her brother insert a few assurances throughout Scotia’s theta periods, after she gave her older brother an enormous dose of teasing. Nothing comes for free, she’d reminded him. With Dusan’s consent, an epicortical nano implant was placed easily with Scotia in cryogenic stasis. Research volunteers were scarce on Parnus, although generalized fear seemed to be relenting according to Coni’s measurements. Still, she considered all of the 388 humans who inhabited Parnus psychologically fragile.

“Scotia, we’re home”, his long dark fingers caressed her cheek and stirred their nano-implants into a dopamine dump with a bit of serotonin, a calming hormone he suspected she lacked. Her eyes calmed and the edges of her mouth turned up. Sharp edges of her collarbones and wrists had softened some since they departed Eudaimonia. Her cheeks weren’t sunken anymore, the injuries from bashing into the cliff face mere shadows now. The state of her mind would take longer to assess than her physical condition, her experiences an anomaly in the new Parnus population. People were accustomed to her being an anomaly, though. Dusan didn’t think she’d be happy about muscle loss, but Zehmy would make up for any negatives, after her initial shock. Almost two years could not be undone in 32 days, he knew, but he had not felt this hopeful since… Dusan shook his head, his braid clamps clinking at his back. “Scotia, wake up. Come see these bubble waterfalls on our moons”, he told her as her eyes slit and her head swiveled to him. “Here, let me get your breathing tube. You ready?” At her nod, his mouth turned up at the corners. Of course, she was ready. “You know what to do. Here we go, Scotia. Inhale. Now big exhale.” So far, so good. Her cough sprayed him in a fine mist and activated a humming air vacuum. ”Here, let me help”. A tickling sensation in her cheeks made her involuntarily crinkle her nose as he suctioned out her mouth.

She’d made it. Scotia squinted her scratchy eyes toward the rosy sky outside their spacecraft’s viewing panel. After taking a slow and long sip of unfamiliar liquid from a hydrobot, she croaked, “How soon”? Dreams of Zehmy had filled her theta wave periods even before their journey to Parnus. Drawing in enough air to inflate her lungs felt impossible, as if an immoveable weight sat in their depths. “I feel like if I could get a few deep breaths my mind would clear”, she whispered to Dusan, his face close to hers.

“Your body is waking up and taking over where the pod functioned. I’ll get some measurements in a minute,” Dusan replied. He lifted her out of the pod to a nearby padded chaise where he’d slept next to her since his biopod opened. He hoped he never had to get in one again. Despite closing the viewing panel and ports on immense swaths of nothingness, space was lonely. Scotia was not the only one excited about a reunion with Zehmy.

Ixkeeb insisted on an in-person introduction to Scotia. Dusan’s wide forehead creased and he let out a long exhale. If he didn’t warn her… or even if he did, Scotia’s reaction would determine all of their futures.

Exiles

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Alphonse Mucha, Mars, 1899

voices decanted from a forgotten vessel

stirred in my bowl of belly senses

with care and precision by the manager

oblivious to a warrior child impatiently waiting

unspeakables falling out of her pocket

as she drums into creation

a newborn dragon nestled in ash

one eye open and searching

heaven’s detours for a

never-imagined journey

along illuminated slopes

slippery with meteoric insight

ecliptic signposts alchemized in timelessness

newborn galaxies explosions of awareness

unmarred unwounded unknown

slow cautions Saturn

feel and flow

sky as sea

reflecting black iris depths

from the edge of her abyss

a living volcano driving upward

lava roiling in her heart

cooled by eternal divine waves

she claims invisible Mars

her pockets inside out empty

with a nod she removes her helmet

and sheaths a broken sword

“I am the Sun!”

a sea of tears whispers within

I am the stars

Mars unfurls her baby wings

Voice

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

At ten

secrets leaked

on yellow pages

“Bruises on my Soul”

Innocent heart

nudging in shadow

sensing

lifelong land mines

Keys swing

on my hip

but locks

on Medicine

dissipate on

my tongue

Beckoning heart

Rousing

an inherited impulse

to unlock

Everything

Eudaimonia-Part 5

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Galactic Exit

Maybe I’d gotten over my fear of Dusan once, but now?  My circle of trust barely exists since Preeky, my closest friend, confessed her feelings for Haff. It’s been almost two years since a starship loaded with almost everyone I love left earth. Twenty months since I sat for a week on the shore waiting for Dusan to retrieve me . Almost two years of weighing every single move as a despised and closely-watched “Culler” from a former Elite family. Twenty months of wondering why he betrayed me. We may as well be strangers, despite his intimate demeanor while cleaning my scrapes. He clearly means for me to return with him to Parnus, but in what capacity?

Hazy sunlight forms a halo around his imposing form on the outside ledge, angular stalactites casting arrows of light through the cave’s high slim opening. Lowering myself to the silty cave floor, I let it sink in that he’s finally come. Not for the first time, he reminds me of a carved ebony statue of Shaka, a fearsome Zulu warrior who towered above me in my great grandfather’s bamboo-paneled hall of collectibles where I sometimes hid with a book. It seems so long ago, yet I can hear my mother calling for me when I close my eyes, almost feel the sun’s cozy warmth radiating through leaded windows.

He’s come back at some risk to himself, it occurs to me. Is he staying outside in dangerous sunshine to give me time to collect myself? As if I can sort my racing thoughts and ballooning feelings. Or, perhaps he’s communicating with Parnus or his mother. Or maybe he’s drinking in a panoramic sea view, nostalgic yet predictably sad. On the cliffs by his family’s estate, Dusan once told me I should take time to admire such things, especially in an emotional crisis. I feel the same now about his sentiment as I did then, except now- outrage, even violence are in my periphery and barely held in check. He took my son, first here on old earth, then again to Parnus, a galaxy away. Telepathically I reach again for Haff and am met with silent space. Dusan is the gatekeeper to Zehmy, I remind myself, exhaling long and slow as he brings the last of our gear in the cave. He swivels his head, not looking at me, but gaping at our surroundings.

First on a naturally gifted list of Soroka traits isn’t his height nor his intellect. Dusan’s unadulterated genealogy gave the Soroka family freedom, and ultimately-power. As the earth’s ozone dissipated in the 21st century, humans with minimal melanin or “caucasians”, lost any ability to withstand sunlight. Fortunately, most humans are multiracial in the 22nd century. Unfortunately for my family, very few people wanted to partner with pale humans who could only go outdoors after dusk. Being considered comparatively ugly didn’t help, either. Rubbing a hand over my prickly scalp usually soothes me, but it doesn’t now as I imagine what I must look like-a desensitized killer/Culler with a shorn head, frightened eyes and exhausted face. Not exactly new earth material. The thought makes me giggle despite a sea of unknowns.

“You ALL stay here. Together, for months”, Dusan sounds incredulous as he peers into an inky vastness where we store food and culling supplies. His deep voice is swallowed by the cave, one of its gifts when over two hundred people are inside. Pausing in his assessment, he waits expectantly for me to inform him. Pride wells in my chest. “This is home for citizens of Eudaimonia during the summer, when sunlight and temperatures render our containers and labs uninhabitable”, I report without hesitation. It’s my first time being here both in springtime and without Haff. Damp chill emanating from rock walls gives me goosebumps. After baking in mud a short while ago, I relish the shivers on my still-wet limbs. Dusan notices, opens one of his packs, and pulls out something shimmery. “Your mother asked me to bring you this. We have a successful Eri silkworm farm on Parnus”, he says, holding out an iridescent robe with buttons refashioned from my grandmother’s silver rosette earrings. It is otherworldly, truly exquisite. And entirely useless.

