Happy Year of the Fire Horse <3

It's here and we are ready.

Feb 17, 2026

"My daughter Jesse magnifies my poem with illuminating thoughts of her own. "

Happy Lunar New Year, everyone! The Year of the Fire Horse is upon us. I hope everyone has been doing well. This transition out of the year of the Wood Snake into the Fire Horse year has been intense and life changing, pushing forward into a brave new era, and I am ready. Are you feeling ready??

For all of January and leading up to last night, my life was centered around clearing, cleansing, releasing, letting go. Major purging. It was intense, extreme, and incredible. I am a creature of nesting, extremely sensitive and sentimental. I hold onto objects as though the memories are held captive within them. Archives, ephemera, scrapbooks, records, chronicles, documents, even those attached to memories I wish to forget. I’ve held onto clothing, art supplies, research books, so many ‘someday’ items. Or things that represent a part of me long gone, an era of my life I’ll never revisit or reclaim. I’ve kept it all.

In the energetic surge of shedding the last days of the Snake year, I had this uncontrollable need to release everything. It was barely a decision, more like an outside force taking over. I say this because it was so outside of my personality, my natural way of being. I didn’t feel remorse or pain about the shedding. I only felt the action itself and the resulting freedom of letting go.

I decided that I didn’t want ANYTHING surrounding me except for the items I most wanted to represent me, say if I wasn’t home, or if suddenly, I was gone. Even if we do live to be 110, the objects and items in our homes today are our current legacy, and if anything happened to us and we didn’t live to see tomorrow, the items in our homes would hold major significance to our loved ones. Everything would represent us. They would feel they were learning us for the first time, peering into our inner worlds. I thought about this a lot during the purging.

I have written extensively about ‘objects’ over the last years, a subject that holds strong meaning for me, that I think about daily, in relation to my own life/past, and to society in general. I just find it such a rich and fascinating topic that continuously shifts in meaning as I get older. Years ago, I wrote a piece in response to a Henry David Thoreau essay, about my relentless protectiveness surrounding my most precious things. I am very private about my most sacred items, not just physical items, but intangible ones, too - my favorite songs and albums, favorite movies or stories. My most sacred memories. I have never written about my most sacred and precious memories. I rarely listen to my favorite songs, watch my favorite movie, revisit my favorite books. I’ve had my most precious belongings tucked away in drawers, wrapped in cloth with closed lids. These are the items that mean the most to me, and they are not the ones I have around me on a daily basis. If anyone asked for the names of my favorite music, books, movies, I would choose to share my 2nd favorites. I thought a lot about this in the last weeks, and something changed when I situated these thoughts in the idea that life could end at any moment, that we are never guaranteed another tomorrow. If I had one more day to live, I think I would want to look at all my favorite items, listen to my favorite music, watch my favorite movies. I would write feverishly about my most sacred memories in order to preserve them somehow, in some way. So why was I holding all of these things captive? Hidden away not only from the world, but from myself?

There are several reasons, but the word that encompasses them all is fear. A fear of them losing their meaning, their holiness, at least the way they feel sacred and holy to me. A fear of them losing their power, and a fear of the memories dissipating and disappearing. The other area of fear is centered around the very fact that these items are so powerful. Some of them are just too powerful. As I said, I am very sensitive, deeply emotional, and sometimes the items I have assigned such meaning to just break my heart too deeply that I can barely stand to see them. In that way, maybe I wouldn’t want to look at them if I had only one day to live, because I would be so heartbroken to lose my life that I would not be able to peacefully let it go.

There are many books from my childhood that shaped my life and that I hold strong sentimental attachment for. Though a few books in particular mean the most to me. Last year I walked into a friend’s bookshop storage uptown, and one of these special books was sitting on the shelf, displayed facing outwards among all the spines of other books in his inventory collection. I broke down and cried, surprised to see it there as if seeing a dear old friend I thought had died along ago, and he gave me the book as a gift. It’s been sitting on my shelf ever since then, and I lie in bed and stare at the cover across the room, without any thoughts, just looking at it, feeling as though I was lying in my bed in Michigan as a little girl, spending unbroken time on every page. I loved that book so deeply, and it doesn’t even have words, just the images did something to me, they captivated my imagination and held me so close to every line and shape. But the truth is, I don’t think I have opened the book even once since my friend gave me that copy. Somehow I just can’t bear it, as though I never want to open the book as an adult, as my last experience of reading it is still held safely in childhood. So instead of looking through the pages, I gaze in wonder at the cover, remembering the endless hours of the past when I had first discovered it. In this way, the memory and purity remain intact, my memories stay strong and alive.

What would happen if I opened the book today and looked through the pages? I am guessing they would bring about unbelievable joy. I know this because I had another similar experience during this purging time that I want to tell you about.

