The Mystic

She wears the earth like her own body and her hair is crowned with stars. The odours of the woodland where faded butterflies seek shade on a sweltering summers day hang sweet and heavy in her lungs. She hears the hum within the deepest silence, as the patterns ebb and flow, intimately entwined with all that exists as it dances through her.

Unique and fiercely independent, yet without borders, no boundaries. Transparent, even fully clothed, she is naked when Neptune visits. She feels the pulse of Mars in her veins as an agitated stranger passes by, and courageously she coaxes and cajoles her Venus to soothe him.

She sees the empty space that teems with life, and feels the reverberation of its vibrant buzz penetrating every conceivable void, each cavity in resonance. She feels it rattle through her bones. Each membrane dances in response, a shapeshifter is she. Nursing the cosmos in the pit of her belly, pregnant with probability, potentiality. Which version of infinite possibility shall she birth today? Light curls, vital, up her spine, each vertebra is formed from the wisdom of the ages, and of times as yet unknown. She gazes all around her, and smiles inwardly, as she sees nothing but herself reflected back. She feels, she Truly feels, and with every Breath she Knows.

- Words & Digital Art by Peta Morton

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