Eyes to See
Summer 2024
Uncategorized
Full Moon Journeying in Capricorn
The road from 1° to 29°
On the summer solstice, we had our first Full Moon in Capricorn at 1° shortly after 9p EST, while Neptune sat at an illusory 29° of Pisces opposing Black Moon Lilith on eagle-eyed 29° Virgo, creating a dynamic Grand Cross by degree, but not involving the eclipse energies of Libra and Aries. Leadership is conflict-ridden and cannot move.
Interestingly, the Sabian symbol for 1° of Capricorn is a Tribal Chief and asks how does a man use the power entrusted to him by his people. For this reason, and due to a correlation with Tropical Astrology seasonal theory, I reference Native Lakota definitions of the Four Directions for this Grand Cross:
- East, where the Sun rises, the beginning of understanding, Light lets us see reality, Wisdom – Capricorn Full Moon in this chart
- West, where the Sun sets, rivers, lakes and Essential water, the Great Thunderbird lives in the West & brings storms – Cancer Sun in this chart
- South, where the Sun is at its highest and draws Life from the earth, warm & pleasant winds – Virgo Lilith in this chart
- North, where the Sun is at its lowest and Cold harsh winds cleanse the earth, resilience – Pisces Neptune in this chart
No one can deny the Cardinal tensions of the past month as marginalized voices strain to be recognized (Lilith), feelings amplify and direct us, and the wealthiest, most powerful among us, jockey for position (Sun in Cancer). This is have/have not oppositional, King-of-the-Hill competition flavored by the recent Jupiter/Uranus conjunction.
During this time of Uranian technology the collective searches for firm footing on a shifting sea floor (Saturn in Pisces), but Neptune and Lilith opposing one another creates snapshot productions of guilt, tragedy and luxurious desires. Dopamine dumping as a result of scrolling short-form content has resulted in a universal addiction while Neptune has been in Pisces, just as intended.
Stone Henge was temporarily defaced by Eco activists the day prior to the summer solstice using bright orange powder paint. Pretty sure I witnessed a glimmer of Druidic sacrificial energy, likely due to Pluto in Aquarius. Humans normally aligned on ecology became outraged at the action, the attachment to material overtaking concern for earth. Connections in our lives may have been fractured during this first full moon or we may have realized a diminishing value in others. Isolation and even depression are often the signatures of a Capricorn Moon in fall. The flow between Cancer and Capricorn is not easy-going despite both being feminine. They still initiate change as Cardinal signs, one representing night and the other the toil and ambition of day.
Midway between our Capricorn Full Moons a New Moon in Cancer on July 5 brought forward ancestral and familial issues relating to “home” as the U.S. celebrated its’ independence and Hurricane Beryl landed on the Yucatan Peninsula. Water elemental energy stirs emotions and our sense of belonging may have been highlighted. New intentions regarding our family relationships, forgiveness and strengthening our home security are themes during the season of the crab who carries their home with them. In the creation chart of the world, a.k.a. the Thema Mundi, Cancer sits at the helm on the Ascendant and was termed by ancient philosophers as the “doorway to life”. Cancer symbolizes the waters of birth as well as a cycle of rise and fall. Change brings stress, but we find our seas legs the less we struggle against it.
As one of the ruling energies, Saturn in watery Pisces can help our seasickness. By grounding in the mundane tasks and responsibilities we may not relish, we become present and able to create future security. It is ok if we only feel or dream it with an abundance of watery emotion as our backdrop. As conflicts increase, the Wheel is being reconstructed even as it is being destroyed at a faster than usual pace. This is a continuing saga from the 2020 Great Conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn at 0° Aquarius, a New Air period of human advancement and revolutionary idealism has begun.
Our 2nd Full Moon in Capricorn is at 29° on July 21, 2024. The Sabian symbol is a woman reading tea leaves, which Dane Rudyhar interprets as recognizing omens and signs in everything that occurs. The “as above so below” theory is represented- what Rudyhar describes as “true clairvoyance”. There is a connectivity between all things, a universal truth felt more fully in the sign the ancients referred to as the “gateway of the Gods”. The final degree is especially Saturnian as Capricorn feels a responsibility to build the ideal in the physical world, to bring heaven to earth.
Idealistic Souls with Suns located in the latter degrees of Capricorn
- Dolly Parton’s Sun is at 29°
- Edgar Allen Poe’s Sun is at 28°
- Jim Carrey’s Sun is at 26°
- Martin Luther King’s Sun is at 25°
Applying to a conjunction with Pluto at 0° Aquarius, the Moon puts a spotlight on the shadow side of humanitarian idealism and technological advances. The French Revolution encapsulates Aquarian zeal becoming extra, the oppressed becoming oppressors. Most of us are innocent bystanders during this full moon, just as we all carry the energy of Capricorn and Cancer in our zodiacal chart. Not adding to conflict can avert Pluto’s energy, but this may be difficult with an exact square between Uranus the change-maker and Mercury in dramatic Leo. Squares in astrology carry the energy of Mars, who is at a 0° of Gemini, so there may be debating among friends. In my opinion this is the hardest part of new cycles, but Venus in Leo is higher-heart energy that comes from the Divine Feminine. Manifesting this in our 3D world is possible with steady effort that includes emotional care and regulation. We are tasked with being authentic and present in reality. Grounding this intensity in productivity and mindful physical movement such as QiGong or Donna Eden’s energy exercises is favorable, while heartfelt conversations can wait a few days. As the Moon wanes, so do emotions. Capricorn rules the bones, knees and lower back. Cardinal signs, Scorpio, and Aquarius should be mindful of over overdoing, always a danger for everyone during any full moon along with overestimating ability.