When we were little in Michigan, my brother and I rode the yellow bus to and from school, a small bus full of kids we didn’t really see within the school building walls, but there on the bus throughout the years we had become a little family, a club, a tribe. I don’t remember how or why, but an older student gave me this yellow hardcover picture book one day, maybe because I had fallen in love with it at first sight. I don’t remember if it was to borrow or keep, but it immediately became a most precious possession. When I was older, I thought about this book all the time, but I didn’t know the name of it or how to find it. Eventually I contacted the older student who gave it to me, but she had no memory of the transaction and suggested maybe a different kid had let me take it home. It remained a mystery.

Eventually, a few years ago, I found the book online through a vintage bookseller. I was relieved, in disbelief, beyond excited, though also I was scared. The book arrived in a yellow padded envelope sealed with black electrical tape. I took it downstairs to my bedroom at my mom’s house, put it facing away on the bookshelf, still sealed in its envelope, and left it sitting there all this time.

While I was doing this major purge, I let go of a lot of items in that room, aiming slowly to release it back to my mom in case she wants to use it for another purpose, a guest room or writing room, etc. As I cleared and cleaned, I saw the envelope sitting on the shelf, and day after day I would shudder and refocus my efforts on the task at hand. Then the other day, to my amazement, something cracked in me. I grabbed the yellow envelope, took it to my apartment, closed the door, sat on the floor, and started to peel off the black electrical tape. I carefully pulled out the book, wrapped in clear bubblewrap, and through it I could see that familiar yellow hard cover, the same square shape and exact color, just as I remembered it. I peeled away the scotch tape holding it in place, and revealed the book, the exact book, as though it was my own copy, the very one I acquired on the school bus in Michigan as a little girl. I took a breath and decided to read it, cover to cover. I found a comfortable position, opened the cover, and the journey began. As I went though the book page by page, it was as though I was reading along with it, every word was familiar and I felt an old part of my brain activated, these buried memories that flooded open with ease. I remembered every page, and I knew exactly which ones were my favorites. When I arrived at the final page, I closed the book slowly and hugged it to my heart with a giant smile. I was so sorry I had waited so long, afraid to have that experience, and I placed the book on the shelf next to the other one, still waiting for its time to be read in that way.

There is a lot for me to unpack here, and I realized such an important reminder. I am a writer and I want to write about these things. I want to write about my experiences and memories with true honesty and details because that is my legacy today and because I believe that sharing my own stories with transparency and truth, they will resonate with someone else out there, they will mean something to someone else out there. I need to keep and surround myself with the things that I want to write about, the things I want to talk about, the things I want to represent, the things I want to represent me. So I purged everything out of my apartment and my room at my mom’s house that no longer serves, that carries weight that I don’t have time or space in my short time on Earth to be a steward for. I would love to live several lives, wear the hats of endless roles, try out different careers and crafts, but time is precious and we are only given so much, so we have to be ruthless in our decision making, and now is the time for that all.

I got sick on January 23, bedridden and quarantined with strep throat for days, which assaulted the physical action of clearing my home, but launched me deeply into inward reflection, purging and releasing from within: habits, inner critic voices, patterns, cycles, modes of thinking, attachment styles. Areas of life where I was holding myself back, where I was bringing in toxicity or rooting my decisions within lingering wounds it was time to fully heal. Friendships, relationships, connections, unfinished projects, unrealized ideas, anything that felt like it was taking up priceless space in a life that is so fleeting and precious. I replaced Netflix binging with extra reading time, deleted phone numbers that bring about anxiety when they flash on the screen, let go of a need to show up in situations that drain, and pledged to foster situations I’ve been neglecting out of fear. I was upset at first about getting sick, but I realized it was all part of the important process of purging the snake year. I made peace with things that were nagging at my conscience, let go of anger or resentment, anxiety and stress around situations I cannot control. Even the physical experience of being sick and releasing toxins, purging the body. It was all meaningful, it was all important.

I also had a show on February 3! So after being sick with strep, 5 days of antibiotics, and bedridden quarantine without the company of anyone, I had to quickly prepare for a public performance. This was needless to say, a bit intense, and a big part of me wanted to cancel. So in recognizing that, I made that my goal, the concert didn’t have to be perfect or mind blowing, but I did not want to cancel, I wanted to show up and push through as long as I was healthy enough and no longer contagious. I enlisted the help of two friends on acoustic guitar and tap dancing, and another friend for films to be played during each song, including the song lyrics and her own beautiful visuals. I played one of my songs, written for a friend who was there in the audience, and two songs by Tom Verlaine - my favorite Television song and my favorite instrumental from his solo albums. I dedicated them to my reiki teacher and her husband, who was one of Tom’s greatest advocates and also his engineer/producer, and played bass on the instrumental song, a favorite of mine as a child. Nana and Patrick were both seated at the front of the stage, directly under the piano, which brought me comfort, feeling at times as though it was just the three of us together in a living room somewhere. I also did a cover of one of my mom’s songs that I had wanted to play in hootenanny style for a long time. Coulee Slatnick tap danced for our percussion, while Alec Signorino played acoustic guitar, and the brilliant Joseph Keckler sang in his theremin voice, representing death and the ghostlike energy of the song lyrics and their meaning. After the show, which I’m sure was a case of pushing myself too hard in the frenzy of healing, I got sick once again, this time with a cold, probably my immune system having had just about enough of me. So I took to the bed again, this time being extra careful, and focused only on turning my room into the sanctuary of my dreams, displaying on the shelves not a mix of display pieces, practical tools, clothing, and storage items, but instead a space for only my most precious belongings, the things usually reserved for sometimes or someday, the things I really do want to gaze at before going to sleep, and the things I wanted to be greeted by upon waking up. Creating this environment and atmosphere I think was one of the crucial actions of getting better quickly, surrounded by a space of awe, fighting for health to be able to get up and out, to enjoy life more and more. Or maybe I was just distracted by the magic of my room that one day I realized I was all better. Either way, it was the best thing I could have done, to create an atmosphere of my dreams in the place where I rest, sleep, and wake, accepting nothing less, and nothing else.