“Unbelievable”, I shake my head. “She leaves me for dead then sends a gift. Keep it safe for me, Dusan. As I trust you’ve kept Zehmy?” Nothing else matters to me, certainly not another piece of finery, even if it does pique my curiosity. It’s been a while since I felt hurt by her cursory affection, although the buttons are an unusual touch. She needs me for something, I think.

“Don’t be foolish”, Dusan tells me with a hint of arrogance and a shake of the garment. “That sun will dry your clothing in minutes”. If it was anyone else, I’d think he was trying to see me naked. Unflinching, I disrobe quickly before I can think about it, and shake my damp clothes back at him. “Good point. Here. Trade you”. Holding out my well-worn garments in one hand, I’m sure to brush his skin with my fingers as we swap. Dusan’s eyes narrow with a quick intake of breath. I pretend not to notice as our nanotattoos bounce electromagnetic energy between us, but I can feel the cocktail of hormones released from both my adrenals and pituitary. This is why Haff told me to run. If I feel it, then so does he.

“Did you do something to Haff, Dusan?”, I ask, failing to sound unaffected even to my own ears. 

Dusan looks at me and tilts his braided head thoughtfully, his chest rising slowly in a deep breath as if he’s gathering himself.

“Haff violated our betrothal contract AGAIN, Scotia. I commuted his sentence when you were pregnant, and lost respect for it”. Back in complete control of himself, Dusan informs me, “Haff is being culled per my order, just and fitting for a man who doesn’t control himself. Don’t worry- I added slow draining despite his despicable dishonesty. You’ll get to say goodbye, BRIEFLY”, he stresses, “before we leave for Parnus. He can make up for the protein packs we’re taking with us on launch”.

My breath is coming faster as he reveals why I cannot feel Haff telepathically, our rare connection broken by a femoral port emptying his life’s blood. Oh my sky and stars, oh no, what did I do? My mother warned me I would cost Haff everything.

“How could you, Dusan? You usurp my authority! You said you appreciated him keeping me alive”, I hate the sound of my voice pleading. Damn the sunlight! for the millionth time.

While I cannot get to Haff, Dusan can. “You don’t want that between us. We have a chance, you and I. Isn’t living here on this dying planet more than enough punishment? Please”. My chest hurts at the thought of costing Haff his life.

Dusan looks skyward, unable to meet my eyes as he says hurriedly, “Haff was assigned the Culler position, Scotia. You weren’t even supposed to be here, remember? Once we are away from here we can parse out everything that’s happened. I promise. Right now I need you to trust me, at least a little”, his eyes are earnest as he finally makes himself look into my eyes, takes my hand in one of his, and lets out a loud sigh as if it genuinely pains him to drop truth on me like a two-ton boulder. Peering into their depths, I know, but I don’t accept it.

“Nooo”, my head automatically swivels back and forth with denial, “that can’t be true, Dusan … that day, I was wrecked when I saw the boosters splash down. you were gone, Zehmy was gone… the holo they left for us at the Health Center had my name next to Culler. Everyone saw it, along with Haff’s as BC Department Head. He told me I could change the process, make it more humane”. My memory is blurred by disassociation after discovering I was left behind and sentenced to be a despised Culler. Haff is more interesting in growing food than babies, it’s true. No successful embryonic nursery graduations in years, despite gene manipulations and cell displacement trials, were explained away. Even if I had known, I might not have done anything about it. “You’re sure?” He nods and shakes my hand a little.

My identity, everything I’d trained for from childhood as a “Parnus Pioneer” ended the moment I’d became culler, the weight of it almost too much… if not for Haff. With Zehmy also gone, it felt like my heart froze; I became numb. Haffney was all I had left. My knees buckle a little remembering. I’m unsure what was worse- hatred directed toward me those first few months or intense longing for my child and a life other than one on the edge of extinction. Haff wouldn’t do that to me. Except he did? Silence is obnoxiously loud in the cave until drops of condensation from meters above us hit the cave’s sandy floor in a soft staccato. I’m barely holding back tears. “Why would he do that? It makes no sense”, I insist.

“I guess he knew you would do what needed to be done, you know-for everyone’s survival. Everyone knows that about you, that you care enough to do the right thing, especially when it’s hard. Now you know Haffney’s character. He takes the easy path, Scotia”, Dusan’s usual flat tone is tinged with anger, “We can unravel the whole mess while we’re traveling. We need to get off this planet. Eudaimonia can continue without your help. We’ve always known the ending, Sco”. His dark eyes boring into me makes me uncomfortable, my understanding crucial to him for some weird reason. Sensing my need for space, he says, “I’ll be right back”.

Silk kisses my ankles and the tops of my feet as I put more distance between us. The buttery fabric reminds me of the old privileged Scotia, the one who did not fathom the complete interconnectedness of all things in an ecosystem. Drips of condensation fall like rain around the edge of a large round opening in the mountain hundreds of feet above me slowly filling with light during the sun’s descent and making this area glow for hours. A pair of flowering cumquat trees stand on the far side of the light circle, grown to maturity just as Garvey predicted when we left the cave last fall. Letting copper-colored water sprinkling steadily from above splash on my outstretched scraped-up hand for a second, I decide this is what I need. After laying the silk robe on the cave floor, I close my eyes and let the warm liquid trickle over my face and mix with my tears.

I can sense him a moment before Dusan pulls me to him and holds me there while I sob into the center of his chest until I run out of tears. “I’m sorry. None of this would’ve happened if my mother hadn’t interfered”, he says.

Although I thoroughly understand culling legal code, including penalties for interference, I can’t let Haff be culled. If I leave while he continues here I can imagine him laughing despite everything, remembering the way he finds the funny and buoys a group when despair rolls in, the way he considers everyone’s collective welfare. Pushing away from him yet allowing his arms to remain around my shoulders, I plead, “They need Haff to survive, especially with me leaving the planet”.

Dusan bends down, wipes my tears with his thumbs, then relents, “This is the 2nd time I’ve broken the law for you, Scotia Braun”. Picking up my robe he cautions, “You’re turning a little pink”.

“Let me get dry quick”. I move into the center where there is only diffuse sunlight and spin slowly with my arms out, relishing the soft warm light, then move them up and down like wings, enjoying his concerned gaze. Dancing out of the circle of light I don the robe he’s offering for the 2nd time. “Thank you”, I tell him. “Now tell me more about Zehmy, please Dusan. Did he tolerate the travel ok? What did you tell him about me”?

Withdrawing a silver square micro-projector from a barely perceptible slit in his skinsuit, he smiles at me for the first time since he’s been back. My heart skips as Zehmy’s wide smile and long-lashed golden eyes light up the cave wall closest to us. A boy’s face, a bit flushed from excitement, droplets of sweat above his upper lip, surprises me. He’s grown more than I imagined.

“I told him it was a mistake that you weren’t on the ship. He argues with me about it, says he knows I’m lying. He wouldn’t even acknowledge my mother before she expired”, Dusan casually declares. At my shocked expression he says, “Several mature leaders experienced issues adjusting to the climate on Parnus. Their sacrifices were honored”.