The Sabian symbol for 0° Aquarius is an adobe mission and may be interpreted as the enduring product of spiritual vision. Again, we are met with a concept of ideals being made manifest, legacies which survive past the physical lives of the builders.
My ideal vision includes a useful garden and my grandson’s success, so I am pouring effort into those ideals. My dream of an astrology practice is more possible with the Ancient Astrology course I’m currently finishing. Writing astrology pieces like this is more aligned with my ideals than creating short-form content, is one of my full moon realizations with Capricorn in my 1st house of identity.
How are you building your ideal?
Parnus- Part 1- New Earth
After being cast in darkness for weeks, blushing Parnus moonslight flooded the cabin and allowed him to shut down pin-prick lights overhead, saving what power he could for landing. Her eyes darting behind their lids, Scotia didn’t surface as quickly as Dusan desired. A staccato beat reverberated in the cramped space, his giveaway foot in sync with short and quick breaths. A relaxant mist no longer delivered in tandem with oxygen and nitrogen would be helpful at the moment, Dusan thought. Two years he’d waited. “Scotia”, he bent down and whispered close to her ear, long nimble fingers brushing her hair back from her creased forehead. Always serious Scotia. An initially positive indication of cell coherence despite its’ silver hue, Dusan noted hair growth in her record with a nod. If anyone was made for this sunless planet, it’s Scotia, he thought and traced one vividly blue vein the length of her clavicle.
“Approaching Parnus”, the craft announced. The remainder of her physical inventory would have to wait. “Secure your person and all loose objects within the next sixty seconds before momentum shifts”. His hand lingered against her cheek for a moment longer. Momentum shift, indeed. Whatever lay ahead, at least she was here with him and Zehmy.
Except, Scotia still dreamed of old earth. She paced the gardens of Eudaimonia, normally where she’d find her best friend Haffney, hunched over eggplant or pepper plants, never choosing the best for their weekly portion as she did. Where could he be? Once, there had been sprawling flower gardens complete with an intricate hedge maze and baby animal statuary which separated Eudaimonia’s scientific center from the shoreline a few miles away. A sea surge claimed that parcel not long after most of the population left for Parnus. Her eyes stung from the gusting salty wind, but an almost-full moon helped her navigate a path. “Haff?”, she called feebly. Deja vu fluttered like a sheer curtain in her periphery. She retreated a couple of paces. Sounds from the equipment shed carried on the wind and made her heart clench as if it stopped. Scotia’s shorn head hinged back and forth fiercely in the shadowy night as her mind struggled with what it heard. Preeky’s cries of pleasure were plain, as was his “yeah, that’s it”. Scotia ran then, away from the shed, away from Haff and betrayal, back to their container where she’d plead illness. Just for the day. Then she’d get it together, she thought, but her body heaved with sobs and her childhood sweetheart story lodged in her throat. She damned Dusan, again, for leaving her behind on this dying planet. But… how did she hear him, “Scotia! Scotia”, excited and definitely Dusan, “We’re here, Scotia!”
Although they efforted, earth’s civilization could not recover enough ecosystem to sustain the species. Extinction became probable as catastrophic events occurred almost daily and fertility grew scarce at an equally stifling rate. Those who remained in the western world created Eudaimonia, a new society, in a region formerly known as Colorado. Scotia, Haffney and Dusan were born in Eudaimonia and began training for a new planetary home before the age of five.
Despite world unification, Mother Earth and Father Sun did not open their hearts again for humanity. Her core mantle and atmospheric shield abused beyond repair, she now only needed water to cool her from his raging beams. In only two short decades, they lost most of the world’s artful masterpieces, along with the seven wonders of the world and cave drawings dating back to the dawn of mankind. The seas rose over Vatican City, completing the fall of Rome, while towering skyscrapers across the world fell unceremoniously. Eventually, Eudaimonia’s population sustained themselves on a single meal of millet and sweet potatoes, later adding iron-rich plasma snacks when prisons became insecure. Cannibalism wore a disguise of justice.
Remaining scientists became royalty, and as such, reassigned resources toward discovering an exostar or moon with a habitable zone. They hoped for two decades, at least, of data collecting. Their plan provided time to devise survival necessities and structure developmental plans. Repopulation hopes seemed more fantastical than relocating. For once, every human on old earth agreed discovery was their primary move if humans advanced to another planetary home. After a decade of increasingly desperate and resultingly daring exploration of the Milky Way, only two viable sub-planets were discovered, exhaustively studied, and to everyone’s sorrow, ruled out .
Commander Xavier Parnus hypothesized a harnessing of enigmatic forces between Baade’s Window and the Galactic Center in order to travel outside of the Milky Way. His theories met with scorn, mockery and threats to his explorer license until, with the help of Dr. Urick Parnus’ biophysics team, he found a way through and beyond. The sons of astronauts, the brothers were catapulted into heroes worth worshipping once Parnus was deemed unexpectedly habitable.
While Dusan’s bio-pod had opened a week prior, Scotia had remained in an induced theta state with periodic windows of deep delta wave restoration until they arrived in the orbit of Parnus’ furthest moon. The pod provided several essentials: oxygen, hydration, nutrition, waste removal, and cryogenic sleep. In preparation for Scotia’s retrieval from old earth/Eudaimonia, Dusan himself had added an extra layer of shielding in hopes of mitigating metabolic changes and cellular abnormalities upon morphogenesis, or “reorganization” as Eudaimonia’s elders preferred to describe the process.
