In the red clay, I scoop a low grave, roll into it, rust across white cloth. The lion pawing, howls to get back out. It drags me by the dress-neck, summons fire and a circle of ancestors to minister a liquid. Nothing takes.
A teacher explains I’m just in a bad etheric neighborhood, no need to stay. The lion manages me across its back, walks us out of the landscape. It drags me to a fountain chiseled from quartz, leaves me there, licks at my limbs.
At which point the water matters, at which point the garden matters, who knows?
I beg my own root open, melt past fear with gold light.
In the waking, my dog declines, loses her weight, fur over bones and skin gone wonky. Jupiter squares my Moon, Neptune chokes it. I steadily leave myself. At the oil, spike, and rock shop, a reverend says he can see, shoves bloodroot at me, golden calcite, says why wait.
REMEMBER THAT TIME OVER A WEEK AND A HALF WHEN I WROTE THE MOST GORGEOUS, HEARTBREAKING, AND CANDID ESSAY ABOUT THE INDULGENCE OF OBSESSIVE GRIEF AND THEN I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT AND IT CAN’T EVER COME BACK AND HAPPY URANUS RETROGRADE / ECLIPSE SEASON. I GUESS IT’S NOT AS BAD AS THAT TIME I LOST A HARD DRIVE OF WRITING SO.
My beautiful, dear one reminded me that when in any doubt, return to the basics, and do not forget them. That was right before she took my child outside in the sun and taught him to hold stones closely, cast his wishes into them, and bury them so that the earth can work.
It has been a year of the very best friends.
bruja magic
Current celestial intensity.Plus, Mars and Saturn’s current antics led to these dreams…A man who seemed to be on drugs or simply raging, cut a woman’s face on a sidewalk. As she slumped down, he began looking for another victim. A man near me was bent fixing his bike and the knife wielder approached him. I was walking away to find help, but realized the man with the bike was about to get harmed so I moved closer, trying to prevent it, but the man slashed out with his knife. As I got to the victim, the perpetrator seemed to be moving to cut him again, but saw me and moved his attention. I began speaking to him like a friend, saying, ‘oh can you get some cloth and help me with this man’s wounds?’ trying to throw him off and emotionally shake him to. He was confused, then started towards me seemingly to cut me as well.
The next dream began. I was leaving an event or maybe work at night, in a city. It was busy on the street and a man with what looked like a smallish battery-powered (?) circular hand saw was threatening people on the street, grabbing them, threatening to cut them, then letting them go. I was debating what to do. Then suddenly he took the saw to himself, right across his stomach. He crumpled over, blood everywhere, people freaked out. I walked quickly away, shocked. I didn’t want to have to talk to the police about it for hours, having to relive it. I tried to call a friend to pick me up, but couldn’t get through. I was walking through a part of the city I didn’t know and accidentally walked into someone’s private property. I didn’t see the ‘no trespassing’ sign until I was already inside. I started back towards the exit, but the occupants were coming in — several large men in hunting or military type clothes with large dogs. I figured I would be attacked, and I started apologizing for being there, but they were understanding about it. One took my bag off my shoulder and showed me a way to stretch to relax after the scene I had fled. He told me to look up at the stars while stretching and it would be more effective. …These are the Mars-iest, Saturn-iest, Capricorn-iest dreams possible.
not the holiday, not the new year, all of these queer days feel like the moment a skyscraper elevator goes weightless at an apex and before gravity pulls back — just floating, disoriented. it seems like a string of days which should be a mass, formal recess, held for processing the previous year, intending for the following, grounding, being in nature, laying to rest, welcoming, resting a second before the next everything.
the finest time of year is everything covered in ice
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gifting…
i’m doing small, four card readings for the coming year for anyone who would like one. all twelve of you who read this (unless it’s term paper season, which means many visitors per day for the Betty Draper paper… {and all of you are welcome to this, too!}) are welcome to reach me in your preferred way and i will do a four-card spread, write it up for you, and even keep it wallet-sized so you can easily refer to it throughout the year. These are simple spreads: 1) theme card (personal theme of the year), 2) don’t do this (actions, mindsets, stances to avoid), 3) do this (how to foster what you want, growth, progress) 4) it will lead to this (outcome).
i’m doing larger readings for folks for the next two days, which is a dream, especially because it’s for four of my very, very favorite people.
here is a 4-card from last year. (this actually got five cards because an extra popped with that fourth card.)