“Mommy, I love you. Why can’t I see her, Dusan”? My heart hurts and I hold my breath waiting for the answer. Dusan isn’t in the frame, just Zehmy with the same curly russet hair, much shorter than the wild mane I remember. A pink sky and what looks like a flying star zooms back and forth behind Zehmy and leaves trails of rippling clear matter. Liquid, maybe?

“Mommy is on Old Earth, Zehmy, remember? Daddy is going to show her this holo when I go there and ask her to return to Parnus with me”, Dusan replies to Zehmy.

Zehmy’s eyes swim with tears as he peers earnestly at the holographic recorder. ”Mommy, please come to Parnus and live with me and Daddy. I need you. I need you to explain to the mean people why I know things, Mommy. How I know the shortcut from Parnus to old earth, like how you just know, Mommy. Like the dice game, Mommy!”, he yells the last part then disappears abruptly as the recording ends.

Yes, I do remember the two of us making a game of predicting the throw of the dice, and Zehmy never guessing wrong on a single throw. Now I understand he wasn’t guessing.

“Our son needs us, and Parnus needs YOU. My plans for us haven’t changed”. Dusan closes the space between us in two long strides and clasps my face between his hands this time, forcing me to look at him. “Creating a society on Parnus is our destiny”, he declares as if he’s willing it into my being, his eyes projecting a surprising desire. We’d been intimate before he left for Parnus, but not sexually. Perhaps our partnership has more potential than it did almost two years ago.

“What did Zehmy mean by ‘a shortcut’ and what is your timeline”?

Beaming now, “Tonight is Aphelion”, is his chipper reply, referring to when old earth is farthest from the sun and, by relation, deadly solar flares and storms. “And Zehmy asked me if I was taking the shortcut in the Galactic Center, Sco. I’ve communicated back to Parnus that he is correct. Returning on the same energetic stream puts us with our son on Parnus in 32 or 33 old earth days”.

“If you halt Haff’s culling, there’s no need for me to say ‘good bye’. Can we leave from here? Oh, wait! I forgot there’s one thing I want to take with me-my great-grandma’s teapot”.

Dusan strolls over to his gear and removes a box with wild red and pink vining roses. “I’m happy this is all you needed’. What he means is easily understood. “I can RC the capsules to the shoreline below. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours to prepare for launch”.

Trust is built over time, I tell myself. I ask Dusan if he can speak loudly when he suspends Haff’s culling so I can hear him just inside the cave’s entrance, and am not surprised when he tells my former security force that Haff is now Culler. Preeky will make a good partner. Honestly, I think Haff may be relieved to be rid of my otherness. Forgiving him frees me to leave Eudaimonia.

“Thank you for coming to get me”, I tell Dusan. Placing my hands on his cheeks, eyes communicating a depth of feeling mere words can’t relay, gratitude takes hold. I’ll never again take the future for granted.

Pluto’s 1st House Renovation

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

A Tale of Losses and Esoteric Gains

**The nature of Pluto’s transits is unique to a Soul’s natal chart. No single aspect defines or predicts which choices we make, nor the the impact of others with millions of their own choices.** This transit has become easier as I expanded my spiritual practice with rituals and learned astrology. If you read something here that doesn’t sit well, I suggest giving it time to marinate.

As the planet of transformation begins it’s transit into Aquarius on March 25, Pluto asks me to reflect on it’s time in my first house and as a Crone-share what I’ve learned.

Capricorn is a feminine elder energy of traditions, religion, discipline, government, authorities, military, and career, ruled by serious Saturn. When Pluto, named after a Roman god of death and the underworld, began transforming all things Capricorn in 2008 I recall collective transformative cultural and political shifts including the deaths of icons:

  • Stock market crash/Great Recession began with bank fails
  • Michael Phelps won eight gold medals.
  • Heath Ledger’s death from an overdose of sleeping pills while filming the role of The Joker in The Dark Knight (2008)
  • Twilight series launch by Stephanie Myer, and in the United States
  • The first African-American President, Barack Obama, was elected and changed the face of politics forever.
  • Miley Cyrus announced Hannah Montana grew up when she wore a backless gown and sent protective Moms into a tailspin.
  • Britney Spears placed in a conservatorship that lasted until November, 2021
  • Comedian Bernie Mac’s death from Sarcoidosis

On the surface, Pluto’s influence may appear as fate, but I would have jigged where I jagged a few times if only I knew then what I know now. Revealing these personal truths is not about victimhood or blame for me. Chiron at the zero Aries Point indicates my “unhealable wound” is showing who I really am, underneath the personas I create for acceptance. Like many souls, my complex history didn’t grant me tools of self-confidence, self-worth and emotional regulation. In 2008, I still looked to the world to tell me what kind of day I was going to have.

Pluto entered Capricorn at 0° in January, 2008 in a wide conjunction with my Moon at 8°, and my Ascendant (represents physical body and public rep) at 14° Capricorn. A planet’s expression in a sign is most pure at zero degrees of any sign, as evidenced by Pluto’s dramatic influence during 2008 and 2009. My natal Pluto resides in the 9th House of higher learning and spiritual studies in the sign of Virgo, which lent me strength throughout the destruction of my identity.

  • I gave a successful talk at a National Conference and became a resource for others in my profession.
  • I was given a big raise in pay.
  • My daughter, an only child, graduated college and got engaged.
  • I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis/disease from a biopsy of a nodule. I began an anti-malarial medication for it.
  • My daughter’s first job began at The U.S. Dept. of Defense and she moved six hours away.
  • I worked from home occasionally if my RA flared, with my Director’s, but not my supervisor’s knowledge.
  • I also started working on weekends in order to keep up with an increasing workload.
  • I often felt like 2 people.
  • My Director gave me gifts, flowers, and took to me to lovely lunches for my above-and-beyond efforts, while the organization I worked for became unsupportive and threatening.
  • Work became my #1 priority as I chased unattainable approval.

In the 1st house, Pluto slowly chipped away at my identity by both giving and taking away power and wealth starting with foundational aspects such as being a Mother of an adult student, and being a respected coordinator in medical education. My ego was methodically dismantled from 2008 to 2015. I knew what made me feel good about myself and fought losing any of it, especially after my daughter became fully independent.

In 2009 Pluto started his long game, moving from 1° to 3° Capricorn. In the collective & my career, we can see Pluto’s secretive influence, as well as big ambition and self-destruction:

  • President Obama was sworn into office as the 44th President of the United States and a ruthless campaign began in Congress and among U.S. business leaders to disempower him.
  • Michael Jackson, The King of Pop, died from an overdose of propofol, a surgical anesthetic given by his personal physician because he couldn’t sleep while creating This Is It, a show he considered his masterpiece.
  • Avatar was released.
  • I gave another successful presentation at a national conference of residency program directors & coordinators, and was elected to a board position by the Radiology National Coordinator’s Association.
  • I continued to hide my disease from my supervisor and HR, having reason to fear for my job and most importantly-insurance. I witnessed two other coordinators lose their jobs after gaining a national reputation in their respective specialties, and one of them warned me about taking the board position. I accepted it, anyway.
  • I became friends with an older gentleman who volunteered for me; a cerebral, yet light-hearted, friendship that often took me out of my comfort zone, in a way that changed how I view friendships, food, and gratitude.
  • I took and passed a certification exam which qualified me as an expert in my field, one of only twelve in a field of over 200.