Frowning at a tiny oval scar at Scotia’s hairline, Dusan wondered whether he’d made a mistake agreeing to the implant. Coni would’ve let him add his affirmations regardless, he thought, then cast his regret away with a shrug.
Conshoi, Dusan’s sister and reluctant Director of Health on Parnus, added psyche reconditioning and unity consciousness to the orientation modules in Scotia’s biopod. “Coni”, as Dusan called her, also let her brother insert a few assurances throughout Scotia’s theta periods, after she gave her older brother an enormous dose of teasing. Nothing comes for free, she’d reminded him. With Dusan’s consent, an epicortical nano implant was placed easily with Scotia in cryogenic stasis. Research volunteers were scarce on Parnus, although generalized fear seemed to be relenting according to Coni’s measurements. Still, she considered all of the 388 humans who inhabited Parnus psychologically fragile.
“Scotia, we’re home”, his long dark fingers caressed her cheek and stirred their nano-implants into a dopamine dump with a bit of serotonin, a calming hormone he suspected she lacked. Her eyes calmed and the edges of her mouth turned up. Sharp edges of her collarbones and wrists had softened some since they departed Eudaimonia. Her cheeks weren’t sunken anymore, the injuries from bashing into the cliff face mere shadows now. The state of her mind would take longer to assess than her physical condition, her experiences an anomaly in the new Parnus population. People were accustomed to her being an anomaly, though. Dusan didn’t think she’d be happy about muscle loss, but Zehmy would make up for any negatives, after her initial shock. Almost two years could not be undone in 32 days, he knew, but he had not felt this hopeful since… Dusan shook his head, his braid clamps clinking at his back. “Scotia, wake up. Come see these bubble waterfalls on our moons”, he told her as her eyes slit and her head swiveled to him. “Here, let me get your breathing tube. You ready?” At her nod, his mouth turned up at the corners. Of course, she was ready. “You know what to do. Here we go, Scotia. Inhale. Now big exhale.” So far, so good. Her cough sprayed him in a fine mist and activated a humming air vacuum. ”Here, let me help”. A tickling sensation in her cheeks made her involuntarily crinkle her nose as he suctioned out her mouth.
She’d made it. Scotia squinted her scratchy eyes toward the rosy sky outside their spacecraft’s viewing panel. After taking a slow and long sip of unfamiliar liquid from a hydrobot, she croaked, “How soon”? Dreams of Zehmy had filled her theta wave periods even before their journey to Parnus. Drawing in enough air to inflate her lungs felt impossible, as if an immoveable weight sat in their depths. “I feel like if I could get a few deep breaths my mind would clear”, she whispered to Dusan, his face close to hers.
“Your body is waking up and taking over where the pod functioned. I’ll get some measurements in a minute,” Dusan replied. He lifted her out of the pod to a nearby padded chaise where he’d slept next to her since his biopod opened. He hoped he never had to get in one again. Despite closing the viewing panel and ports on immense swaths of nothingness, space was lonely. Scotia was not the only one excited about a reunion with Zehmy.
Ixkeeb insisted on an in-person introduction to Scotia. Dusan’s wide forehead creased and he let out a long exhale. If he didn’t warn her… or even if he did, Scotia’s reaction would determine all of their futures.
Exiles
voices decanted from a forgotten vessel
stirred in my bowl of belly senses
with care and precision by the manager
oblivious to a warrior child impatiently waiting
unspeakables falling out of her pocket
as she drums into creation
a newborn dragon nestled in ash
one eye open and searching
heaven’s detours for a
never-imagined journey
along illuminated slopes
slippery with meteoric insight
ecliptic signposts alchemized in timelessness
newborn galaxies explosions of awareness
unmarred unwounded unknown
slow cautions Saturn
feel and flow
sky as sea
reflecting black iris depths
from the edge of her abyss
a living volcano driving upward
lava roiling in her heart
cooled by eternal divine waves
she claims invisible Mars
her pockets inside out empty
with a nod she removes her helmet
and sheaths a broken sword
“I am the Sun!”
a sea of tears whispers within
I am the stars
Mars unfurls her baby wings
Courtland Cemetery
I was drawn here to find my ancestors graves. Once here, others beckoned, many with names and dates worn away. My Great-Great Grandfather William Beatty died from TB (“consumption”), common at the time.
I couldn’t find my Great-Great Grandmother Lucy Flynn’s grave among the Flynn markers, but maybe I will find her next time. A few women’s graves are marked simply with “Wife” to “a man’s name” and there are many small white stone markers without names.
Age is noted on many gravestones, even down to the # of days.
Voice
At ten
secrets leaked
on yellow pages
“Bruises on my Soul”
Innocent heart
nudging in shadow
sensing
lifelong land mines
Keys swing
on my hip
but locks
on Medicine
dissipate on
my tongue
Beckoning heart
Rousing
an inherited impulse
to unlock
Everything
I Am Human
Living Disabled in an Ableist Culture
You wouldn’t know to look at me that I am disabled. It was a long, rough, and savings-sucking fight to keep working. I remember my primary doctor at the time telling me, “People get uncomfortable around those in visible pain, so they want to distance themselves”, an explanation for how differently I was treated by colleagues once I couldn’t hide my RA. In my autoimmune support groups, I know this hiding of illness is common, as if we aren’t human beings. The rejection of self is a recipe for depression and worsening physical health. Even college students, who may be afforded accommodations, often hide their disability, or do not accept it as part of their identity. We teach children that disability is something to be overcome. The Arthritis Foundation puts non-average patients who’ve done something impressive, on the covers of their monthly publications. They all say the same-“Don’t give up! Push through! Find a stellar specialist and eat fresh and healthy”, not bad advice, but not acknowledging any fluctuations in disease activity that make them unable to perform. Instead, a low-to-no-symptom snapshot in time of a world-class millionaire golfer is meant to inspire the more than 50 million patients they serve. I translated it as ,”you just aren’t doing everything you can”, although for new patients they provide some common-sense advice and a sense of belonging.
