Now you open it up, clean it out,
AND prepare for the revolution in your life to follow.
Something is subtracted from the mix, that loss opens up a new world.
There is a war to be won, and a way to win it besides.
As we watch the old world fade, withering,
we begin to bear the signs of the conception of a new one.
You can’t just flip it over and dust it off.
Not this time.
Who is it that constitutes your family?
What kind of world is being created, now?
Between ego and emotion your persona is constructed.
Tap into the face of the eternal, leaving expression for the land of pure experience.
In Cancer, always the ghosts of the past are illuminated by the present.
Beautifully, awfully, terribly, wonderfully.
To measure against.
One silhouette after another.
Strong feelings, runaway emotions.
Snap judgements can be made, but since you have lived this long,
and endured this much,
it’s likely you will cultivate patience enough to have the conversation,
somehow, the words are a doorway with an adventure on the other side.
We see plainly how much we have to lose, and what, at last, we have to gain.
The North Node in Virgo approaches Jupiter.
We are being asked to clean up our mess.
Maybe more than one mess.
If you have been letting relationships play out to see where they take you,
now you know where.
A broom sweeps.
Whether you have been naughty or nice, there once was room for a little chaos,
I’ll close as I did in 2013, for it seems right to come in a circle, as that year was so fraught with hopes and doubts, and now we stand in positions of relative power, that much more near to making our dreams come true, by virtue of having unclogged the drains of our lives.
Now you look on the very ugly with a commonplace half-smile, a nod, as we do not hope for unattainable perfection, but simply for the chance to stand up, to fight the good fight.
Can you flow now, certain of what is essential? Have you become more brave, more fully able to accept the good, and withdraw from the bad, hands upheld in peace rather than recrimination?
~ “Christmas,” said Doctor Drinkwater as his red-cheeked face sped smoothly toward Smoky’s, “is a kind of day, like no other in the year, that doesn’t seem to succeed the days it follows, if you see what I mean.” . . .
“I mean,” Doctor Drinkwater said, reappearing beside him, “that every Christmas seems to follow immediately after the last one; all the months that came between don’t figure in. Christmases succeed each other, not the falls they follow.”. . .
It was true what Doc had said, that Christmas succeeds Christmas rather than the days it follows. That had become apparent to Smoky in the last few days. . . ~”
With Saturn in Sagittarius, wisdom is what we are after, and yet at this moment with the Moon and Neptune both at home in their signs, it is not boundaries that we are able to cultivate, but emotional intelligence.
You may inadvertently cross lines, but at least you will know what states you have entered. There is a certain magic, amidst high feeling and hope, irrational wonderment wavering the corners of reality, desolation and euphoria peeking through. Even the most mundane and drab has a wobbly of possibility, that something new may come to pass…
~”. . . Smoky charged with rum-tea sat down in the imaginary study to begin his letter. He spoiled one sheet because the rickety writing-table there rocked beneath his careful pen; he shimmed the leg with a matchbook and began again.
“My dear Santa, First of all it’s only right that I explain about last year’s wish. I won’t excuse myself by saying I was a little drunk, though I was, and I am (it’s getting to be a Christmas habit, as everything about Christmas gets to be a habit, but you know all about that). Anyway, if I shocked you or strained your powers by such a request I’m sorry; I meant only to be flip and let off a little steam. I know (I mean I assume) it’s not in your power to give one person to another, but the fact is my wish was granted. Maybe only because I wanted it then more than anything, and what you want so much you’re just likely to get. So I don’t know whether to thank you or not. I mean I don’t know whether you’re responsible; and I don’t know whether I’m grateful.”
“Anyway,” he began again, “my desires this year are a little clouded. I would like one of those instruments you use to sharpen the blades of an old-fashioned lawn mower. I would like the missing volume of Gibbon (Vol. II) which somebody’s apparently taken out to use as a doorstop or something and lost.” He thought of listing publisher and date, but a feeling of futility and silence came over him, drifting deep. “Santa,” he wrote, “I would like to be one person only, not a whole crowd of them, half of them always trying to turn their backs and run whenever somebody”–Sophie, he meant, Alice, Cloud, Doc, Mother; Alice most of all–”looks at me. I want to be brave and honest and shoulder my burdens. I don’t want to leave myself out while a bunch of slyboots figments do my living for me.” He stopped, seeing he was growing unintelligible. He hesitated over the complimentary close; he thought of using “Yours as ever,” but thought that might sound ironic or sneering, and at last wrote only “Yours &c.,” as his father always had, which then seemed ambiguous and cool; what the hell anyway; and he signed it: Evan S. Barnable. . .
When he received these communications, Santa drew the claws of his spectacles from behind his ears and pressed the sore place on the bridge of his nose with thumb and finger. What was it they expected him to do with these? A shotgun, a bear, snowshoes, some pretty things and some useful: well, all right. But for the rest of it…He just didn’t know what people were thinking anymore. But it was growing late; if they, or anyone else, were disappointed in him tomorrow, it wouldn’t be the first time. He took his furred hat from its peg and drew on his gloves. He went out, already unaccountably weary though the journey had not even begun, into the multicolored arctic waste beneath a decillion stars, whose near brilliance seemed to chime, even as the harness of his reindeer chimed when they raised their shaggy heads at his approach, and as the eternal snow chimed too when he trod it with his booted feet.”
-John Crowley, Little, Big~
As EVER, Love YOU!!!!