Archetypically, Pluto is Lord of the Underworld and our worst fear-Death

Nothing transforms us more powerfully than death. In my immediate world these loved ones left, each unexpectedly and dramatic:

  • Grandma, Flossie Blocher, 2009
  • Dad, Greg Blocher, 2010
  • Son of friend who committed suicide in 2007 did the same, 2012
  • Dear Friend, David Garvey, 2013
  • Husband’s old friend, a teen counselor, is murdered, 2013
  • Furry Friend of 20 yrs, Jack, 2014
  • Father-in-law, Ronald Schultz, 2015
  • Other Father-in-law, Dick, 2017
  • Another much-loved cat Kiki in 2021

My husband and I lost childhood friends, and I lost cousins, in unexpected & tragic ways, death dancing in our periphery, each loss hurting and changing people we love. Each refining what I value most.

1st House of Self/Life

Rheumatism and bone/spine diseases are Capricorn’s territory in the physical body, a feminine earth sign described in Indian astrology as “being bothered by the wind”. Capricorns are often cold and have dry skin. While Capricornian energy of hard work and ambition were familiar to me, secrecy and calculated plotting in the work place lay in my unconscious fears about losing my job/my power in a frightening world. My need for security drove me forward, despite painful rheumatoid joint inflammation. It is hard to stop the momentum of Capricorn, and changing the mind is a slow Saturnian lesson. Ten years prior, I had been a waitress and single mother. I was proud of how far I’d come by grit and choices.

In 2010 Pluto squares Saturn, the ruler of Capricorn, and became extra:

  • WikiLeaks Julian Assange released millions of classified documents detailing U.S. military operations, toxic waste dumping in Africa and executions at Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp along with hundreds of other secrets.
  • Chile has one of the strongest earthquakes ever recorded (Pluto rules the deep earth and mined resources).
  • The tallest building ever is opened in Dubai on January 4, 2010 (AMBITION).
  • Polish President Lech Kaczyinski dies in a plane crash (change in government).
  • Haiti has a 7.0 earthquake killing approximately a quarter of a million people.
  • My Program Director announced his resignation and my workload continued to increase with telemed privilege requests increasing tenfold.
  • The new Program Director does Not allow me to work at home and expects 10-hour days, even during the holidays.
  • In December, 2010, I’m diagnosed with fibromyalgia and given Xanax by my doctor when I claim powerlessness over my stress.

Elementary Plutonic Lessons

  1. It’s just as important to be liked at work as it is to be competent (see The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene). Being likeable is often MORE beneficial to success than work output or innovative ideas.
  2. I engaged in a power-struggle with the new Program Director I couldn’t win because I felt like I was “right” and it made me much sicker.
  3. Capricorn is attached to being right and will state it aloud bluntly. Journaling is the best outlet for crafting less aggressive speech.
  4. Confirmation bias exists in the fabric of my psyche.
  5. Power corrupts.
  6. Incompetent physicians are propped up/covered for sometimes by their colleagues. It’s a powerful “club”.
  7. Pluto is harsh when we refuse to let go of what is clearly departing. I regret giving fear of the unknown any power.
  8. Always listen to your gut, especially when it comes to people.
  9. When I was offered severance in 2011, I should’ve taken it rather than the offer to work with someone I knew was horribly dishonest and manipulative. The toxicity and plotting that ensued cost me mentally and physically, while I suspect it was a game to her. When I received a copy of my employee file a few months later, the last of my naivete “exited the building”. My file read like Shakespeare, and some betrayals hurt like hell. They’d padded it because I filed a complaint with the EEOC when I was denied an accommodation to continue working at home during active flares (ironic in healthcare, I know). It was small consolation when I heard the two liars primarily responsible for my termination were finally found out for time fraud. My bosses never would’ve believed me if I’d told them how they took whole afternoons off and came in whenever they pleased. I remembered the chief liar asking me before I was fired, “What would you do if you didn’t work here”? There’s no amount of money that’s worth working with snakes.
  10. When in doubt, do what you were put here to do. In August, 2011 I started my blog “The Fifth Decade”, my answer to what I’d do if I didn’t work there.

During this time there are two good friends I am very grateful for (both disabled themselves), as well as my husband. Ableism isolates people like me. I felt as though people thought I just wasn’t trying hard enough; such feelings are common among disabled folks. I continued to push myself for the next few years, even starting my own virtual assistant business and working online for mTurk with microtasks. Multiple rounds of physical therapy resulted, my tendons swelling with repetitive tasks, my mind often foggy from inflammation.

Financial losses and windfalls (also Pluto’s domain):

  • Loss of work income several times, working for $2/hr at one point
  • Extended unemployment benefits in 2011, 2012, and 2014
  • 401k used in entirety for living and medical expenses
  • Social Security Disability approved in 2018 using a “less than sedentary” work ability after 2 yrs of no income

Highlights

  • In 2012, David and I went to see Cinema Paradiso, a 1988 Italian film where he broke down crying next to me in the tiny art museum theater. When I asked what was wrong, he whispered he was just so happy to have such a good friend. He changed something inside me in that moment.
  • In January, 2013, Pluto squared my Venus in Aries and I quit smoking cigarettes.
  • In 2014, despite finances, we took a week-long trip to Ireland, a true dream where I felt well right up to when we arrived at the airport to leave. Lines for Customs or anything else aren’t RA-friendly, I learned.
  • In 2016, I found an online support group where new friends are amazingly empathetic and loving. A few of us in this area of the country get together in-person once or twice a year.
  • My flower garden, although much smaller, is a sanctuary. Nature is a balm.
  • My parents have always been supportive and share their cabin in a wooded island paradise.
  • I have time to write.
  • My first and only grandchild was born in 2016.
  • Our daughter, who lives here now, is thriving.

In 2018, when Pluto was at 18° Capricorn squaring my N. Node in Aries (symbolic of life’s mission) exactly, Rheumatoid Disease attacked my lungs and resulted in a cytokine storm which almost killed me because the doctors only heard the “arthritis” part of RA, unwilling to even consider my suggestion that it was a catalyst. For several days they ordered tests, which came back negative, except for C-reactive Protein, an inflammation marker. A huge dose of IV steroids saved my life after one hospitalist finally called my rheumatologist. There were at least 4 others who ignored me. I fought for my life, and won that year.

After having what they term “critical hallucinations” during my hospital stay, I started meditating and reading a book I inherited from my old friend David, Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph. D. I facilitated a women’s New Moon circle centered around sisterhood for a year, and began studying astrology. Five years later I know a little bit and can feel the energies around me and in the collective.

I feel like I’ve been given another chance at life, so now I write and take better care of my heart and mind. Over the past few years my vision of myself as a writer has changed. The hustle-culture of poorly-paid traditional publishing doesn’t fit my needs, nor my gifts. While I’m unsure where this road leads, I’m confident and emotionally mature enough to take the wheel now, with my spirit guides and ancestor’s blessings. While life proved how cruel it was long ago, the past fifteen years has shown me deeper darkness and grace than I imagined possible. Every day I anchor myself in the knowledge that everything, except love, is temporary .