Recently, I read on a Crip Theory thread, “I’m not sure I’m disabled enough to claim that term”. I admit, I’m not comfortable with the term, either, and grew up averting my eyes. This is the ableism inherent in our very genes, that unconsciously tells us we must suffer greatly, and with witnesses, in order to earn flexibility and acceptance. Crip theory applies to queerness, along with disability, the compulsory able-bodiedness an agent of capitalism sharing common features of compulsory heterosexuality. Some scholars are working with Crip theory to create spaces that support the success and wellness of different mind/body types. It isn’t hard to imagine an expansion of this concept, however practical considerations may not always allow for authorities to provide what we need.
Disabled people, and advocates, promote Crip world-making by dismantling beliefs and assumptions about our authenticity and grit, our talents and worthiness. It’s hard to take care of oneself when you feel unsupported, so I suggest starting by giving yourself a bit of flexibility first, like a rotisserie chicken or prepared salad shortcuts , or a week for writing a blog post. Giving myself what I need in terms of rest, meditative time, efforts to find good doctors and bodywork practitioners, fresh meals and gentle exercise, and slack on weeding the garden, it all signals my inner self that I am worth it. Learning to accept oneself after disability is a process. Therapy with the right person may help, as can meditation and energy healing, to release repeatedly the ableist messages racing through our minds every day; they’re just trying to figure out how to get us back in the tribe. That’s not our tribe, anymore. My tribe now is a motley mix of other warriors and spiritual folks, the two overlapping in a predictable way, my own little “crip world”.
We create these expansive spaces by throwing off normative definitions of what we are capable of creating, and showing up as ourselves in all our complexity, as uncomfortable as that sometimes is. One of my absolute best tools is a daily morning meditation practice, my touchstone before I cast off from shore daily in a sea of ableism that I (mostly) let float by me.
Eudaimonia- Part 4
Bonds
Even after caking mud over my protective clothing, I felt on the precipice of overheating. I hid among the bamboo on the outskirts of our residential community while I tried to calm a galloping fear threatening to unhinge me. Haff hasn’t responded to any of my telepathic attempts, which makes me ambivalent about following through with our emergency plan. Did Dusan tell him? Or, worse yet, kill him?
Dusan Soroka’s family is as powerfully positioned in the Laws sector as mine is in the Sciences sector of Eudaimonia, and I presume, on Parnus. Our parents pledged our betrothal for obvious reasons, however no one consulted us. My parents had stood silently and typically distracted in their laboratory when I railed at them about using all of my future for their “New Earth”.
“You will do what is required of you, Scotia. But, right now isn’t the time for you to worry about your future partner. You’re still a girl with studies and…”, my father looked at me sternly, “skills to master.” At that time, he was bullying me about my refusal to perform dissections on feral cats and mice. We had so few animals left, but he was confident in his own judgement, as always. The betrothal, to a Soroka no less, was mere frosting on their New Earth cake.
A part of me still clings to their illusory parental love. Remembering the sheer silken shift I wore, my feet bare with gold rings on my toes, gossamer strands of my blonde hair sticking to Dusan’s velvet shirt, I let my mind drift. Different courses of study meant we barely knew one another. At thirteen I had to bend my neck all the way back to look up at him, his eyes black pools searching mine for something I didn’t understand. We stood on an elevated black platform which disappeared in the night, but for massive torch pits on either side and behind us, swaying flames cast us in blue light and flickering shadows. I wanted to reassure him as his hands enveloped mine and we recited the rites of promise in front of most of the elite populace of Eudaimonia, rows of long white benches full and stretching far into the darkness. When his mother, who oversaw the legally-binding ceremony, asked him if he wanted to say anything on this momentous occasion, Dusan pulled me in front of him and crossed his long black arms over me. I felt my head against his breastbone, and forced the corners of my mouth up while he held me tightly against him, my arms captured.
After a long moment of quiet, he announced, “It is Soroka’s honor to share our melanin with the vulnerable, and old earth, Braun family line”. The silence took on an ominous quality I sensed, but didn’t comprehend. No one spoke of the Braun’s genetic inability to endure peak daylight hours even with solar protection. We are the reason the betrothal ceremony took place at night under a new/dark moon. My parent’s closest friends looked appropriately aghast, while others behind them whispered behind cupped hands, but what he said next made them cheer as though they’d won something.
“I promise you today, Scotia and I will produce a minimum of twenty offspring on New Earth, genetically strong with superior intelligence”, his voice rose with the crowd’s applause, “to help us create our dream world on Parnus!”. I barely registered what he promised, possessing only a sketchy understanding of Dr. DeWoer’s embryo lab and nursery. My studies focused on genetics and culling DNA. The next day my mother began administering weekly estrogen shots. My menses began three months later.