Last night, I was in a frenzy to prepare my apartment for the Lunar New Year. I cleaned, dusted, mopped the floor, organized bags of outgoing clothing donations. I wanted to shift the energy of my space, and I am amazed at the amount of work I was able to accomplish, out of a blend of sheer willpower and surrender. I really did surrender completely to this process in a way I never had before. I always love spring cleaning, end of the year purging, and am always excited to release items. But I usually focus on releasing items that ‘no longer serve’ or I simply don’t like or want anymore. This time was different. It was deeper than that. I released a lot of things that I still like, that I hold attachment to, both external objects and inward ideas. I never expected to be able to do that, let alone want to. It’s just not my personality, but it happened. There is something major about this exit from the Snake year and this entrance into the year of the Fire Horse. It feels that if we are fully open, if we fully surrender to its power, our lives can be changed in ways we never expected, in ways we didn’t know how much we needed.

I live in New York City, so my bedroom is very small, and its heavy wooden door makes me crazy. There isn’t enough room to close it, it cuts off the foot space surrounding the bed, and I always bump into it and feel frustrated by its gargantuan presence and uselessness. (I also have a slight fear of it, since during Covid lockdown I shut it too hard and something happened with the old locking mechanism, and I was trapped inside the bedroom for many hours until a friend rescued me by handing me some tools through a window to get myself out.) The other day, I had had enough. I grabbed a screwdriver, removed the brass hinges, and took the door off completely. It was a little scary, as its large and heavy, but I carried it out without being smothered under its weight. The bedroom felt so much bigger, suddenly I had this easy and palatial walking space around my mattress. I did feel there was some need for privacy and separation from the rest of the apartment, so I ordered a really pretty Japanese linen door curtain to hang over the opening. Such a nice improvement, flowing and open. Yesterday, I did the same thing with my closet, to make room for a dresser. The old wooden door was too big for the doorway, maybe having expanded with the heat over the years, and blocked off valuable real estate when opened and against the wall. So I took up the screwdriver again and removed the hinges, taking off the door to reveal this wonderful space perfect for a dresser. I ordered another linen curtain for the closet, and actually a more aggressive hand painted beaded curtain for my bedroom so I can have full protection as I’m sleeping. Now the giant wooden doors are currently leaning against my walls like a scene from Alice in Wonderland, one by the bathroom and one by the kitchen, and I’ve been using them to hang tote bags, towels, and dish rags. An eccentric and slightly bizarre renovation strategy, but utilizing every inch of space as we must in these city living quarters.

After I took off the closet door yesterday, I felt a weird energy, this intense feeling of strange adrenaline, like I was high on something unfamiliar. It was very weird. I went outside to walk to the health food store, and had this surreal sensation that I was floating, stretching out from the top, like my head would explode. It wasn’t painful, just weird and sudden. I knew it was connected with the doors because that was the most extreme action or change I had made, and I felt like maybe I had stirred something up.

Last night I had a bout of shocking dreams and nightmares and woke up several times, a couple hours apart. The dreams were not bad at all, because I choose not to judge them as bad or good, I see them as needed truth, a mirror, or a gift. The dreams were deeply revealing about topics I was not addressing, and I welcomed their messages and data fully. I was surprised, moved, and truly thankful for them. I woke up this morning for the solar eclipse at 6:42am and sat within it for the duration, held in its magic, and pledged to myself and anyone listening out in the universe my goal and vision for the year of the Fire Horse.

Later in the morning, I googled about energy and spirituality connected with doors themselves and specifically their removal.

One website had this written:

‘The Door as a Portal

Doors serve as powerful thresholds, marking the space between one experience and another. In spiritual traditions worldwide, thresholds hold deep significance - moments of pause, decision, and movement. Changing a door is not just a design update; it’s a declaration: “I am ready for what’s next.’

As I said at the top of this post, I am ready.

What are you ready for?

Happy Lunar New Year, everyone! The Fire Horse is here.