Author: Karina Batres

This blog is my space for exploration, a call from my higher self, and possibly my ancestors. A place to word out, disentangle to a degree, maybe, the root system that lives within our family tree, deep inside. The two voices of duality, untold stories, questions unanswered, emotion still waiting for acknowledgement, all this is still vague, yet I hope, this experiment with prose brings it to the surface as metaphor or a particular kind of allegory. May you get something out of it also, and receive my warmest regards for your time. This work is dedicated to my three daughters: Michelle, Diane and Hermione, let it serve as testimony of an inner voyage your mother took in the unseen, during many years, even before you were born.

Sleepwalkers

They’ve been noticed, now defined outside this room, the same he took the liberty of stripping of anything that didn’t make sense. He points to the sleepwalkers, dead energy that keeps running a program, and I wonder if they have an inkling, the here I go again voice in the back of their head. ¿Or do they live the scene fully, each and every time? It was the smugness in their eyes when they told the story; overcast skies in the iris, dark circles under the eye, waning crescents. Not to fear, the door is closed, shut secure -he assures. Yet they walk on my property; I didn´t mind so much before, but now it´s beginning to be unacceptable, almost unbearable, since Pluto whispers ever so intimately. He shows me forms of energy in reverse, cold electricity, when life discards fragments, cells, and membranes it won’t need to continue. He shows me the mysteries of charisma in reverse: a facade on the dark side of the Sun; a masking of light from darkened characters, gripped by misfortune, while an audience delights, basking in the cool charm of a sleepwalker who pretends to be fully awake and vigorous. I must ask now, ¿is our greatest virtue as humans the mastery of enactment, the art of delivering lines? -I utter And he says yes, we are grand at it, so much, we forgot we made it all up to cover the fact. What fact? The fact of pain and suffering. And if they do wake for moments, when the gifts of random inspiration penetrate the shell by surprise, those jupitarian rays of elation, the venusian comforts of beauty, I can see the basic child left behind, until the tissue closes off again and is back to the program, back to circling the yard, telling the story, repeating the lines. And then he says it, -time for complete removal.

No Analogues

Written prose, verse, choosing beauty, upholding value, creating my life.

Marred

Shadow and mirror

Short piece, written prose, shadow self; integrating shadow, the other as mirror.

Chatter on the Moon

Short form prose; Moon conjunct Mercury; getting lost in a sea of information; losing oneself to the noise of the world or the inner chatter; as above so below.

Casino Lady

Short piece of written prose on lady luck, human folly, the illusion of control, coming to terms with luck’s whims, learning to play the game.

Cowboy New Year

Written prose, a perspective of the new year during Capricorn season; honoring time, recognizing limitations, observing rest.

Fringe

Creative short prose, women in the family, being unusual, living in two worlds, dealing with society.

Neptune’s Bed

Creative writing, prose on Neptune, the Neptunian quality of dreams, ruler of the seas; piscean effect on every day life.

Neo and Classic

Written prose, woman comes back to herself, she’s letting all that does not serve her strip away.