By the time of our Recommitment Ceremony when we were both fifteen, I’d developed into a young woman, my hips widening and breasts budding, this time under an indigo shift that brushes my knees. Judging from Dusan’s towering frame, clad only in loose wide-legged shorts to his knees, I assumed he’d been given growth hormones. He bent down slightly to look me in the eyes, all his boyish apprehension gone, his own dark pools hypnotizing me as I heard, “It’s good to see you again, Scotia“, without his lips moving. Judging from mother’s lecture later that night, my face must’ve registered my surprise. Showing emotion in public equated to a weak character, according to my parent’s increasingly repressive instruction. My frustrated screams shocked her silent, but smashing an empty teacup against the hearth made my mother’s lips turn up at the corners slightly in satisfaction. Hormone shots she administered daily now for over a month made me rage one moment and sob the next, while my breasts could barely stand the touch of even the softest bamboo shift. I felt both nauseous and ravenous and found it difficult to focus, all side-effects she criticized and used to disempower me. She told me daily how disappointing I was in dozens of different ways, her disdain obvious to everyone.
The next day my eggs were harvested by Dr. DeWoer, Haff’s father, with my best friend’s mother, Comair, administering anesthesia and strapping my ankles to stirrups. In my hazy memory, a shadowy figure stands bedside by my head, a hand smoothing back my hair and whispering to breathe deeply into the mask covering my nose and mouth. A bright light at the end of the bed outlines Dr. DeWoer with a surgical cap over his fluffy copper afro. I can still feel fingers firmly stretching my labia apart, when I think of that day, ice-cold liquid squirting deeply into my feminine cavity. They said I wouldn’t feel anything; I’d be asleep. But, I’m not. It’s as though a searing hot knife enters me and I scream as a man once so kind to me says, “hormones have dried her out, give me more juice” and pushes a slippery rounded ultrasound wand through my hymen and upward further, then further toward my ovaries. “Hold her, Damn it!” Thankfully, I fell asleep with another type of sedative right as he secured the wand and before he inserted the collection needle at the top of my vagina. My mother told me Dr. DeWoer punctured and drained follicular fluid from my ovaries, thereby harvesting mature eggs. The procedure itself was done with precision and utmost care for the eggs.
Memories threaten to overwhelm me as I start to think of the second harvest two years later, the one when Dusan was present, and made certain the doctor did not touch me until I was asleep. When I awoke, he held my hand, and was staring at me. I rub habitually at the red S tatooed on my neck under my right ear lobe. I am not that child-woman any longer, I breathe the words in and exhale slowly to erase my mind’s screenplay. Be here, Scotia.
While spring tide during the full moon is still a week away, I feel like I have no choice but to hope high tide is enough for me to land in close proximity to the ledge in front of the cave entrances. In danger of becoming frozen in my imaginings, I force my body to move forward in spite of my emotional state, the only sane option. Dusan swore I would regret birthing Haff’s son, something elite citizens had not chosen to do in almost a century. Immensely hurt, he took custody of our son, Zehmy, as well as my eggs awaiting fertilization, as recompense. We discussed simply overlooking my misdeed with Haff and claiming both Zehmy and me, but Diana Soroka wouldn’t allow it. I think his mother was rather glad he broke the betrothal contract, despite her son’s unhappiness. My parents and Haff’s were more than a little afraid of the massive Soroka clan, descendants of a formidably powerful monarchy before the African continent became uninhabitable, just as my ancestor’s home in the Americas did. Our families formed Eudaimonia together almost a century ago, along with hundreds of other influential families.
Securing the straps of my S bag around my shoulders, I eye my goal one last time before wading into the water with my mini longboard. Hoisting myself on top of it, I paddle out more than twenty meters before turning around, gifting myself a few meters to gather my courage. Usually, Haff is here in the water with me, just as he was the very first time I’d landed on the ledge in front of the cliff face’s opening. Taking a deep breath, I caught a strong wave with my board and hurtled upward, caught in the flow of water as it swelled, and then dwindled too far from the cliff. Adjusting my trajectory much closer, I paddle out again before my brain calculates the risk, and catch a truly impressive wave. My breath is caught in my chest as it smashes against the craggy cliff with me and the board, the latter breaking in half and falling into the sea. I didn’t dare secure the board to me, but regret its loss, nonetheless. Not near the cave’s ledge, but approximately three meters below it I clung to irregular quartz veins with my hands in matching pinches while the balls of my feet and bent toes cling to a shale outcropping barely wide enough to accommodate them. Gasping, I feel more stinging cuts than I’d anticipated, blood running into my mouth from one or more on my head, but it doesn’t matter because finding edges and pockets is my only concern. In my experience, when I stopped, when I doubted or hesitated, I got injured. Swinging my body to the left I reached upward for an edge, my arm falling until two fingers find a shallow hole. It will have to be enough. As I swing my body again, pebbles break away under my feet until I’m standing on my toes and laying my body as flat as I can against the cliff.
“Grab the rope, Scotia”, a deep familiar voice commands from above.
My toes are slipping, my body sliding on the rock face as a thick knotted rope dangles immediately to my right. Switching direction, I mindlessly grab it with both hands just as my toe ledge crumbles. Twisting the rope around one arm I grab with my left and and use my feet to walk up onto the ledge in front of our summer caves, noting the almost completely flat surface under my feet until the last meter. Sheer wet shale too slippery for palming successfully, although I would’ve tried.
