“Nobody joins a cult. They join a good thing, and then they’ve got a problem.”

I can’t remember which book I took this from. It’s meant to be sarcastic and funny, but it does point to how challenging it is to see the shape of things from the inside. Perhaps that’s why it took me days to realise the piercing quality of my words to you, until I stepped a few paces away and looked again.

I don’t know if it was something I dreamt, but this morning I woke with your tune reverberating in my head, as though it were being played from a phone—a ringtone I had set specially for you. You won’t get to hear it, of course. It only plays for me when you call. I won’t get to hear it play, of course, you never call. It’s the warmth of a sunrise bringing relief to skin grazed by icy wind—blockish, traumatic.

The tune is uplifting and romantic, like a crystal violin plunging through a long stint in darkness and bitter cold with prismatic first light. It plays in my head again and again, nudging me from sleep, epiphanic, with a recollection of when my back was turned from melancholy and towards a crisp spring morning, expectant of the first growth spurt and a kiss. It is the revitaliser in green tea—lemony, grassy, sweet. It’s the warmth in your arms as a second sunrise.

I can’t go back to sleep now so I’m having breakfast seated on the heated floor. There’s Greek yoghurt, cherries and a thermos of freshly-brewed Sakura green tea. That will have to do for now.

Until the next sunrise,

Your cosmic mate

Master,

Last night I had a dream of you. I’ve had several over the last few weeks that weren’t much to write about—one was a continuation of the underwater home dream in which the water has finally receded—but last night’s was hilarious.

My sister and mother walked into my new apartment, all excited about my upcoming solemnisation at City Hall. One suggested I put on a tiara, another something for my nails. I then remembered that, as a joke, I had registered for our civil wedding many moons ago and had forgotten to cancel it. You were aware of this, though I wasn’t sure you remembered that today was the day.

As I couldn’t reach you by phone, I left you a voice message saying that I’d have it cancelled, and if I couldn’t, I would attend the party anyway.

What party, you ask?

Well, it was a party the government throws for newly wedded couples, for free, to encourage “coupling”. They had given us a house as the venue and paid for the catering, party decorations, etc.

I was there with my family—and a 33-year-old French dude who was purportedly a family friend—I don’t know said dude in real life. We spent a great deal of time conversing and bonding in French; so close were we that our body language betrayed how we really felt. It looked like I was cosying up to the man when I felt the metaphorical heat of an angry stare.

It was you.

I didn’t expect you to come, let alone be that incensed. Indeed, you were so volcanic that you threw up. Apologising, I accompanied you to the public bath so you could clean up, assuring you that I’d tell the guy to go away.

In the bathroom, some people were waiting to give you a massage, like in a Turkish hammam. I threatened to cause grievous hurt if you came to any harm, before leaving you in their care. You were doubtful about the whole thing but went in anyway, putting trust in people who only meant to make you feel better.

That’s it. I hope you woke up refreshed and re-engineered, sturdy in the grounding of my unwavering affection for you.

All my love,

Your soulmate

Master,

The 30th day of Sagittarius brings us a note of caution amid our celebrations. The end of the year is the finest time for reflection: enumerating our favours from the past few months and planning obliquely for the twelve ahead. By the end of the first new quarter, many of us will have forgotten our resolutions and will simply be winging the rest. Like all other years, many returns will be unexpected—some good, some traumatic—but all tales shared around a marshmallow-roasting bonfire bring feelings of warmth, mutual growth and chumminess.

In the dream world, some children came to their grandparents asking for drinks to take to a party. The children wanted an adult-free gathering, while the grandparents assumed the request was made on behalf of the adults. Unknowingly, they were given unlabelled boxes of juice containing a significant amount of alcohol. Luckily, the children knew better than to consume drinks that tasted and smelled odd. The adults, deprived of their liquid courage, behaved only marginally better. In that regard, we could say the children were raised well. They had a fabulous, giggly time with nothing more than the free use of their imaginations. Nobody should have to grow up building steely, artificial barriers as directed.

We are reminded to take heed—to remember a time before we lost our innocence and became insufferable; to inform ourselves properly before acting in a state of celebrated exhaustion. Like: please end the year properly this time. Parties only feel like parties with like-minded individuals. Introverts need shelter from parties, not more invitations. As for me, you know I would rather be snug in your arms.

This is my final letter for Sagittarius, and 2025. I hope each of my letters was—and will be—read like a birthday present, as was the intention. Until my next letter in the new year, many happy returns for the upcoming holidays.

