I hear my baby wailing. He's not, but I hear him anyway. My sensory apparatus has been rewired, my nervous system forever at the ready to respond on a dime. What if he cried, I am autonomically reminded. Wouldn't that be awful. Yes, it would.

A little later I hear my child moan again, and this time it's real. We night-weaned a month ago; I hoped he would start sleeping through the night, but the joke is on me. My boy needs his back rubbed, needs me to sing low, needs me to whisper, "Mama is here for you." With the solidity and warmth of my body next to his, the tossing and grumbling can lapse back into sleep instead of escalating to hysteria. (Usually...)

As @umbersorrow wrote:

memories of old lovers grow hazy, like fractured recollections of dreams, and about as real, dreams are being lost, details of my childhood i thought i might never lose, still i make milk, comfort little bodies, this autumn is a particularly beautiful one

The labor of early motherhood is taxing, yes, and inestimably sweet.

Photos by Louis Fleckenstein, early 20th century; left + right.

The word "divination" — fortune-telling, scrying, prophecy — has an obvious relationship to the word "divine." Both stem from the Proto Indo-European root *dyeu-, "meaning 'to shine,' in derivatives 'sky, heaven, god.'"

Seeking to determine the future usurps the place of God, the One unbound by linear time who knows all that has happened, is happening, and will ever happen. So I turn away from the Serpent who coaxes this hubris. But! It is permissible to fumble for the wisdom buried in one's own psyche — perhaps touching the holy spark that animates each human spirit, fingertips brushing gold. To shine.

Point being: I wanted to create some spooky art in the lead-up to Halloween (this did not happen) and planned to use the Tarot to help spark ideas. I drew the Ten of Pentacles, a card that signifies wealth, material security, satisfaction, and a solid legacy. That made me sit back on my proverbial heels. Not so spooky, eh?

I think Tarot readings are best viewed as provocation — "Have you considered... ?" Regardless of whether divination is a good idea, I don't believe the cards can predict the future. Tarot prompts your intuition to interpret the present, and sometimes that indicates what will happen next. The cards are a conduit for the actual magic wrought by human verve. (Distinction without a difference?)

Anyway. I've been struggling to make art due to the commitments of motherhood, as I discussed recently. Honestly I've felt stymied since before then, even before I got pregnant. For years.

The Ten of Pentacles confronts me with: perhaps you are simply content and contentment saps your creative drive. "Too much of a good thing," eh? What if I am so happy that I don't have much to say?

Insofar as I do have anything to say, it is because I am dissatisfied with myself.

On the other hand, motherhood itself is creative. I mean, of course it is. I am shaping who my son will become. Cope, but that doesn't mean it isn't true.

Maybe I am already rich beyond measure.

And yet. I grapple with my longing for performance, for status and recognition. I've always loved being seen and heard. Craved it.

For ages I've had this idea for a project, maybe a zine, that I've never pursued: every section starts with "I've always," then I launch into something. I've always had a lot of material for that concept, but I've never felt it was worth pursuing seriously. Am I interesting enough, really? Really really?

Maybe the right time hasn't arrived.

I can't remember whether I picked a "word of the year" in January. Doesn't matter. If I did, I'm supplanting it now, at the eleventh hour. My word for 2024 is fluid. That'll be my 2025 word too.

What do I have in common with the light-haired little boy from Rukina Quarter? A memory? But the longer I live, the more my reminiscences seem like an invention. I am ceasing to believe them and they thus lack the power to link me to those people who were me at various times. Life resembles a mosaic that scatters into pieces.

— Laurus by Eugene Vodolazkin, translated by Lisa C. Hayden

From moi:

  • "h(AI)gher: AI-led DAOs are what Santa is bringing the accelerationists for Christmas." Crypto-related, in case that isn't obvious.
  • "Higher Together" — conversation with Chic Bangs on her podcast Higher FM, about paths to individual and collective flourishing.

Everybody else:

Balenciaga became a form of vore porn, eroticizing its consumption of stars, symbols and subcultures. People enjoyed watching things become Balenciagafied, fetishizing the way in which the brand swallows up ideas and reproduces them.

Enough is enough, and that's enough for today.

As always, I'd appreciate if you hit reply and tell me about you and your doings.

😘🦇👒 Sonya