As it is, Dusan is before me with a small grin and sparkling eyes as if he finds me comical. Me, an unmelanated Braun who’d thrown away her chance to be a part of his esteemed empire. “You!”, I yell at him, “How could you, Dusan? Where is my son”? Blood is running into my eye as I approach him, but I care not a single speck for what I must look like, such concerns having left the planet with Zehmy and Dusan.
He’d somehow grown more attractive, his tall muscular frame powerfully evident under a grey solar-protection skinsuit, calculating almond-shaped eyes set in an ebony face with sharp cheeks and a wide Nubian nose, hair in braids from his crown to the nape of his neck, secured with tiny silver clamps stamped with an “S”. Why is he here?
Dusan bent to the ground and opened his own S bag, removing a synthetic bladder and what looked like cotton bandages and adhesive tape. “Sit, and I’ll tell you about Zehmy”, he nods to the ground beside him and I readily comply, grimacing as I lower myself. As always, I feel at a distinct disadvantage in Dusan’s company, even though he probably saved my life with that rope. “I thought we were past you fearing me”, he wet a cloth and held it to my cheek, brought it away pink and rinsed it with more water from his bladder then said, “close your eyes” before squeezing it over my head. Cool streams run down my arms and chest. Raising one arm and wiping the blood and dirt off it, Dusan mutters, “sorry” every time I gasp, then rinses the cloth and gently cleans my wounds limb by limb.
“Why did you leave me, Dusan? You swore”, I choke on the last word.
He stopped and looked me in my eyes. “I would never leave you. We were well past the moon by the time I surfaced from a sedative Mother put in my shake after we boarded. It still upsets me. I’m here to get you now, Scotia. You’re needed on Parnus. Zehmy and I need you. The new earth needs you”.
I study him as he folds a cotton gauze square and tapes it in place with three loops around my forearm. “What about Haff”?
“Yeah, he told me about your handfasting. I told Haff I appreciate him keeping you safe. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if citizens had killed you by now, but I told Zehmy I’d try. He’s growing more intelligent by the day, already solving algebraic equations, and Scotia… he’s gifted in other ways. Come on, let’s get in the cave before you get burnt”. Dusan bends down and picks me off my feet before I can respond, then marches into a much cooler interior before setting me on the ground again.
While he gets our packs, I ponder what he said so far and realize his invitation does not include Haff.
Pluto’s 1st House Renovation
A Tale of Losses and Esoteric Gains
**The nature of Pluto’s transits is unique to a Soul’s natal chart. No single aspect defines or predicts which choices we make, nor the the impact of others with millions of their own choices.** This transit has become easier as I expanded my spiritual practice with rituals and learned astrology. If you read something here that doesn’t sit well, I suggest giving it time to marinate.
As the planet of transformation begins it’s transit into Aquarius on March 25, Pluto asks me to reflect on it’s time in my first house and as a Crone-share what I’ve learned.
Capricorn is a feminine elder energy of traditions, religion, discipline, government, authorities, military, and career, ruled by serious Saturn. When Pluto, named after a Roman god of death and the underworld, began transforming all things Capricorn in 2008 I recall collective transformative cultural and political shifts including the deaths of icons:
- Stock market crash/Great Recession began with bank fails
- Michael Phelps won eight gold medals.
- Heath Ledger’s death from an overdose of sleeping pills while filming the role of The Joker in The Dark Knight (2008)
- Twilight series launch by Stephanie Myer, and in the United States
- The first African-American President, Barack Obama, was elected and changed the face of politics forever.
- Miley Cyrus announced Hannah Montana grew up when she wore a backless gown and sent protective Moms into a tailspin.
- Britney Spears placed in a conservatorship that lasted until November, 2021
- Comedian Bernie Mac’s death from Sarcoidosis
On the surface, Pluto’s influence may appear as fate, but I would have jigged where I jagged a few times if only I knew then what I know now. Revealing these personal truths is not about victimhood or blame for me. Chiron at the zero Aries Point indicates my “unhealable wound” is showing who I really am, underneath the personas I create for acceptance. Like many souls, my complex history didn’t grant me tools of self-confidence, self-worth and emotional regulation. In 2008, I still looked to the world to tell me what kind of day I was going to have.
Pluto entered Capricorn at 0° in January, 2008 in a wide conjunction with my Moon at 8°, and my Ascendant (represents physical body and public rep) at 14° Capricorn. A planet’s expression in a sign is most pure at zero degrees of any sign, as evidenced by Pluto’s dramatic influence during 2008 and 2009. My natal Pluto resides in the 9th House of higher learning and spiritual studies in the sign of Virgo, which lent me strength throughout the destruction of my identity.
- I gave a successful talk at a National Conference and became a resource for others in my profession.
- I was given a big raise in pay.
- My daughter, an only child, graduated college and got engaged.
- I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis/disease from a biopsy of a nodule. I began an anti-malarial medication for it.
- My daughter’s first job began at The U.S. Dept. of Defense and she moved six hours away.
- I worked from home occasionally if my RA flared, with my Director’s, but not my supervisor’s knowledge.
- I also started working on weekends in order to keep up with an increasing workload.
- I often felt like 2 people.
- My Director gave me gifts, flowers, and took to me to lovely lunches for my above-and-beyond efforts, while the organization I worked for became unsupportive and threatening.
- Work became my #1 priority as I chased unattainable approval.
In the 1st house, Pluto slowly chipped away at my identity by both giving and taking away power and wealth starting with foundational aspects such as being a Mother of an adult student, and being a respected coordinator in medical education. My ego was methodically dismantled from 2008 to 2015. I knew what made me feel good about myself and fought losing any of it, especially after my daughter became fully independent.
