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To sum up where we are at this point, I just found out that the one person I would like to talk to about what's going on with me right now died two years ago.
soundtrack:
That song's not for Debbi. I am not sure H&O had enough kapow for her.
next up:
Again, not for Debbi. But that is a song that helps me stay in flow.
I'm pulling a warm bath in the cosmic slipstream. Soundtrack: Sundown/Gordon Lightfoot. Ahhhhhh. #Peace
Here's the thing. From where I sit, Debbi wasn't an astrologer. She was a poet and she used astrology to "archetyze" her ideas and give them structure.
For me personally, Debbi (and the book) was the big sister I needed but just didn't have in my life.
If nothing else, for one thing. My family sure as hell did not see what was in the Pulp Fiction briefcase. And I think Debbi did.
Part of this isn't clear yet. There's some relationship between words' meaning that I visualize like droplets hitting water. It's like there is some structure where the center of the droplet is the objective/core truth of the word, but the ripple that goes out is still true.
it's a work in progress
I didn't read Debbi's book as a teenager - I devoured it. I memorized it. I liked going back and running through passages where her language and imagery was so, so vivid.
I don't know if I've mentioned in this thread that part of me is out levitating in an infinitely vibrating OM chamber. Yeah, it's like that.