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i have a little to say later about saturn in cap, a little to say about the images that occupied me last year (and therefore symbolize it), a few new projects, but for now it feels like such a quiet time of taking inventory and being outside, enjoying the winter.
The wildfires grow so that by the end of the day, breathing is difficult. I bolster my lungs. All light is rubbed-raw pink, or beige tinged, like the walls of a smoker’s home. Just ashes falling now.
wildfire shower
Dreams and sleep and information have all been wild around this last eclipse. A few nights ago I had an epiphany while watching The West Wing (leave me alone, I’ve never seen it and it was Adam Arkin episode). It was a tremendous shift, posing as a smooth one, like simply rounding a corner in a familiar neighborhood or like stumbling upon an overgrown formal garden and its right amount of concept, and juxtaposed feral growth.
Before sleep I tug at my red grounding to the earth, making sure, clear blocks that look like burnt bricks, comb my green of white threads, frown at my weak yellow; not canary or goldenrod, more a thinned butter. But marvel at the saturated prussian blue, the plum-black purple.
A few weeks ago, in a not-yet-sleep-but-not-still-awake was shown: my own hand pulling a heavy brass knob closed behind me; a thick door closing off the before. My baby on my hip, my dogs at my feet in a new, lit, white and pink, all warm, calm, and possible. A relief and a *finally,* and the space expanding for us to walk in and be now… just this gratefulness, and relief. And promise.
This lady closed a book. A sting on my arm, while sitting on my steps and then her insides expelling. I sat with her for her last, gave her honey, warmed her with my breath, a prayer of thanks and goodbye.
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Yesterday, a passing, but somehow it feels like a gift. This is just something else he crafted to share. If I think of Ashbery, all I think of is: permission. His work grants permission. Or at least, it has always granted me permission where I have otherwise not been able to find it. All personal space, and all clouding out, and filling in.
A strong thing happens when a subject really resonates with me or I feel it extremely deeply; I become paralyzed to talk about it. Or write about it. It’s like I feel too much and speaking about it or trying to communicate it (I fear) will only fall short, and thus kind of mar it somehow. Lessen it. So with some things I don’t even take the chance.
It’s that way with this eclipse. Maybe it’s because it’s hitting me personally (which I’m excited about… personal revolution is my jam), with my Sun and Mercury sitting in my natal chart at 4 degrees Sagittarius. Everyone is feeling this eclipse, but some people will be *really* feeling this eclipse. (see: the President. Scores of people have already written about his natal chart and the possible impact from the eclipse. ) And it’s not just for a day, the resonance for everyone has been long leading up to, and will last long after.
For themes that will be continuing / deciding themselves, playing out now and moving forward or ending, look back at your calendar / journal / emails from the end of February through March of this year, the most recent eclipse season.
The best I can offer are links to writings and postings that are deftly written and considered. Happy eclipse, all.
Almost two months ago there was a two-week period of nothing; just metaphorically dotting & crossing the last marks in an afterword, and closing a back cover. Then, spreading open new, aspirin-white pages, watching everything remaining rush to arrange and take places, like a show about to start. One last thought of gratitude, and then surveying across the clear new, and nebulous.
That very quiet period was a strangely still pocket, not totally unlike just after H- was born, when feeding 5-6 times per day and through the middle of the night left me with a lot of time of just having to sit, and be. During that time I cranked through a ton of viewing and this time, albeit a smaller window, was the following…Read More »
1481hyperion 