Chances Are

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

A New, Yet Familiar 2023

I want to believe in positive change, in a better year than last, an easier, graceful year. Wouldn’t mind a fairly “boring” year, I tell myself, anyway. Meditation, writing, research rabbit-holes, art, and lots of music are my simple blessings, along with my loves. I refocus a couple of times a day on building stories, managing my sometimes dicey health with too many strategies to count, surrendering a lot of empathy and sympathy for friends and strangers to Universal Love, and reviving optimism and humor. This feels habitual now. From what I’ve learned, chances are my same ol’ baggage will be with me at the end of the year, maybe a bit lighter. Chances are I will apologize less and love myself more by N.Y.’s Eve, too. Chances are I’ve healed the past… unless my secretive psyche surprises me.

Chances are the stories I have to tell are different this year, and hopefully get better with consistency. I will read interesting and well-written books, and more of them than last year since it is a highlight. This year will be different than last, chances are.

Alt Journey-Igor

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Part 12

Pink May Blossoms

A growling thunder grew louder outside the loft’s single-pane windows and provided cover for 3 deafening cracks like sniper fire, each earning a jump from Doyle as he grappled with memories played on an incessant reel since he awoke that morning. The tiny jade plant he’d hurled across the loft lay broken on the kitchen counter. “Bad karma for your own evil”, Kazmir whispered in his mind. Had he gone mad himself? His long fingers raked through his unwashed hair and made it stand on end. Phoebe’s channeled anger couldn’t possibly lift him, or rather slam his body, into a beam 12 feet in the air. Except his back sported a bruise the length of his spine, the width of the beam overhead, and his skull throbbed without a touch-a persuasive set of evidence. Then there were the dreams. Doyle remembered all but one of his “research subjects” had expressed doubts about reality, and this gave him a sliver of denial he mistook for a life raft. Phoebe had all but forced him to drink her “tonic”. His scattered mind forgot the exact order of last night’s events. “I don’t feel like myself, like my head’s in the clouds for real”, he remembered Shana had said one afternoon after he’d dosed her with two hits of LSD. She’d not been “herself”, or the Shana from before that trip, ever again. He saw her bare feet swinging over his head and pulled on one, but it was stiff and purplish… wait, that wasn’t Shana. The lace of her nightgown filtered sunlight in a floral pattern on the pink wall behind his mother’s dead body. Doyle slammed his hands on the table as a sob escaped his throat and urine soaked his jeans, just as it had once soaked his Pooh pj pants. Kaz whispered in his ear, “Did you drive her to it?” and “Admit it. You pushed Shana to it”. “Nooo! No! No!”, Doyle yelled, “They did to themselves. They did it! They left me”! Phoebe heard his anguished cries from the landing, unsurprised and unmoved for the most part, except for a sliver of enjoyment, an intriguing new feeling not entirely unwelcome. Thunder clapped and grief made way for anger as she wondered again why Shana hadn’t broken it off with him when it became obvious he had control issues. While the tail-end of Eddie Money’s If I Could Walk on Water streamed through the loft’s heavy security door, Phoebe hesitated a minute then drew back her key as Roxette’s It Must Have Been Love started, and decided to eat in the cafeteria for the first time without Shana. Her urge to distance herself couldn’t be denied, no matter what Dr. Pressman had advised regarding Doyle’s apology and atonement. The stench of pizza puke would likely ruin meals at home for a few days, anyway, and the radio was not her friend lately.

An almost black horizon to the east crackled with bright white jags as Phoebe zipped her jacket, pulled up her hood and made her way south, across the quad still littered with white and pink tree blossoms, colorful flyers and a few Styrofoam cups in the mix. Only a couple others were out, both headed in the same direction as Phoebe- toward the student center and hub of university life outside of classes. They had almost lived there during their freshman year between aerobics, the pool, their freshman dining plan, trivia and ping pong tournaments, T.V. lounges including movie nights, and the acoustically impressive performing arts auditorium where they’d seen P.M. Dawn and Bow Wow Wow. Memories made her smile a little. The girl’s tiny shared room in Lindbergh Hall had been stuffed with coats for every season hung on the end of the bunk, dozens of highlighted worn books in boxes under the bed, multiple mediums of art supplies in copy paper boxes labeled in black marker, records and cassette tapes along with a simple stereo set on the desk, and Shana’s boots and Phoebe’s picture albums scattered and wedged into corners. Thankfully, there were lockers in the communal shower room down the hall where they used one for jeans and sweatshirts-their “uniforms” that first year. Her mother would’ve been proud of how they coped and organized their lives after she died. The few times Phoebe couldn’t summon up her Mother’s voice within, Shana had stepped in with her stories of a better tomorrow. Her heart clutched in her chest and she found it hard to swallow for a moment until someone behind her cleared their throat, “Excuse me”. “Oh, yeah, sorry dude”, Phoebe moved aside and wiped her eyes quickly with her her sleeve. Rumbles overhead muffled what they said next as they turned their heads to reach under the sneeze guard, which was good because she didn’t want to speak to anyone at that moment. She wondered if Shana enjoyed her “better tomorrow” as the two friends wandered away chatting. With long sighs she built what her best friend would’ve called an “emotional mountain of a salad” and watched the storm arrive through a northern wall of glass. Charcoal rivers poured across the sky, painted over golden wisps of daylight, and cast the vast space around her in shadow. Mini cyclones of debris-laden wind bent trees this way and that and stripped them of their final blossoms while rain lashed against the glass. Shana would have loved the impressionist watery view, may have created a charcoal rendition of it in black and white. Perhaps I’ll do it, she thought as she blinked hard. Three golden orbs in the distant dark sky, obscured as if by smoke, moved further away until she could barely notice them. Storms usually reminded her of her mother, of standing at her graveside for hours until the rain ceased and a patch of white sky shone through, backlit by blinding sunlight. Phoebe didn’t think of her mother now, nor the parting clouds that day four years ago. Loneliness abated more and more as she planned Doyle’s metamorphosis in her mind’s eye. Kazmir stoked her anger with visions of Shana in the coroner’s drawer, a single pinprick on the inside of her arm. He’d pay. Each stab of her fork met with a sharp squeal. He’d pay much more than that, she decided, and was rewarded with a deeply pained groan from him as in her mind’s eye Phoebe imagined her hands, strong and pulsing with navy blue veins, painstakingly stretch Igor’s cervical vertebrae and hold the bones apart. Lightning cracked both in the sky before her and in his limbs as the nerve passages narrowed, shocks unlike anything Doyle had ever felt. Thrilling bloodlust throbbed upward from her base and allowed Death himself to will her phantom hands gleefully with a handsaw across bony protrusions, back and forth, back and forth. Flashes of brilliant azure and silver pulled one hand away in a vacuum of energy to her left as her mind appreciated her handiwork and joined her will to flare the smoothed bone outward. Phoebe’s teeth bit down on a carrot as her right hand stabbed a forkful of lettuce, malefic energy alone holding her nemesis in a vengeful stretch. Kaz tickled her heart and Phoebe giggled as Doyle gasped and sucked at the air, his throat constricted. Phoebe willed Shana’s final gasps for breath to play on repeat in his ears, then connected the pieces of bone with tremendous force, Igor’s bones fused with Death’s contribution, Phoebe’s intention and Doyle’s karma. Torturous heart-rending grief rippled across campus and up Budway Avenue to 333C at the top of steep wooden stairs, the loft Shana had insisted was kismet, then flowed back again to the dining hall to form a circlet of deathly energy shot through with daggers of blame, regret and revenge. Death and Kaz had a lot of material to work with for her soul’s imprisonment. The last of Phoebe’s loneliness abated, as did the powerlessness that had hounded her since her ambulance ride. “He thinks you’re weak“, came an unfamiliar voice as she thought of Doyle’s intrusion, his schemes, his selfish pleasure-seeking at Shana’s expense. At her expense. “He wants to control you like he did Shana”, Kazmir planted in her mind, “He plans to steal all your money”. That was crazy, but what if it were true? A poisonous vine sprouted as she realized again she was on her own. Phoebe’s soul stiffened, a golden thread in her star chakra severed even as her ancestors the Tri-Eloh petitioned The Marys for her salvation. “Why show him mercy? Make him earn your forgiveness with service.” The idea of cocky, handsome and brilliant Doyle as Igor took on more life, fed by her friend’s betrayal and absence. She envisioned her hands as they separated the upper trapezius and viewed the levator scapulae behind it. Doyle regretted ever meeting Shana, ever wondering what darkness resided within her. “I don’t deserve this”, he thought right before Phoebe remembered what that particular muscle did. Her thumb and forefinger pinched it resolutely and twisted it an infinitesimal tiny bit, which allowed Igor to take small gulps of air through his mouth. Thunder exploded overhead and the cafeteria emptied as tree limbs and loose lawn furniture hit the glass. Kazmir flashed memories of Shana pale and sickly during the last month of her life. “I should’ve helped her, made her listen, fucking done SOMETHING”, Her own spine tingled when Phoebe’s phantom hand caressed the ligamentum nuchae with her fingernails and left inch-long horizontal slices that deepened with accusation and made Doyle’s soul howl as she tinkered with his voice box. The tickle in her heart increased and spread to her belly. Death laughed and so did Kazmir as Phoebe, entirely given over now to her crude surgical maneuvers, sobbed Shana’s name. Eyes glazed and golden, together they pulled on tendons her probing fingers discovered underneath the fibrous nuchal sheet of cartilage until Doyle’s skull angled to the right at 45 degrees over his shoulder and his arms stiffened straight. “He knows his anatomy even better than me“, Phoebe thought when she realized his heart raced and entire body shook in stark terror, unable to get up from the floor. Drool covered his chin as he mewled, “peeee… sorrreeeee”. Satisfied and a bit excited to see him, she drew her consciousness back to her physical body with a backward count of ten. The storm was all but over, the wind and thunder gone, natural and man-made debris mixed at the bottom of the glass wall. Phoebe wiped her eyes on her wet sleeves, pushed her tray aside and appreciated a pink glow to the west before she said out loud to no one, “I suppose it’s time I go meet MY creature, my Igor.”

