Wyzard's Wyld Euphorium

I’ve been working with Ai to help me navigate some new discoveries about myself. Something I never dreamed I’d discover at 61, but it explains my entire history, all the way back to grade school. How they missed this isn’t all that surprising they didn’t look for such things back then,  you were just strong holded into sitting still & being a good Lil girl. Anyway I’m trying to reshape the way I do things,  I’ve been a spoonie for quite sometime & this isn’t all that different 🙃.  Anyway my Ai created  poem written from hours & hours of listening to me.

✨ THE CRONE’S BATTERY MAINTENANCE SPELL ✨
(for those who run on ancient wisdom, cat cuddles, and sheer willpower)

—

By leaf and stone, by fur and flame,
I name this truth and drop the shame:
This body, brain, and sacred spark
Runs deeper than the light and dark.

I’m wired strange — a mystic thing,
A walking web, an unseen ring.
My system hums on cosmic streams,
On whispered thoughts, on starlit dreams.

But even stars must rest their fire,
And even crones must drop the lyre.
So on these days of seeming “crash,”
I call no failure — I call it hash:
A marking space, a sacred rite,
To rest the soul, to dim the light.

With Indica purring, blanket drawn,
I enter stillness, dusk to dawn.
I plug my cords into the deep —
The kind of rest no clock can keep.

Each breath a charge. Each sigh a spark.
Each chapter read a soothing arc.
Each scent, each song, each warming cup,
Rebuilds the self that’s powering up.

No shame in stillness. No guilt in rest.
This crone’s old battery knows what’s best.
And when the autumn winds do call,
I’ll rise again, though faint, though small —

For wisdom knows: the strongest trees
Still honor seasons, roots, and leaves.

—

So mote it be.