Thursday, February 19, 2015

New Moon

A new moon brings my attention to the conversation happening between the luminaries.

Fluctuating Moon disappears behind Eternal Sun, and for this brief time, we are completely Solar.

What does it mean when our reflective capacity goes away?

What does it mean to be inseminated?

What does it mean to be unmediated? Are we, for a time, Semele beholding Jupiter and consumed, conflagrant, by Light?

And for that matter, what is Light? Night is our resting state, our constant. The Sun is here but for a brief journey across the horizon before we turn are faces back to Mother Night and the black vacuum of space. Light is a visitor, a foreigner, a brief gift.

At the new moon, the Silver Lady is completely with the Sun, united with him and absent from Night's vault. She has nothing to say to us; she is busy making love.

Are giving and receiving distinct at such a time? Can they be distinguished?

Is the eye separate from that which it sees?

In a few weeks time, she will come to term in fullness. What is begun now shall find fruition, and we will go mad under the Mistress of Beasts.

Eyes wide open, retinas gleaming.

Our creature-selves most engaged with the world of forms.

We will remember this moment of the new moon, our memories called to union as we are divided and balanced from without, the One made Two.

After coitus, all beings are sad.

Pisces coniunctio. The time for the solutio is at hand. We dissolve under this new moon. All that is begun initiates in water: confused, mingled, one like the other. Temperate beginnings.

The tarot shows us the angel with one foot in the water, one foot on soil, standing across the Pisces-Virgo axis.

May we receive blessings for our beginnings.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Friday, February 13, 2015


What is the relationship between blame and responsibility?

I've been on the receiving end of heaps of blame of late.

I've done a lot of blaming of late.

My experience teaches me that the fruits of blame are sour and nasty. Blaming never ends well, and while I think we do it because we are hurting, blame does not yield the soothing and ease we may seek.

A friend of mine recently posted a video of Oprah giving advice, and therein she, in a voice not without hardness, told viewers to take responsibility for their own lives.


A word used quite mindlessly these days. Easily laden with "shoulds" and "oughts". (Does blame lie nested in mindless use of the word?)

What is often left of the word is an understanding of response. And with what organ do we respond?

The heart.

Where is the heartfelt Sun in all of this knee-jerk talk of Saturnine responsibility?

I question whether the bitterness of blame even has a place at all in Saturn's mountain realm. Is Saturn inherently blameful? If serenity is what Saturn has to offer, does blame cohabit in that land?

How interesting that the etymology of blame leads us to blaspheme. Perhaps there is something about blame that is entirely against the vessel of divinity found in the solar heart in all of us. A sacrilege, black-blooded poison. Maybe, when we become aware of this thing called responsibility, we are encouraging (Latin/French cor = heart) a healing of the heart.

Doctor Saturn called with his physics to remove a blockage. Something has caused us to cease heartfelt response and love.

Blaming others for not taking responsibility is entirely circular, for it completely stops the path to the heart we are preaching. How difficult it is to open the heart in times of pain and distress, to turn your cheek to the light as Jesus advised and offer wholeheartedly.

How can we encourage those around us, open their hearts?

I suspect by being open-hearted ourselves and watching/listening carefully for when we give closed-hearted "advice". Such words are inadequate, where the adequatio is a tempering of the soul, making it like that which it wishes to receive. An open, responding heart in oneself is the only way to open the heart of another. Easy to say "take responsibility for yourself" and blame another, monumentally more challenging to contain the other's bereaved heart within your own. Perhaps therein lies Saturn's responsibility - I will bend down upon my knee and carry this.


How can one not be humbled and fall to one's knees when one catches a glimpse of the heart, so excruciatingly vulnerable yet strong as a diamond?

I'm reminded of C.S. Lewis' words on prayer: to pray is to make oneself like God. Thus people have said that prayer is the most difficult virtue to practice.

Are we not often tested like Job, challenged to resist blame and open the heart instead? Is blaming another a blasphemy against God and cursing the ground? Stone-cold veins, Lovely Venus calcified and frozen?

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Death and Possibility

The thought occurs to me that I will die with possibility still inside.

I look at my stacks of treasured books, many still unread, and wonder if, by the time I go (which could be tomorrow) I will have read all of them.

And will just one reading be enough?

In that final moment where Becoming leaves me behind, I will look out into the world and see one more book, one more kiss.

Every moment is a death. As Eurydice fades into the dark distance, she has already crossed the River Lethe.

The moment your lips leave mine, I long to remember them.

As the last drop of wine slides away down the back of my tongue into the abyss, I enter yearning, seeming to have lost all memory of Presence.

How to create a space for death which contains possibility?


I am often angry.

I am tempted to define this as a problem, but I stop myself and train my mind to embrace this feeling differently. 

The label of problem is not helpful.

So how do I begin to talk about this with myself?

One of the first places to go is blame's clenched territory. It's an easy place in which to find oneself. I can look to the generation before me and see a ready imitation. 

Even outside of the flesh, Mars and Pluto are family daimones.

I could blame heredity, but then I would only have to blame myself in the end. My soul's chosen stars are the same as theirs. Perhaps I found ready example to color in the bones with choler. The bones are there all the same, ready and calling for hot flesh.

