The Year of the Snake

I accept that my latest layers will be raw, and tender to the touch. This essay isn’t about the weight— of the worn-down cage that once fit like a second skin. No, this is the essay about the mystical rebirth, after sheddings of self… About the year of ego death, the shadow’s work, exorcisms, and the cards that foretold.

About that snake refusing death, couldn’t risk the rot in being left unchanged. Left behind a molt-mess, so grim a sight— shook the horse to its core. A prophetic message: You can’t outrun your ugly. And with that warning the horse took off, flying anyways. 

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