In 2009 Pluto started his long game, moving from 1° to 3° Capricorn. In the collective & my career, we can see Pluto’s secretive influence, as well as big ambition and self-destruction:
- President Obama was sworn into office as the 44th President of the United States and a ruthless campaign began in Congress and among U.S. business leaders to disempower him.
- Michael Jackson, The King of Pop, died from an overdose of propofol, a surgical anesthetic given by his personal physician because he couldn’t sleep while creating This Is It, a show he considered his masterpiece.
- Avatar was released.
- I gave another successful presentation at a national conference of residency program directors & coordinators, and was elected to a board position by the Radiology National Coordinator’s Association.
- I continued to hide my disease from my supervisor and HR, having reason to fear for my job and most importantly-insurance. I witnessed two other coordinators lose their jobs after gaining a national reputation in their respective specialties, and one of them warned me about taking the board position. I accepted it, anyway.
- I became friends with an older gentleman who volunteered for me; a cerebral, yet light-hearted, friendship that often took me out of my comfort zone, in a way that changed how I view friendships, food, and gratitude.
- I took and passed a certification exam which qualified me as an expert in my field, one of only twelve in a field of over 200.
Archetypically, Pluto is Lord of the Underworld and our worst fear-Death
Nothing transforms us more powerfully than death. In my immediate world these loved ones left, each unexpectedly and dramatic:
- Grandma, Flossie Blocher, 2009
- Dad, Greg Blocher, 2010
- Son of friend who committed suicide in 2007 did the same, 2012
- Dear Friend, David Garvey, 2013
- Husband’s old friend, a teen counselor, is murdered, 2013
- Furry Friend of 20 yrs, Jack, 2014
- Father-in-law, Ronald Schultz, 2015
- Other Father-in-law, Dick, 2017
- Another much-loved cat Kiki in 2021
My husband and I lost childhood friends, and I lost cousins, in unexpected & tragic ways, death dancing in our periphery, each loss hurting and changing people we love. Each refining what I value most.
1st House of Self/Life
Rheumatism and bone/spine diseases are Capricorn’s territory in the physical body, a feminine earth sign described in Indian astrology as “being bothered by the wind”. Capricorns are often cold and have dry skin. While Capricornian energy of hard work and ambition were familiar to me, secrecy and calculated plotting in the work place lay in my unconscious fears about losing my job/my power in a frightening world. My need for security drove me forward, despite painful rheumatoid joint inflammation. It is hard to stop the momentum of Capricorn, and changing the mind is a slow Saturnian lesson. Ten years prior, I had been a waitress and single mother. I was proud of how far I’d come by grit and choices.
In 2010 Pluto squares Saturn, the ruler of Capricorn, and became extra:
- WikiLeaks Julian Assange released millions of classified documents detailing U.S. military operations, toxic waste dumping in Africa and executions at Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp along with hundreds of other secrets.
- Chile has one of the strongest earthquakes ever recorded (Pluto rules the deep earth and mined resources).
- The tallest building ever is opened in Dubai on January 4, 2010 (AMBITION).
- Polish President Lech Kaczyinski dies in a plane crash (change in government).
- Haiti has a 7.0 earthquake killing approximately a quarter of a million people.
- My Program Director announced his resignation and my workload continued to increase with telemed privilege requests increasing tenfold.
- The new Program Director does Not allow me to work at home and expects 10-hour days, even during the holidays.
- In December, 2010, I’m diagnosed with fibromyalgia and given Xanax by my doctor when I claim powerlessness over my stress.
Elementary Plutonic Lessons
- It’s just as important to be liked at work as it is to be competent (see The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene). Being likeable is often MORE beneficial to success than work output or innovative ideas.
- I engaged in a power-struggle with the new Program Director I couldn’t win because I felt like I was “right” and it made me much sicker.
- Capricorn is attached to being right and will state it aloud bluntly. Journaling is the best outlet for crafting less aggressive speech.
- Confirmation bias exists in the fabric of my psyche.
- Power corrupts.
- Incompetent physicians are propped up/covered for sometimes by their colleagues. It’s a powerful “club”.
- Pluto is harsh when we refuse to let go of what is clearly departing. I regret giving fear of the unknown any power.
- Always listen to your gut, especially when it comes to people.
- When I was offered severance in 2011, I should’ve taken it rather than the offer to work with someone I knew was horribly dishonest and manipulative. The toxicity and plotting that ensued cost me mentally and physically, while I suspect it was a game to her. When I received a copy of my employee file a few months later, the last of my naivete “exited the building”. My file read like Shakespeare, and some betrayals hurt like hell. They’d padded it because I filed a complaint with the EEOC when I was denied an accommodation to continue working at home during active flares (ironic in healthcare, I know). It was small consolation when I heard the two liars primarily responsible for my termination were finally found out for time fraud. My bosses never would’ve believed me if I’d told them how they took whole afternoons off and came in whenever they pleased. I remembered the chief liar asking me before I was fired, “What would you do if you didn’t work here”? There’s no amount of money that’s worth working with snakes.
- When in doubt, do what you were put here to do. In August, 2011 I started my blog “The Fifth Decade”, my answer to what I’d do if I didn’t work there.
During this time there are two good friends I am very grateful for (both disabled themselves), as well as my husband. Ableism isolates people like me. I felt as though people thought I just wasn’t trying hard enough; such feelings are common among disabled folks. I continued to push myself for the next few years, even starting my own virtual assistant business and working online for mTurk with microtasks. Multiple rounds of physical therapy resulted, my tendons swelling with repetitive tasks, my mind often foggy from inflammation.
