the end of evil

Every person should go read Sarah’s Ted Bundy piece, right now. She and I spent days over Christmas discussing it and dog sledding, Stevie Nicks, Titanic, astrology, our/human shadow selves, attachment theory, toxic masculinity, patriarchy, and she made me watch (finally, finally) The Godfather Pt, I and II, which I’m still collecting my thoughts on… it’s currently at 8000 words and still growing.

This is the first year I have accepted in my bones that I’m an Oregonian. Sarah is a native Oregonian, from Sauvie Island. She’s (and many friends, tbh) made it easier for me to understand and accept what it can mean to be an Oregonian. In fact, while I’ve always been fortunate to have many friends, and move easily socially, especially when I was younger and desired to, I know in many ways I have the friendships of my life here. Which has been surprisingly wonderful to discover in the last couple of years, since I spent a decade head down, ceaselessly working and caregiving, and without being a very attentive friend.

My standoff with Oregon has been due to the greater tide of Portland culture. I generally find it precious, hypocritical, malignantly white and myopic, touting of phoned-in, barely considered knee-jerk liberalism, thriving on sophomoric judginess and gossip. It generally looks emotionally immature to me. A bit silly. In larger cities, there is an attitude of shared experience… ‘Even if we disagree, we are all in this together.’ Or ‘We’re being mistreated by this city’s governmental machine, but dammit, they’re our abusers.’ …a weird sense of loyalty, tradition, and honor that pervades, despite disagreement. Proximity to others is so constant that a mutually witnessed instance or even an observation is shared easily with a stranger, as if you have always just been mid-conversation, with everyone. Two connecting sentences shared on a train and then your day goes on as it was. I think a lot more about this that I’m not getting into now. I always feel alien here. Sarah is just showing me how to use that and maximize it.

A thing that’s interesting is that if you spread your natal chart out over a map of the world, a map is made of longitudinal lines that correspond to the planetary positions in your birth chart. So of course I did this, for North America first and then the world. And my Pluto line – Pluto, the planet of death and rebirth, transformations, loss, coercion, extremity, undoing – runs directly over Chicago. And, Portland is almost directly under my Jupiter line. Jupiter, which is the ruler of Sagittarius and planet of tolerance, knowledge, and expansion, purpose, morality, humor, and growth. It’s interesting that I pushed to move here, when the options were NYC, Philadelphia, Portland. All I knew was I wanted to live somewhere beautiful and green. More proximity to nature.

It explains *a lot*. And it explains partly why my Uranus opposition was so cataclysmic. (I’m not going to explain Uranus oppositions here, basically ages 39-42 or so are the Uranus opposition or mid-life crisis. Each one looks different depending on the individual. If you are way off your path, you are going to get set back on it one way or another. And if your aren’t far off and nothing significant changes, choices made in those years can set up your next decades for continued fulfillment or steady stagnation. It’s one of the major personal transits, like the Saturn return.)

It turns out that in North America, the place where the majority of my planetary lines meet is a town in Canada called Yellowknife (!<3). And if you don’t think I haven’t already checked out land and housing prices there, you don’t know me too well… Sarah wants to go visit with me. And to teach me more about dog sledding.

 

journal notes 1/9/18

I write, Sitting in the Vietnamese Restaurant

an astrologer worked my chart. tapped: this, this improbable lattice, where does this much go, taps the moon, jupiter – it shrugs my shoulders

brushed or bashed in transits. a fly on the neptune, moth on your moon — the fine trembling resulting. a consequence along the wire, numen or flare.

*raises vow* all my dreams are and always have been buildings houses or water.

Do you have to have the dreams. I’ve kept them, some days I guess I will not ever tell you.

How to accept, Pluto, Pluto in my pets, in my health, in my daily routines.

A truck passes: Rental Repairs. Motto: “Our name says it all.”

Don’t ask for anything else.

A sublime sun, just after the winter cusp, white golding off glass. I’ve gone so long without my eyes water back at it, grow the lazing strobe. My corneas prism a holy pattern, seraphic.

I know one dream is the water, your hand pulling me. Another, blue moths pulse.

I count up every patron, study first dates, the friend dates, all of us at the solo table staring, shooting lit information at our faces. Crow-like risings, one after the other off a line, kiting our bodies on the day.

In my favorite poems, women walk outside and see every color. They are given the spectrum and immediately cast it.

I see this. My child’s face veiled clear emerald and plum, marbled yellow. My skin polychromatic, gone kaleidoscopic, all verdance and grow back, rhizomes splitting shoots and everything pressing out now now now.

 

super full eclipse blood blue

This eclipse was an echo of the solar eclipse last summer, both in Leo. I have the longest post about yesterday’s lunar eclipse extravaganza (because of course I do), but it will never see daylight because I just read this and sat back down and shut my mouth. Damn, that’s some writing. Gala Mukomolova is a heck of a poet and astrologer. I’m going to print this out so I have the joy of highlighting the whole thing. I mean, look at some of her sentences and diction. (also this makes feel very seen and called out in the best way possible. and I couldn’t take it and went though and bolded things because holy moly, that writing.) 

“…let the demons who dog you in your sleep and know your name eat your sorrow so that every living thing is fed.” -NYLON

…What precious parts of your life do you keep burning down and what do you refuse to hear so that you might keep that pattern going? Have you pushed away those who got too close so that you might not have to see yourself so clearly? Have you stood between yourself and your own promise, ditching deadlines, dreading intimacy, avoiding the inevitable knock of opportunity lest you are called to live up to your own potential? Own your disasters, your coping mechanisms, your bullshit. What served you once won’t serve you now. When you know it’s yours, you know how to let it go. The universe stays difficult, sweet one, it’s you who gets to learn when it’s time to lay a burden down.

Say you are wiser than you’ve ever been because life gave you teachers. Admit that some teachers give you books and some give you the kind of apples that show you what paradise can never be. Outside of the paradise, we are taught to imagine is the world we must learn to love and everything in it, where death presses tight against birth until there is no separation. This is how we move through grief, this is how we enter joy. Outside the paradise we imagine, our moon blushes red sliding close to the Earth and grows large as if struck with the eros of darkness. Remember the Solar Eclipse? The corona a gold ring, a vow. This Lunar Eclipse asks you back to the altar to renew your commitment. Surrender, and this afterglow is for you.

The illusion of control isn’t freedom, it’s alienation. Reacquaint yourself with yourself.

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one day i’ll have a real camera, and take real pictures, like a real person, but it is not this day!

Let the Leo Full Moon teach you self-love the way only a Leo can. Make your room your temple. Put on whatever makes you feel beautiful, and if nothing makes you feel beautiful, then take everything off. Your mirror is a well to drink from, so stare into your own eyes longer than feels comfortable, let yourself feel vain, feel like Narcissus, but keep looking. All the planets of the universe, their dust and grace, live in your gaze. Welcome them home to your body, the bones and flesh of it, a body that protects the stars in you. You can touch yourself, you can touch yourself toward no destination, as if you’re waking to find yourself in bed with a lover you have been missing for months. Fan your fingers over your ribcage and thank it for protecting your heart, press your palm to your face because your face is precious, press your fingers to your lips and acknowledge their power. Your lips that open gently and break unbearable silences.”