May the long-awaited promises of 2025 arrive with a congratulatory note before the end: that we be brought closer together in the spirit of humanity and love; that we grow wiser through our experiences, our dreams, and our books; that we task the world with celebrating differences and coming together in friendship; that we be judicious in distinguishing true friends from foes, and astute in ensuring there is more good than harm in our footsteps; that we have the courage and strength to maintain peace; that we be gifted generosity, mercy, and compassion more often than called upon to practise them; that we receive blessings and glad tidings from where we least expect them; that we never act unfairly, unjustly, or carelessly—even towards ourselves; that promises made to us, and by us, be honoured, especially where reliance upon them has altered behaviour and expectation; and that the surrender of obsessive control proves to be the best thing we could have done.

As always, with love and affection, until such time as the universe brings us together,

Your eternal mate

Master,

On the 29th day of Sagittarius, the dream world brought us the value of experience.

I was walking down a path beside a woodland area when a group of girls came flouncing towards me, caught up in excited chatter. They were recounting to one another what they loved about their short 10km train ride from the last station: a mid-luxurious railway carriage with plush velvet seating, wood-panelled personal cabins, but was otherwise plain.

The train had large pull-down windows that opened onto a view of snowy mountains. Only one of the girls looked unhappy. When asked why, she lamented that her camera had malfunctioned at the very moment the mountains came into view, forcing her to observe them unhindered by a mechanical device.

I pointed out that since it was only one stop away, she could always make several trips on the train to enjoy the moment for what it was—awe-inspiring and contemplative. Indeed, that was what she planned to do as soon as her camera was fixed.

The next time she returned, the view of the mountains would have changed only a little: the clouds would have dispersed or reshaped themselves into something more menacing; more snow could have fallen to blanket the sharp incline of the slopes; the sun might cast its rays from a different angle, creating a new image through a shift of shadows; the snow-tops could wear a pinkish hue instead of the glinting gold of the afternoon.

The short ride was a convenient one—so familiar that many people on the train no longer looked out of their windows to observe how the mountains differed from yesterday. They were still there, imposing in their full splendour: archetypal perfection in imperfect beauty, living and ever-growing in their purposeful existence, sheltering, providing, and regulating.

Photographs cannot hold a candle to experience, except to capture a moment shared amongst friends, even if it is only the first in a long line of ordinary days. Nothing stays the same, not even the mountains.

In this penultimate letter, may your experience of the everyday be elevated by the certitude of your importance to my own. I would never decline to look out of a window to see you, except when I know you would rather be hidden—though mountains cannot help but be admired, even from a distance.

Your eternal mate

Master,

On the 28th day of Sagittarius, my visit to the dream world was interrupted by vampires. One had chased me out of my window, where I jumped several storeys safely to the ground despite being human. Because there were people around, he couldn’t use his vampiric powers to catch me, so I strolled calmly to the next building in search of a hiding place. He trailed me from a distance like a compressed coil ready to burst into a spring. 

Then, on the rooftop of the four-storey building, two vampires tried to help me by stopping the others. Sadly, they were both killed. Surrounded now by hostile vampires, I accepted my fate resignedly and, as bravely as I could manage. They turned me into a vampire, even though I specifically asked them not to.

No one who has doom-scrolled enough times would want immortality on earth. I didn’t know whether I was turned into one of them because that had been the plan all along, or whether it was an improvised act of cruelty. That distinction would have helped me work out why they picked me out of the lot, when there are enough people in this world coveting eternal youth, invincibility, freedom from disease, and the ability to cause harm and terror with no accountability, and so on. It doesn’t make any sense. But there was no one to complain to, so I was going to have to work out how to live peacefully amongst other human beings as an undercover mortal.

So I signed a co-tenancy agreement with three other women so they could provide me with plausible deniability—something like: I’ve never seen her act like a vampire before, so she can’t be a vampire. I would be so surprised if she were. You are wrong! She never hurt any of us. Leave her alone! Etc. I did so confidently because of a drug I had access to—which dampened my powers much like diabetic drugs do to blood sugar levels. As long as I took it, I would be just like a regular human: no superhuman speed, strength, or anything.

One day, as I was coming out of the main door, I saw a policeman knocking on our side door. He didn’t realise that the doors were connected to the same apartment. But I hadn’t stuck around to see if he would suddenly realise his mistake. The last thing I wanted was for him to find, in my bag, my stash of anti-vampirism drugs. Not only were anti-drug stances pretty tough here, but being a vampire could be viewed as significantly worse—deleterious to the community, anyway. I crept down the stairs as quietly as a ghost and escaped back into the waking world, because clearly that whole experience was a waste of time.

Luckily my recent posts have been long, so I pray you won’t be disappointed by this nonsensical and short piece. Sometimes we dreamers get our trips detailed by mean-spirited things, nightmares or whatever they are, from time to time. It left me with the sense that something important is approaching. We’ll see tomorrow, I guess,

Still with lots of love and affection,

Your eternal mate