They're going to carve pumpkins.? Or at least one. Deciding on the proper way to cut is my decision, I suppose. Because I am Pumpkin? Pamela. And while a pumpkin is a squash, they be cuttin on my melons. Perhaps the built up anger and anxiety and depression can be cut out with the tumor. And then like a Jack-o-lantern, the inner light of my soul can shine forth, allowing me to see better what I'm meant to do with the rest of my life. My insides scraped out of the murky muck that is my darkness. Allowing room for the light. Creating a comfortable balance of light and dark. A yin yang. Room for the magical faeries to wave their glitter wands. While acknowledging that I am experiencing some kind of metamorphosis spiritually and I run shouting down the hall. Because it is very scary. I'm evolving. Shifting. If things happen for a reason, then perhaps I can use whatever I've learned up till now and going forward to do some good in this cancer infested world.
Feed the hungry. I should volunteer at a soup kitchen. All are God's creatures. Write about my transition to help myself and maybe some one else. Let the Spirit lead me to the proper path, and do good things if I can. Feed the backyard critters. And the cats. Enjoy the magic that the universe speaks of. And in the meantime, prepare for battle. Because I am a warrior princess pumpkin...and this bat shit crazy Diamond shines on.