I still hold formal conferences with the ghosts inside my head. They convincingly argue that I would be lost without them. We are divided by my need to evolve, which would not be possible without their definite dismissal. But I am so completely defined by the rituals performed during the twilight hours, with them by my side. In between softly sung chants, I tell myself it is better to never touch the heights of success. It is better to remain lost in the thickets of despair. Because if I am above ground, if I find that I take flight, not a one can guarantee that I will not eventually fall.
Desire hangs heavy in the air, obscuring a scattering of stars. Not my own desire. Someone wants me close. Mother told me that when she was still in the womb, grandfather heard her weep. This was a sign that she would develop the ability to prophesy. And because she is in possession of the gift of prescience, it was passed on to me. I am skeptical, as much as I need to be. Yet, something inside me speaks, and says I will meet a man during my Victim’s Assistance Training, despite the program attracting more women.
It is never the same, we notice, after an eventful full moon. We have trouble believing we will adapt to the changes, though it happens quite naturally. Then comes another full moon, bringing in just as many new developments. Again, we meet these with resistance. We are a stupid lot, spinning in invisible wheels.