Tehran.
Somebody told me: “Oil is raining on Tehran”. The war was driving me crazy, the television flashes and black and white explosions over and over and the broken gray concrete and rebar and chards of glass and scraps of clothing. Somebody said: “What about the cats and dogs?” I’d been doom scrolling for days as the Middle East caught fire again and I felt sick so I took a toke turned on Clapton and sweet relief flowed through my body and I came back to reality. I got off the couch to see if the Snow Drops I planted in late Autumn at the base of the huge Hemlock tree outside my front door had come yet. But not yet. And I turned to look at Point Mountain to see if there was a first blush but not yet either and I turned to my dwindling wood pile and carried four logs inside. The feeling was overwhelming. I needed the Goddess. Over these past days my energy was drained and sucked from me by the doom scrolling and I tasted blood and bone and burning steel and rubb...