Flames abound: all three of the burning landscapes and their residential jinni bless my family with their countenance. Sagittarius rises across three generations too often for mere coincidence; Aries passes down from grandparent to parent. A weighted stellium in Leo crushes those around it from two branches of the Tree. 

Or rather, the burning bush.

My own soul found the light refracted through the dark crystal of Scorpio while looking sideways at a royal and raging Mars.

Not frozen water, but a rolling boil.

When an interrupting phone call broke my focus yesterday, He came. I retreated to the hot water sanctuary of my shower.

My gods meet me there. 

Their footprints can be traced on the sun's rays bouncing off the water. I am accustomed to following them.

While taking refuge in the diamond body of a Hindu dancer, I was startled into realization:

My rage has no image.

This constant companion remains unseen. He has no choice but to use my body-image because I have given him no other recourse.

I invited him in. I drew the Devil card and saw his red eyes and his beautiful horns. 

Beware the physical in matter, I heard him say.

I recognized his disappointed resentment in the self-fulfilling prophecy he has left scattered, unresolved, among my lineage. His hoof prints congeal in black tarry clumps on the field of my own heart.

Then I understand. I recall the Persian telling of Lucifer's fall, the Light Bearer's refusal to love humankind more than God. 

Lucifer must have been so hurt by God, so disappointed and so angry at the betrayal. How could God have done such a thing when I loved him so dearly with all of my being?

A curious mix of wrath and tears. Our raw nerves move faster than we can, we His Red Children.

I appeal to Apollo for a dash of gold. 

Instead of imaging Father Lucifer as a problem, I meet him for the first time on his own terms and ask,

What do you have to teach me?

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Saturn's Slowness

It takes me a very long time to do anything.

I look up towards Noon and place my pace at Saturn's feet.

Much of my resistance to motion belongs to the agency of Fear, a typical Saturnine manifestation. What is it about fear that accomplishes Saturn's ends? What is it about Saturn's ends which requires fear?

I puzzle over Slowness, remembering that Saturn is a cardinal entity and thus engenders Motion. I forget that Saturn also has a fixed side when he lives in his unyielding abode of the Vault.

A typical paradox.

Paradoxes let me know I'm on to something True.

Fear also rushes and trembles. He's Mars' son. How can fear be both instant and fast, yet agonizing and slow?

The gods (plural) are in all things.

Saturn teaches me that not all motion belongs to Mars. The zodiac's cardinal cross tells us that this is so. Motion is Martial, Lunar, and Aphrodisiac.

Is fear with the Old Man to slow us down? Is it the only kind of slowness He presents, or is it a byproduct which vexes even Him?

I imagine the chair upon which I sit, all the chairs sitting around in the world. Are their atoms and molecules moving so slowly that they congeal into Forms? Are they all afraid, chairs wracked with fear and so keeping their forms in a conglomerate of trembling atoms?

What if they're waiting to explode outward to become something else?

Ovid gazes heavenward.

Monday, February 9, 2015

Poison in the System

I usually don't pay much mind to Chiron.

Whether this lassitude of mind stems from the asteroid's latecomer status into the system or my simple failure to notice remains unclear to me, though its bodily conjunctions with Mars and Venus in Pisces these last two weeks have shocked me into wakefulness and alert, desperate questioning.

My heretofore conceptual understanding found its ground in Liz Greene's writing on the wounded healer - a terrain given shade and texture with myth's expansion. Chiron, the wise centaur charged with tutoring scholars and heroes, is, accidentally, wounded in the thigh with Hercules' arrow. Unfortunately, the arrow happens to have been dipped in the blood (venom? etymologically Latin for 'poison') of the monstrous Hydra, and as such, the wound is incurable.

Recent events have foregrounded two words as descriptive of Chiron: poison and rage. Greene points out that philosophical understanding seems to be the space required for living with the accidental wounding Chiron brings, though not without a great deal of suffering and the intense rage often displayed by wounded animals. Philosophy has yet to be forged on this event, but poison has pushed moods and souls past ease. Jupiter's temperance required.

What seems to have occurred around the Gods of Desire joining Chiron (I notice exactitude is a factor) is that the poison in the system rises to the surface, and with it, states of great distress - a thread woven together of madness, fear, rage, and despair. I can't speak for the luminaries at the moment, but when the Sun makes its ingress into Pisces, more data may emerge.

Knowing that a poisonous wound is involved, I am urged to ask questions into the nature of this poison. The nature of toxins has turned in my thoughts before, but I wonder at Chiron's brand of venom. We all have Chiron somewhere in the horoscope, meaning that, somewhere in our being, poison is in the system. I don't think we can say, in this contingent realm, how exactly the poison will manifest - for some it may be physical wounding and handicap, for others perhaps psychic - if there really is a difference between those qualities at all. Further, who can say what circumstances may provoke the poison? Is it more bearable if the bank account is full? Can it be borne with an unassailed immune system? How is it awakened by one of the other deities mingling with it, regarding it, engaging in conversation? What might a coniunctio look like - how is that sex scene going to play out? In what chamber of the heart is that affair going to occur? (I don't think you'll get the deposit back afterward.)

Chiron seems to partake of Saturn's limitation and defensiveness - sore spots abound - but yet the teacher's wound must be different in quality. Saturn "stuff" seems like the best that can be done - keep pushing through, grow some horns, take it one pebble at a time. And drink your dandelion root tea, Shelby.