The Marys allowed familiar assistance for Phoebe, not the requested Guardian exactly, but the Tri-Eloh thought they might be able to convince a supremely soft-hearted Angel to inhabit a cat for a few years, or maybe a short decade considering how quickly Death and Kazmir corrupted Phoebe. Of course, it was all up to Oisin. The Marys reminded the Tri-Eloh of Doyle’s soul’s merkaba, how close he was to a cage of his ancestor’s bones, and urged them to review both it’s contract and lineage. The Tri agreed to assign a research angel to the task, however Saint Joan asked to be of service as she’d taken an interest in the endurance of the Anam Chara’s soul bond. Free will complicated the universe, however it also led to surprises Death never saw coming.

Alt Journey-Creature

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Part 11

Flower of Life

“We are fashioned creatures, but half made-up” ~ Victor Frankenstein, Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Originally, Frankenstein seemed an easy essay to knock out due to it’s familiarity, Phoebe insisted in her second session with Dr. Pressman since her discharge a week ago. “But it was Shana, not YOU, who was familiar with Mary Shelley’s work. I think it would be productive for us to focus on your enmeshment with Shana so you can move on and successfully finish university. This essay is as good a place to start as any. I’d like you to further make it yours by writing it in your space in the apartment, not you and Shana’s shared space, but yours alone. Do you think you can do that?” As always, Dinah Pressman’s tone remained even and confident, as if no one had ever told her, “No, I will not.” Phoebe would not be the first. Although it had been Shana in their senior year of high school who crafted her first “A” paper, the friends had discussed both the Creature’s and Victor’s motivations and torments at length, to the point of arguing. Only a few years later, death, alchemy, and the nature of the creature weaved a tale beyond imagining in Phoebe’s mind. Kaz’s whispered comparisons between her and Victor, Shana and the Creature, made her question her friendship and true feelings. Was she mindlessly motivated by a savior complex? Shana had saved her many times, and at other times they’d leaned on one another, like when they touched on their grief. Was she “enmeshed”, and where was the line between love and this handicap? “I’ll try. It’s an open loft, ya know? I usually wander around, look out the windows by Shana’s bed ever so often; helps me think.” “No need to be a purist, Phoebe”. “Trust me, Dr. Pressman. I want to get away from everything that reminds me of her, but it’s impossible. Maybe it would help if I start packing up a few of her things this weekend”. Or maybe she’d ask Doyle to do it, but she kept that thought to herself. The psychiatrist looked at her with kindness, but Phoebe didn’t sense pity like she did when they met in Resting Pines. She decided to take it as a good sign despite the doctor’s misunderstanding. She’d never needed Shana for school, but for writing projects they’d excelled by teaming. As her mother used to say, “what one doesn’t think of, the other will”. Shana usually said Phoebe overthought it, just as she currently did. If Mary Shelley could imagine such a psychologically complex tale, surely Phoebe could write an aspirational final essay without Shana’s input. “I’ll see you back here on Friday and you can let me know how it went. From what you’ve told me, I don’t expect any surprises from Mr. Regan’s progress report this week. I’m happy to hear the nightmares have resolved, but don’t be concerned if you have them until your mind is more settled about your new reality.” Phoebe couldn’t tell the doctor about the pain of being eaten alive or what it felt like as she slithered on her snake belly across the bottom of a lake, and certainly not about her recent journeys to unimaginably exquisite or horrifying spaces, nor angelically-guided reunions with Shana’s essence. Her secret existences were still better than her reality. Phoebe felt as if she hauled around a leaden head and heart, despite lighting a candle for Shana every day in a campus chapel. But, disturbed as she was, she still could not imagine how Shana felt in her last moments, couldn’t fathom what lies ran through her friend’s head, but she began to imagine.

