We are still in the ebbing (effing?) throes of the Saturn Chiron bingle under Scorpion skies as the moon waxes to full tomorrow via a little bit of Aries firethrowing. Christ on a bike it is a lot all at once. Feeling the burn or the bite? Bowing, bending or breaking, just like a woman? Taking it like a man, blaming and bleating, all fingerpointing and eye rolling?You're doing it wrong. We have all been getting it wrong. Longtime.Stinging and smarting as we have been this year, well may our minds be cast back to December and April. Hit me baby one more time, as we once again get schooled in the anatomy of our own wounding. Refusing the inbuilt imperative to overcome rather than endure, we all too often overlook that our end game is about the other side of the wounded coin : healing. Liberally garnished with wisdom and served triumphantly in golden goblets should we require constant supping of this hard won panacea.No more the wounded warrior, screaming from the rooftops and bleeding all over them. Making peace with our past and the oft painful frameworks that shaped us is its inbuilt overcoming, tucked into the very last place we look for it. Herein lies the holy knowledge that makes sense of it all. Only after excavating our deepest wound and scooping out the rotten parts, may we begin to gently suture ourselves back together.And so we are forged. Virgin flesh is soft and pliable. It rips all too easily. Scar tissue is harder. Tougher. Built of denser stuff that knows how to knit itself back together. The gift that keeps on giving, it too grants us poise under pressure and grace under fire. There is a reason chicks dig scars and wear them so proudly. They are emblems of a life lived truly, one foot in the shadows and the other tapping time in the light.Art: 'Scar Tissue' by Elaine Ziggy ScottWords c. Kerrie Basha