There’s a surprise in it.
The sky is rich with unwashed love and possibility, ugly, in it’s embrace of reality unadorned. It could be the jolt you have already had, echoing out more starkly, could be an additional change.
Your best bonds now are with those who look at you with soft eyes and tell you what a beautiful grandmother you will be one day. Or how they love sharing with you what little they have.
Old and getting older. Venus/Saturn/Chiron loves the bottom line. There’s friction intertwined with acceptance, seduction weds desperation. Where need drives a Cadillac, burning oil is a beautiful necessity.
With Mercury, Venus, Jupiter, and Saturn all moving backward, it’s not enough to say things come undone, they do, but don’t they always?
Events slip sideways. Absences slowly amalgamate, we are not sure where we are being taken or what sum we have been robbed. We dare not believe the best, and the worst is too grim to consider for more than a moment. Are we more than treading water?
All the same you will be informed of what you do have.
The creeping dread, did I slip half an inch? Did I? Was that movement lateral or vertical? Am I falling down ?
The events of the next two weeks are nearly Eclipse-like, the Full Moon segues into Venus direct on the 15th. For that, Venus is conjunct Chiron and Square Saturn. From there we springboard towards the Sun’s retro-Merc conjunction on the 20th. Answers to massive questions arrive that are painful and helpful, both. Not that these answers will be complete, or your analysis of them lasting, they won’t, it doesn’t.
You can neither ignore what you learn or depend on it. Think working title, rough draft, until Mercury is direct on the 5/6 of May. That’s a dynamic pivot, and a surprise with longevity. Mercury goes direct conjunct Uranus in Aries, and trine Saturn and the North Node.
Let’s come back to NOW.
Now with the Full Moon, changes, surprises, a surge.
Sudden events, a Cardinal T-square on the Libra Full Moon.
Family and clan in the crossfire.
Or are they also firing shots?
Out of your control, what you do about it, and then what comes next?
Jupiter magnifies what fate (Saturn, Uranus, Pluto) sends your way.
Not the final outcomes, a shift in the story, and a shock to go with it.
No choice. And then you compensate. The furthest thing from a clean slate.
I went over to Wait -what? and read a whole lot of beautiful poetry.
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful
– Maggie Smith
No people are uninteresting.
Their destinies are like histories of planets.
Nothing in them is not particular,
and no planet is like another.
And if someone lives in obscurity,
befriending that obscurity,
he is interesting to people
by his very obscurity.
Everyone has his own secret, private world.
In that world is a finest moment.
In that world is a tragic hour,
but it all is unknown to us.
And if someone dies
there dies with him his first snow,
and first kiss, and first fight.
He takes it all with him.
Yes, books and bridges remain,
and painted canvas and machinery,
yes, much is sentenced to remain,
but something really departs all the same!
Such is the law of the pitiless game.
It’s not people who die, but worlds.
We remember people, sinful and earthly.
But what did we know, in essence, about them?
What do we know of brothers, of friends?
What do we know of our one and only?
And about our own fathers,
knowing everything, we know nothing.
They perish. They cannot be brought back.
Their secret worlds are not regenerated.
And every time I want again
to cry out against the unretrievableness.
– Yevgeny Yevtushenko, “No people are…”, 1961
(Translated by Albert C. Todd)
Everything Good between Men and Women
has been written in mud and butter
and barbecue sauce. The walls and
the floors used to be gorgeous.
The socks off-white and a near match.
The quince with fire blight
but we get two pints of jelly
in the end. Long walks strengthen
the back. You with a fever blister
and myself with a sty. Eyes
have we and we are forever prey
to each other’s teeth. The torrents
go over us. Thunder has not harmed
anyone we know. The river coursing
through us is dirty and deep. The left
hand protects the rhythm. Watch
your head. No fires should be
unattended. Especially when wind. Each
receives a free swiss army knife.
The first few tongues are clearly
preparatory. The impression
made by yours I carry to my grave. It is
just so sad so creepy so beautiful.
Bless it. We have so little time
to learn, so much… The river
courses dirty and deep. Cover the lettuce.
Call it a night. O soul. Flow on. Instead.
C. D. Wright (1949-2016)
I Imagine The Gods
I imagine the gods saying, We will
make it up to you. We will give you
three wishes, they say. Let me see
the squirrels again, I tell them.
Let me eat some of the great hog
stuffed and roasted on its giant spit
and put out, steaming, into the winter
of my neighborhood when I was usually
too broke to afford even the hundred grams
I ate so happily walking up the cobbles,
past the Street of the Moon
and the Street of the Birdcage-Makers,
the Street of Silence and the Street
of the Little Pissing. We can give you
wisdom, they say in their rich voices.
Let me go at last to Hugette, I say,
the Algerian student with her huge eyes
who timidly invited me to her room
when I was too young and bewildered
that first year in Paris.
Let me at least fail at my life.
Think, they say patiently, we could
make you famous again. Let me fall
in love one last time, I beg them.
Teach me mortality, frighten me
into the present. Help me to find
the heft of these days. That the nights
will be full enough and my heart feral.
– Jack Gilbert