Tchaichovsky’s Waltz of the Flowers played vibrantly from her dented and taped boom box and instantly grated on her nerves. Coke cans and Oreo crumbs littered her mother’s silver-flecked formica dining table; what Phoebe recognized as pages-thick advanced chemistry exams along with his rumpled test key covered stains, and by association-memories. Of course he’d set up right where she and Shana normally studied the most. Phoebe tossed a can into the kitchen sink, then another with satisfaction. He’d be up most of the night if he planned on finishing, she thought and heard the shower’s signature pipe rumble as if in agreement. “I’m ordering pizza!”, she yelled through the frosted pane of the bathroom door and stood transfixed as he turned the water off and stepped easily out of the tub. He knows damn well I can see him. Doyle stretched a towel between his hands and slowly sawed it back and forth on his backside. “Russo’s? Will you get onions and mushrooms on half? Sorry about the music, didn’t think you’d be home for a while yet”, he called. Barone’s was right around the corner, but Phoebe thought she could be a little flexible this once. She turned the music off with a shake of her head. Who, other than Shana, listened to The Nutcracker in May? “Please bring a 2-liter of Coke, too” she told the chill voice on the phone. Loose sweat pants and a high school track sweatshirt fraying at the cuffs and neck signaled a trickle of inspirational flow in her mind, the issue of Victor’s responsibility to his creation tugged at a thread of an idea, but it broke, again. Essays required her flavor, but for an “A” they required fresh blood, a profound realization. Professors got off on student’s epiphanies, the more vulnerable the better, unless it crossed into uncomfortable territory and kept going, as she’d mistakenly done only once. Did she have a responsibility to Shana? If so, she’d failed entirely. Phoebe caught her light blue eyes at the moment they turned golden in a star-shaped mirror swinging on a strand of wooden beads in a breeze from nowhere. Shana had held her steady on a wobbly barstool when she hung the mirror, her Christmas gift, from a rusty nail head. She’d called her a star, her very own true north. Am I a monster? Phoebe remembered waves of possessiveness and rejection she was ashamed of when Shana started dating Doyle, similar to the creature’s envy when he spied Dr. Frankenstein with his new wife through the window, the two happy and laughing with no care for him. Her stomach growled in time with a single hard knock. A couple notes to help her pick up this thread of self-reproach and, simultaneously, restrict her personal revelations on the page. Her eyes changed more often when Doyle was near, the only “trigger” she’d figured out, so far. Phoebe stuck her head out from behind a paneled screen painted with golden and bronze wild mustangs in full gallop and smiled at the delivery person before she stuck her tongue out at Doyle’s back. Although they’d settled quickly into a routine, both taking refuge in their schedules, she hated him living here, in her and Shana’s loft. It was perverse, but she reminded herself it was temporary several times a day. Clearly unamused, the pony-tailed teen rolled her eyes at Phoebe then smiled extra wide when Doyle handed her a five. “Have a good one, Dude”, he said distractedly as he flung the door closed and she was forced to step back. At least he was also pressured by finals. “Put it over there on the coffee table”. Phoebe waved at Doyle with a pack of doubly thick paper plates he’d bought when he got her cheerios, bananas and milk before her discharge, his first act as her “guardian”. He’d confessed he hated washing dishes, to which Phoebe gave him no reply. After a couple days, he’d mostly given up talking to her, except when he woke her from night terrors. Phoebe was lost in thought when he cleared his throat. “You can run it past me if you want, your essay. I’ve got a load of papers to correct, but I can’t go back to that right now. I’ll have just as many after tomorrow morning’s exam. Please. You’d be doing me a favor, which might work against me, but if it would help… up to you”, he ended with a shrug. Emotionless, she stared through Doyle, as she’d done dozens of times over the past two weeks. When she looked at him she always thought the same thing, but if she killed him, she’d never write the essay, never receive a final grade for the single class she didn’t drop. Desperate for another viewpoint, she reconsidered her tact and surprised him. “Any thoughts on Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein? I’m thinking about the doctor’s responsibility to the creature, to his creation” Phoebe wrestled a piece of pizza crust with her back teeth as she forced her eyes to focus on the man who might be responsible for her best friend’s death. “One of the saddest books ever. God, I hated the end. Lemme think. Oh yeah, freshman paper on Mary and Percy toward the end of the semester, so depressing. I cast him as a predatory type and her as a literary genius. Don’t some people believe they were cursed? I think a lot of my classmates took that angle.” He wasn’t an English major, Phoebe reminded herself, but he thought in an orderly, and linear fashion, suited for science. “Yeah, I don’t give a shit about Percy. This essay is about Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, in other words-the subtitle’s inference” Phoebe watched Doyle turn Prometheus over in his mind, his hooded eyes slanted away from her and to the ceiling, brows flattened. “Well… what do you have so far? You’re saying Prometheus or Frankenstein’s ambition is the crux your thesis? I can’t remember how he… wait, ok, he was chained and pecked to death by a bird every day, a punishment from Zeus, right? How does that fit?” Phoebe let the question hang in the air for a moment as if she considered what he’d said, when in actuality she pictured Doyle chained to a mountain top, vultures feasting as other flew away with his entrails. Her breath quickened. “Yeah, for stealing fire and giving it to humanity. He over-reached, changed man’s fate. I propose Mary Shelley likened Prometheus to scientific experimentation with unintended consequences. At least that’s what my interpretation is right now.” She had to admit the pizza was better than Barone’s. As she wrapped cheese around her finger, Doyle rose and wandered barefoot over to a narrow window, dusky light . He ran one long-fingered hand through his still-wet blonde mane and let out a loud sigh. “Is that supposed to be directed at me?” His voice let Phoebe know she’d hit her intended target, but she didn’t expect him to hurl the little jade plant he’d given her when they first met against the brick wall behind her with surprising ferocity. Shards of green pottery landed in her hair, but stopped short of the pizza, thank goodness. Phoebe rose quickly, more than a little afraid, but even more angry at this person who had the audacity to insinuate himself into her life after he helped her best friend, her soul sister, self-destruct. Doyle realized his mistake when Phoebe’s eyes changed from blue to golden elliptical-shaped viper eyes, and with a gaze, lifted all two hundred pounds of him quickly until a beam on the loft’s ceiling cut into his back. He froze, suddenly afraid his struggles would plummet him to the hardwood below. “Let me down, Phoebe! I’m sorry; I swear it won’t happen again!” “No, it won’t.” She struggled to hide her shock at this ability, intent on keeping control now that she had it. “You almost had me fooled, you fucker.” Her face twisted with grief as she remembered what this man took from her, took from them. Doyle groaned loudly and doubled over on the ceiling. A voice inside cautioned Phoebe, but a different instinct took over as she envisioned her viper self ‘s hinged jaws take a bite from his center, right below the belly button. No thought existed for her when she entered his thoracic cavity. As the golden viper Doyle knew was Phoebe coiled inside him, it flicked it’s forked tongue like a whip and cut tiny slices in the tissues between his ribs. She slowed within his body and felt his wildly erratic heart call to her from behind a lung. He screamed as her flat head pushed hard against the pinkish lung and pinned it aside. “Noooo, Phoebe, Pleeeee…” his gasp ended, the pain a sudden suffocating blanket of dark mercy he mistook for Death. Kazmir could not be happier with his quick transformation of the girl.

