One Can Only Hope

Mercury retrograde was, as ever, a wild ride.

This last one, taking place over most of my 4th House – my Natal Moon’s House – had a couple of extra surprises for me, though.

My son turned 30 in this time. And I found out, almost at the same time, that his father (my second husband) had died, in California, of liver cancer, over 14 years ago. And I had never known.

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Mercury retrograde’s enabling of retrospective helped me in this case, as I was able to navigate the inevitable flooding of guilt with only a little pain.

In this period, too, we sent the Fabled Bakkie into the clutch and brake shop and drove a rental car for a week. And at the end of it I was kicked off Facebook for not using my “real name”, and we were all treated to the edifying spectacle of our government revealing its full-Wetiko face at last.

Going forward, one can only hope….

Connections?

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Really feeling the dream-like nature of this plane last night – in part probably because of my illness and the medication I’m taking for it – I paused in a life review and sat up in bed.

(Here I’d just like to urge anyone following a conscious path to start thorough life reviews right now, and not to wait for the death-transition for it to take you unaware)

I sat up in bed, as I was saying, and looked around.

Warren coughing in his sleep and both dogs sleeping on the carpet at the end of the bed; their preferred sleeping arrangement despite a brand new mattress. Dogs really like the institution of Family. It’s their natural place in the world, as part of a semi-formal gang.

I got up then and watched the gods-damned-idiot-box for a couple of hours. Interestingly, both programs focused around people in packs: Sons of Anarchy and The Sopranos.

Humans, too, seem to need to feel they are a part of something larger than themselves. A family, a bike gang…a religion.

For myself, I’ve never before now felt that call too strongly. I seem to have wandered around the fringes of groups all my life;  sometimes agreeing with them, sometimes not, but never joining. I have never really seen the need. The Universe and all of Life has seemed enough for me to “belong” to. Humans? You can have them.

But feeling that family bond around my little human and canine  group last night cast this way of living into doubt .

Synchronistically,while thinking over the apparently inborn need of (most) humans to connect with others, I came across this article , which references this need in relation to human addiction.

Briefly, the article goes through the reasons why our current models of addiction may be wrong. It looks at the addicted-rat studies of years gone by, war vets’ addiction rates, Portugal’s recent drug addiction experiment, as well as the mystery of why surgical patients treated with heroin don’t hit the streets immediately after their release in search of a fix.

There’s perhaps not enough data yet for us to draw conclusions, but the theory posited is extremely interesting – not least, to me, because I am an addict – and does deserve some serious thought.

Could, in brief, the mechanism behind addiction not be so much the “hijacked brain” but more the addict’s own sense of connection – or lack of it – with his or her environment?

I’m inclined to think the idea has great merit, from personal experience with my own lack of community membership, but it’s probably much more nuanced and complicated than just the one factor.

Aquarius New Moon

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A New Moon in Aquarius seems to me a good time to start this blog anew.

I have what I suspect is bronchitis – for only the second time in my life – and I’m just waiting on a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to get some antibiotics for it.

Otherwise, I’ve locked down my Facebook page – it’s only for family, now  – and I’ve made a couple of commitments to my soul for this solar passage.

One is to try to discern as clearly as I can the dreamlike nature of this existence.

It’s quite startling, when you begin to actually pay attention to what is happening around and through you, how much of it has the aura of a night dream. It’s just a bit longer, a tad more coherent. But not much.

Following on from that – as the two ideas are connected – is a commitment to try to discern the presence of the Wetiko virus in this plenum. That one’s almost too easy, and I don’t mean I’ve suddenly become paranoid and am seeing Wetiko in every bush (although in every Bush, now, that’s a different kettle of fish).

This involves me acknowledging fully and honestly the extent of my own darkness. My own potential for evil. My own Wetiko infection.

Like bronchitis, it’s so easily picked up. Indeed, we’re born into an infected culture so it would be startling if we didn’t cultivate the virus from an early age. I know this to be the case in myself and in just about every other human I have ever known.

That sounds like a hopeless prognosis, but in reality it’s probably our way out. The sickness of Wetiko – also encompassed by words such as the Patriarchy, Gangster Capitalism, Rampant Consumerism and many more – actually contains the seed of its potential cure. In coming to awaken in the dream, to notice this sickness entrenched in humanity for the past 10 000 years, we discover both our own complicity and out own enlightenment. To see the thing is the first part of the cure. To acknowledge the depths of our own infection is the next. From there…well, let’s just see where this light takes us, shall we?

The Olive Thrush

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It was sometime after breakfast this morning when I suddenly remembered that today was my birthday.

Drying up and putting away the dishes, I thought of how the last time I heard my father’s voice was 14 years ago, when he called the only cellphone number he had for me and, getting no answer, left a birthday message.

7 months later, he was dead.

As these thoughts fled through my mind, I heard a rapping at the font door.

There, bashing itself against the glass pane was a young Olive Thrush. Too immature to know about glass, I guess.

The chick looked at me as it hurled its body against the door, fell to the ground and disappeared.

The Olive Thrush – quintessential Capricorn bird, in my mind.

Just as my Dad was.

There Are Monsters

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The telly is burbling away in the background. And there are monsters on it.

Leaders of the Free World. Slouching, drooling, psychopathic monsters. Wetikos, in fact.

If I switch over to the night’s series drama, I find there are different monsters.

Chopping up of bodies, poking around in the brain jelly. Full Living Colour.

And I can’t tell, most of the time – is this supposed to be a drama or a comedy?

As for me, I am enjoying the knitting together of a grievously fragmented soul.

Bits of England get trotted out to soothe my newly-reconstituted earth spirit. And I have lost the yearning to go back there, rather bringing the fragment of me that was wandering there…to here.

So I am happy to ignore the beasts and the buffoons on the Idiot Box.

Light the Myrrh and praise the Moon.

Open the Heart Chakra and re-attach to the higher dimensions.

Love my family, my little bit of Earth, my animal and plant allies.

Let the monsters remonstrate. Let the jesters prance and butcher.

I can do nothing but start here, where I am.