What kind of dawn was it when you woke up this morning?
Still taking steps that you feel in the dark. Taking them, not imagining them only. Venus retrograde keeps us wrapped in old concerns, important people from the past pop up like whack a mole, do you whack them, or simply nod and keep moving? It may not be as complex as you could make it. Stay in the life you’ve made, keep going. Aries has goals.
Mercury conjunct Uranus (in the shadow of the retrograde Merc is about to make) gives us a fresh start on the problem. Make a clean break or try a new approach.
You won’t, still even now, have all the answers, but the ship will sail, because the wind fills her sails. Now is the answer to the question when. So much to do, with your heart held in the hands of old friends, family, or in your own hands, trusting yourself.
You may not be able to see outcomes, but you are well aware of trajectories.
Our New Moon arrives at 7 degrees Aries
It’s lucky-ish and free-ish.
As John Crowley sez in Little, Big “Jus only the Brave deserve the Fair”
You begin again, not as the young do thinking they will get so far, farther than anyone, ever. No one is young with Saturn in Sagittarius, especially not youth.
You begin again, as the old do, consecrating everyday with the force of cracking knees, with breath that becomes sacred because your lungs are able to breathe it.
The garments worn in flying dreams
were fashioned there –
overcoats that swooped like kites,
scarves streaming like vapor trails,
gowns ballooning into spinnakers.
In a city like that one might sail
through life led by a runaway hat.
The young scattered in whatever directions
their wild hair pointed, and gusting
into one another, fell in love.
At night, wind rippled saxophones
that hung like windchimes in pawnshop
windows, hooting through each horn
so that the streets seemed haunted
not by nighthawks, but by doves.
Pinwheels whirled from steeples
in place of crosses. At the pinnacles
of public buildings, snagged underclothes –
the only flag – flapped majestically.
And when it came time to disappear
one simply chose a thoroughfare
devoid of memories, raised a collar,
and turned his back on the wind.
I closed my eyes and stepped
into a swirl of scuttling leaves.
– Stuart Dybek
from Streets in Their Own Ink ~
A crow flew into the tree outside my window.
It was not Ted Hughes’s crow, or Galway’s crow.
Or Frost’s, Pasternak’s, or Lorca’s crow.
Or one of Homer’s crows, stuffed with gore,
after the battle. This was just a crow.
That never fit in anywhere in its life,
or did anything worth mentioning.
It sat there on the branch for a few minutes.
Then picked up and flew beautifully
out of my life.
– Raymond Carver
I have a lot of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don’t worry. It’s all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don’t know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky ways of cloudy innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere, or one universal self. Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes through everything, is one thing. It’s a dream already ended. There’s nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the one vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.
The world you see is just a movie in your mind.
Your eternal old man,
via The Portable Jack Kerouac ~