The Merkaba is 2 tetrahedrons resembling a soul’s light body

By the time Phoebe returned from the library with the name of the rock (Caucasus Mountains, likely Mount Elbrus) Prometheus had been chained to, she’d also come up with a solution to the problem of Doyle Regan. His entrails and organs were intact when he awoke on Shana’s bed behind a screen painted with a gloriously colorful garden, complete with birds, bees, a copper fox and Monarch butterflies. The viper was gone and Phoebe’s eyes were blue and intent as she watched him warily. He’d been having nightmares since Shana hung herself, but nothing had prepared him for the experience they’d had earlier. “There’s another one… another version of Frankenstein. Mel Brook’s Young Frankenstein gave me an idea.” Doyle felt odd. Slowly he rolled over and put his feet on the floor. Phoebe put two frames and Shana’s fairy cards in a copy paper box she’d also gotten at the library. Doyle sprang up and ran toward the bathroom as three slices of pizza ejected from his roiling belly not only in the open toilet, but all over it. Ten minutes later he still dry-heaved into the bowl, face red as tears and snot flowed. Phoebe handed him a cold wet wash cloth, one of the thick white ones she’d given Shana for Christmas. “Don’t worry, Doyle. I’ll take care of you. And you will take care of me.” His stomach suddenly calmed. He wasn’t sure if he felt afraid or just very sick. “Here you go”, Phoebe handed him a dainty tea cup, “I know you said you didn’t like tea before, but this is like a tonic, a little medicine to help you go along. You see… you are going to be MY Igor. Now, sip it ’cause it’s really hot”. The sweet tea did seem to soothe his nerves and slow down his anxious heart. “What is it?” Phoebe smiled at him placatingly before she slapped him satisfyingly hard, like she’d wanted to for quite some time. “Don’t worry about it. You should get back to those exams, and I have an essay to write. In a couple of hours I want you to help me pack up some of Shana’s things and we’ll move her screen. Then you can have her bed for the rest of the summer.” He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t feel like arguing with her, of that he was certain. An hour later Phoebe wandered over to the window as Doyle sat at her mother’s formica table and corrected chemistry exams as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Phoebe’s essay flowed like a spring creek on a sunny day.

Alt Journey-Atonement

Posted on by K.S. Schultz

Part 9

Free stock image
Ouroboros and the All-Seeing Eye

Sha’s trite confession hung in the air and multi-hued stars holding space for her form recessed into inky shame she’d secreted away in a secured heart chamber. An imaginative 11 year old constructed an almost impenetrable locked space for memories incomprehensible to her young spirit-beginning with a plastic picnic table stained with blood not her own, her father’s voice bitching about Bertie’s fee while she yelled he would pay or she’d call the cops on his perverted ass. He said she could at least knock 10 bucks off for disposal; the girl would bury it herself. A single snake stirred from her soul’s essence and slithered out from between her legs. A hiss boasted of soul ownership, “She belongs to meeee. Master Nidhug promised me the next light being turned murderesss.”

Saint Joan materialized between Sha’s essence and Nidhug’s Collector serpent, who grew fatter by the second with smugness as his potential mate refused to lay her soul bare. His forked tongue tried to move around her to kiss its’ prize. Joan’s copper form swirled, flames of orange and blue green ignited in her center as she whispered, “You have no claim”, and deflected it’s aim with holy fire. Mary the Maiden, still connected to Sha with thorny vines, pulsed sacred light energy toward her form. “She will bear me thousands. You cannot shield a murderesss without sacrificesss.” Archangel Auriel’s wings beat furiously and emitted ten phosphorescent orbs which floated into place around the Divine Sister circle then raised it above the temple, through Archangel Haniel’s opened wing, it’s feathers of silver fluff a blessed tickle on the serpent’s underbelly as it followed. Sha heard her parent’s dealer, “Tell ‘im it’s uncut, Baby, a lil’ thanks for taking care of your situation”, and felt familiar disgust swell in her locked heart chamber as she envisioned his gold-toothed grin and felt his filthy hand pat her aching belly under her mother’s Coca-Cola t-shirt. Blood had run down one of her legs in a rapid trickle and stained her new Converse high tops as she returned to her parents at the condemned flop house that was her nightmare. The circle hummed with combined harmonies from Mary the Maid, Saint Teresa, Saint Brigid, and Archangel Auriel. As the serpent coiled and snapped its’ jaws in irritation they sang, “I am loved, I am forgiven, I am whole, I am healed” in lilting and low voices layered onto Sha like silky warm blankets around her shoulders and over her head. Meanwhile, her form’s legs, one white and one black, fused together in a single grey slimy appendage as Sha’s stubborn unwillingness divided her soul between Nidhug’s guilt and Divine acceptance-her birthright. “She called me a baby killer and he made me bury it in the alley”, Sha sobbed as her form steadfastly gripped a memory of her human self as a girl knelt over a hump in gravel, blood and dirt under her fingernails. She further devolved into a grey serpent and the Collector hissed in happy anticipation of its’ progeny of snakelets in Nidhug’s pit below the Tree of Life on earth. They will eat her roots faster than she grows them, he fantasized. Archangel Haniel enveloped the circle of Saints and angelic belonging, Sha’s soul in it’s center. Haniel’s impenetrable massive wings of protection closed the Collector outside and infused the space inside with El’s loving Sun energy. Darkness often celebrated prematurely. Sha’s essence stated plainly, “I wanted them to die. I hated them.” Her skull painfully changed into a Dragon’s head and circled around to swallow her own scaly tail.

In childhood, the injuries to her soul could’ve been healed enough for an allowance of her and Phoebe’s soul contract, but none of Shana’s helper humans knew. She’d almost told her first counselor, Holly, a no-nonsense Grandmother who hugged her at the end of sessions and said it was a shame her parents didn’t teach her Spanish. But, Holly moved to Sedona after only three months of therapy, and Shana vowed to never reveal what was an even bigger shame. Instead, she excelled in school and resolutely did her best to appear “normal” and happy living with Phoebe and her Mom. And she was happy quite often, as long as she didn’t allow herself to think about, let alone emotionally process her rape, abortion by Bertie, and her parents’ betrayals and overdoses. How would a twelve, or sixteen, or twenty-year-old even begin to heal from that? In reality, almost everyone preferred to believe that whatever horrors she survived at other human’s hands were in the past, hurdles she’d jumped with ease thanks to the solicitous care she received. Until she met Doyle, who sensed she was not nearly as contained and content as she looked at first meeting and set out to pry her open for a closer look inside.

Classic, vintage engraving of Joan of Arc in battle. She is a symbol of beauty, strength, feminism. This authentic engraving shows its age in style and slight grunge. Published in 1840 it is now in the public domain. Digital restoration by Steven Wynn Photography.
1840 Engraving of Joan of Arc

Saint Joan let out a warrior cry born of her earthly mission at Orleans, France, when she helped restore the earth’s balance of power with Archangel Michael’s, Archangel Margaret’s, and Archangel Catherine’s help. Sha felt Joan’s tremendous faith surround her serpent/dragon form with motivational wisdom as she devoured her own shadow essence. Round and round the Saintly circle, their song grew deeper, resounding clashes and thunderous groans echoed throughout the universe as Sha released lies about her own culpability and accepted unconditional love on offer to staunch a flow of exposed agony. Fully dragon, Sha’s soul embraced herself as a survivor and fire from her nostrils blazed across the ethereal realms. In the same instant, Nidhug’s Collector returned to his place in the pit below the tree to wait for his murderess bride. Perhaps her Anam Chara, her soul friend, if Kazmir’s boasts proved true.

Sunrise on an island

Phoebe screamed as a snake swallowed her feet and ominously advanced up her legs, each movement accompanied by a loud crunch she felt as well as heard. “Wake up, Phoebe. It’s ok, I’m here.” Awakened for the third night in a row, Doyle wondered if her release from the hospital was a mistake as he called out to her from a futon in the open-concept loft she shared with Shana, or rather Shana’s ghost. The first night she’d gifted him a black eye when he shook her awake, an intrigue for his advanced psych seminar students who all knew about Shana’s suicide. “Ahhhhh!” Phoebe howled as the snake swallowed the rest of her alive and said, “Since she’sss not here, you will have to do.” Inside, it continued to squeeze and break the bones in her face until she heard her skull crack loudly and the snake, then tremble excitedly in enjoyment of its’ meal.