Zosma
February 22 – March 6, 2026 154.287° – 167.143° The StarZosma sits at 154.287° and is the first star you encounter as Earth enters this slice of sky. The name derives from the Greek for hip or girdle, describing its physical position in the stellar body long associated with the lion constellation. But stripped of that mythological frame, what Zosma actually is: a white A-type main sequence star, about 2.2 times the mass of our Sun, burning roughly 15 times brighter, sitting 58 light years away. It is young by stellar standards, perhaps 750 million years old, still in the bright prime of hydrogen fusion.
Zosma is also notable for what it is becoming. It sits in the mass range where stars end not as quiet white dwarfs but as supernovae, incurring a violent, explosive death that seeds the surrounding space with heavy elements. Zosma has not reached that threshold yet, but it is heading there. It carries within it the physics of eventual catastrophic release.
There is something in that, a star in its productive, generative phase, still burning bright, already carrying the seeds of what it will eventually become. Holding, in its very physics, the trajectory of its own transformation.
This is the sky Earth sits in from late February into early March. What Earth moves through here is a region of clarity.
I submitted my doctorate dissertation in this sanctuary. Years of accumulation, research, embodied knowing distilled into the form required by the institution and most people. There is something worth naming about the timing of entering a slice of sky governed by a star in its productive prime, doing the work of sustained fusion, and submitting the document that represents the most sustained intellectual work of my formal academic life. I will have to wait another 6–8 weeks for it to be reviewed and accepted, but that feels like a short amount of time, with the years of knowledge and experiences that went into creating the thesis.
In this same sanctuary I wrote the article examining women, narcissism, and Trump and the article tracing the Bible as the structural root of the Epstein network, rather than the supernatural devil figure that does not even appear in the text people claim to derive him from.
What surfaced in this writing was the clarity of seeing how religious indoctrination functions as a control system. The devil is not in the Bible the way people have been told. The original Hebrew texts contain a ha-satan, the adversary, the accuser, a role, not a being. The supernatural evil figure who runs a counter-kingdom, who inhabits people, who is responsible for the suffering the powerful cause, that figure was constructed. Built deliberately. Because if the devil did it, the institution did not. If evil is supernatural, power is not accountable.
This is what Epstein’s network reveals at its structural root: not supernatural evil, but organized institutional evil protected by the same patriarchal theology that teaches women to submit, teaches children to obey, teaches the abused to question their own perception. The Epstein files were released in Sanctuary 11. The clarity about what built the conditions for Epstein arrived here, in Sanctuary 13, in the white-blue light of a star burning steady and clear.
There is something about A-type stellar energy, it is clear, unfiltered, no obscuring gas or dust nearby, just the direct light. That feels resonant with this kind of seeing. Just here is what is actually there. Look at it directly.
On February 28, deep in this sanctuary, Travis and I went to a farm auction. We went back every day for a week. We needed materials: for the greenhouse, for the two-story cob house we are building that will hold not just our family but community, friends, the gathering of people who are choosing to live differently.
The auction itself was discouraging. We kept getting outbid on the things we came for. We found out later we had been outbid by someone scrapping the metal, not using it, not building with it, pulling it apart for cash weight. The thing we needed, going to be destroyed.
And then, the owners found us the next day while we were loading what we had won. They had heard we were building off-grid, actually using the materials, not scrapping them. They told us to take anything left behind. Whatever remained unclaimed was now ours.
Then the scrapper himself found out all we had wanted from his haul was the windows from the screen doors he was tearing apart. He gave us over a hundred windows. We gave him $10 for some wooden ones he didn’t want. Over a hundred windows, for $10, because we told him what we were building.
We bid and won: OSB plywood. Thin wood for finish work. Four cast iron bathtubs, for the hot spring dreams at the bottom of the property, the ones we have been imagining. Shelves. Hinges. Brackets. Beautiful glassware for the new house. Travis got a bus load, filled the skoolie literally to capacity, of vintage Christmas items to sell. We came home with more than we came for, through channels we could not have planned.
This is what I mean about the physics of this slice. Zosma is a star heading toward supernova, the destruction is already built into the productive phase. The scrapper was tearing apart what we needed. What looked like the path being closed turned out to be the material being freed up for us. The same energy, but something that appears to be ending or destroying redirects into something being given, found, and received.
We were outside every single day. The land was awakening. Greenery coming up everywhere, finally. The long grey of deep winter cracking open into the first green. My body knew it before I named it, that particular aliveness that comes from watching the land remember what it is.
This sanctuary was also the tying up of loose ends, the last threads before spring’s new beginning arrives. The dissertation submitted. The articles written. The auction completed. The materials home. A sense of accounts settled, of things that had been hanging now resolved.
This is the energy of finishing what you started so you can be ready for what comes next. Not winding down. Completing. There is a difference. Completion is its own kind of fullness.