Dearest,

A new day brings an old poem. I was thumbing through an old journal and found this piece I wrote in June of 2022.

xoxo,
Amanda

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June 2022

But How to Survive the Apocalypse?

Hustle
Hustle
Hustle
Gd be with me
while I usher
herein the new world,
a crumbling pillar

while we change our gods
and lose our focus,
lose our anchor.
What to do with dumbed-down
waterfalls,
kill the parasites,
but how?
A religious institution
without righteousness
is like a stone
with no thrower.

How to conquer demons
without any inner strength?
How to climb up Jacob’s Ladder
or decode Kemetic ways?
How to commune with nature
without a book or pagan priest?

Who shall teach me but the spirit?
Flaming tongues above my head,
I plead:
Wherever for art thou
freedom, hope and love?

For those who love their 
lives must lose it,
as if I could ever judge
sitting beneath the mimosa tree,
dreaming while I dance and sway.
A saturated sunrise
reflecting, ah yes, the philosopher’s stone.

I am reading the Zohar,
and I am free to laugh and play,
praying for knowledge of the future,
while I stay in just today.

What of World War III that’s looming?
How do we prepare for
2024, 25, 26, 27?
These specific dates, so tiny, so booming
some historic uptick in consciousness,
while so many healers are healing
and releasers, releasing.

If I could savor this very moment,
flowers strewn about my bed,
sick beats flow from my iPhone,
I am not alone.

I saw a shirt that said, 
”Good vibes only,”
like a child, yet uncorrupt.
There is none who does good,
all for glory and honor.
For on the day that Israel died,
I gave my all to the Divine.

Sometimes I miss crying,
waves of emotions,
holy water, cleansing tides,
like I know anything
about toxicity or degradation,
why I’m here, like my hands are people,
self-winnowing - is that why I am here?
to enjoy the sunset
dogs doing laps around the courtyard,
so this is like a shakedown,
finding peace with roots in the ground.