Venusian Shadow

There are things I wish I could change. I wish I could change my past, my hurt, my suffering. I wish I could change my smile, the way I laugh, the way I frown. To change my ego, my psyche and the way I think. To change: is it always good? The things I wish I could change have been chiseled into the fine marble of who I am. The things I can are what I haven’t released.

I thought for a long time that if I could go back in time and change one thing, a butterfly’s fluttering wing, that everything would be okay. That I would be okay. That these things, these notions, these mannerisms, will evaporate and become the water in someone else’s cup to drink. But this cup is an Ocean, and as much as the scorching Sun beats down on the salty glaze of my surface, my depths remain hidden from its luminous gaze. Or is it like Ra, whose chariot races across Egyptian sands, stealing Life from land, but the dessert remains mysterious in its unyielding efforts to build a hidden Oasis? I think both do my delusions justice.

Maybe it’s my Taurian nature fixed on the wrong thing. Maybe there’s a smudge in the focal lens, or my blinders are on backwards. Maybe it’s in my head, which rings with the mistakes I think I’ve made but are in fact the follies of another. Maybe I should think about something else. Anything else. Someone change my mind. There’s a light bulb somewhere around here.

Maybe it’s my Heart. Or my Soul. Both mischievously conspire against my Mind to make me think I’ve gone mad. Too much thought is like Mercury poisoning, but what is too much Heart and Soul? If you were to ask Shakespeare, he would say an Angel, but even the Devil sat in Paradise before his descent. Questions only the Great Alchemist could know, and I have yet learned to transmute the fundamental of water to air.

Maybe it’s Love. Oh, Love. The Source, my enemy, since I have abandoned you I have not been the same. The same that kissed your hand and caressed your face. That looked into the windows to the Stars and saw the Heavens of where we were birthed. The same skin, the primordial flesh, that danced against mine when we said each others names. Here it is not the same, and that I wish I could change.

Change. This is the reflection of the past, and directed through the smoke and mirrors can kindle the flames of Progression. Yet, I have been too blind to stare back at the person I am meant to become.

That can change.

It must change.