You Are Not a Microwave: a love letter to magickal creatures

Dearest Moon Baby,

You are not a microwave.

You are not an automated interface.

You are not a system to be hacked and optimized.

You are not a pill of concentrated productivity potential to be extracted.

You are not a wedge of time to be surgically segmented and shrink wrapped.

Neither are you an anxious upright cucumber stuffed with wiggling neurosis.

You are not a sinner to be hijacked by faceless shouts.

Or a psyche to be sold...

Or a product to be scrapped and shuttled to an algorithmic pinball machine in the cloud.

You are not a problem to be fixed.

You are a constellation of many eyes with which to feel many truths.

You are a flaming heart with the elasticity to swallow the world.

You are a Mystery Bag of perceptions, a treasure chest of bottlecaps and pony beads.

You are a nap in the sun.

You are a not-so-distant-cousin of jellyfish, giant sequoia trees and selenite caves.

You are a web of fungi that speaks to itself from the future past.

You are sphinx full of riddles and laughing medicine.

You are an alembic of golden sludge birthing a ribbony ruby dragon.

You are the legacy of healers, makers, gardeners, storytellers, and responsible pet owners.

You are a friend of plants and creator of new dimensions.

You are a challenging beast of wild desire, simple pleasure and lofty ideas.

You are a cordless agent of spontaneous insight and perfumed skin.

You are the genie of tomorrow, dreaming fresh wishes in the Mariana Trench.

You are a child fed by a patient rock and a burning star.

You are a cathedral nave fostering our collective Imagination.

You are a messy sparrow-sandaled threat to apathy.

You are an ancestor in the making and the misty woods they haunt.

You are a genius wizard who accidentally sneezes inspired inventions

You are these things and much more.

So much more.

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