Financial losses and windfalls (also Pluto’s domain):
- Loss of work income several times, working for $2/hr at one point
- Extended unemployment benefits in 2011, 2012, and 2014
- 401k used in entirety for living and medical expenses
- Social Security Disability approved in 2018 using a “less than sedentary” work ability after 2 yrs of no income
Highlights
- In 2012, David and I went to see Cinema Paradiso, a 1988 Italian film where he broke down crying next to me in the tiny art museum theater. When I asked what was wrong, he whispered he was just so happy to have such a good friend. He changed something inside me in that moment.
- In January, 2013, Pluto squared my Venus in Aries and I quit smoking cigarettes.
- In 2014, despite finances, we took a week-long trip to Ireland, a true dream where I felt well right up to when we arrived at the airport to leave. Lines for Customs or anything else aren’t RA-friendly, I learned.
- In 2016, I found an online support group where new friends are amazingly empathetic and loving. A few of us in this area of the country get together in-person once or twice a year.
- My flower garden, although much smaller, is a sanctuary. Nature is a balm.
- My parents have always been supportive and share their cabin in a wooded island paradise.
- I have time to write.
- My first and only grandchild was born in 2016.
- Our daughter, who lives here now, is thriving.
In 2018, when Pluto was at 18° Capricorn squaring my N. Node in Aries (symbolic of life’s mission) exactly, Rheumatoid Disease attacked my lungs and resulted in a cytokine storm which almost killed me because the doctors only heard the “arthritis” part of RA, unwilling to even consider my suggestion that it was a catalyst. For several days they ordered tests, which came back negative, except for C-reactive Protein, an inflammation marker. A huge dose of IV steroids saved my life after one hospitalist finally called my rheumatologist. There were at least 4 others who ignored me. I fought for my life, and won that year.
After having what they term “critical hallucinations” during my hospital stay, I started meditating and reading a book I inherited from my old friend David, Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Ph. D. I facilitated a women’s New Moon circle centered around sisterhood for a year, and began studying astrology. Five years later I know a little bit and can feel the energies around me and in the collective.
I feel like I’ve been given another chance at life, so now I write and take better care of my heart and mind. Over the past few years my vision of myself as a writer has changed. The hustle-culture of poorly-paid traditional publishing doesn’t fit my needs, nor my gifts. While I’m unsure where this road leads, I’m confident and emotionally mature enough to take the wheel now, with my spirit guides and ancestor’s blessings. While life proved how cruel it was long ago, the past fifteen years has shown me deeper darkness and grace than I imagined possible. Every day I anchor myself in the knowledge that everything, except love, is temporary .
Eudaimonia- Part 3
Dusan
“Who is it, Scotia? Where did they come from, Scotia? Did they communicate, yet? Why are they here?” Leaders of Eudaimonia gather at the sea wall, each of them with weapons in their hands and worry on their faces, each asking me questions before they’d even stopped walking. While a few are in their defense overalls, most are still in their night shifts, a glaring sign of recently neglected drills. My Lab Assistant Preeky Kala, barefoot and rumpled in an unevenly buttoned lab coat over her prized soft bamboo sleep shift, afro flat on one side and braided on the other, catches my eye as she calmy cuts through the garden and simply stands next to me assessing the scene before us. I’m not surprised she isn’t carrying a weapon like the others. “Told you you were exhausted”, I said to her, “You fell asleep before you finished, huh?” My only friend left on Eudaimonia says somberly, “woke up slobbering, too”, as if it is a crime. “Wonder how heavy those things are. They should beach any minute, Sco”. One of her best traits is that she doesn’t ask me nonsense questions.
“Always the optimist, aren’t you? Thanks, Preeky”, impulsively I put one arm around her in a brief half hug. The trio of re-entry capsules no longer glowed, but bobbed like silver buoys in the lake/sea/ocean a mere fifty yards from our diminishing sea wall. Whoever pops their head up through the hatch of one raindrop-shaped vessel is unrecognizable, moonlight casting their face in shadow as they hoist half their body out and wave with their whole right arm. Rage stirs in my guts and I can’t help feeling a bit woozy as I peer at this New Earther. “At least it is human”, I intuit to Haff, who jumps a little at my voice inside his mind.
Realizing not only can I hear Haff’s heart racing, but mine is speeding up to catch his, I’m distracted by the implication for a second before he replies, “Only one capsule is open. What’s in the others? How does it feel to you? Quarantine would buy us time, even if it’s all good… Remember who they are”. It’s not hard for us to believe we were talking about salsa and eggplant less than two hours ago, high on our love and new telepathic gift. I’m unsure when exactly we accepted unpredictability as the norm. Perhaps it was gradual during those first few weeks after they left us here and made me Culler. Of course, I fought it, but no one else wanted it, either. They argued that it was MY family who performed the hated role for generations. “Good to see you, Preeky, as always”, Haff gives her a brief one-armed squeeze. “Let’s just hope low tide is low enough to keep them from hitting the wall. Spring tide… I don’t want to think about it”. Preeky nods in understanding. Haff doesn’t know I know about the two of them.
“Thought this might be handy, Scotia”, Garvey, his sun-baked face friendly, shouts over a vibration of wind and energetic chatter from our growing crowd, and offers me a vintage pliable plastic mega phone I know he prizes. Smiling at him, I take the cone from one of my biggest critics. The figure in the capsule retreated below and out of sight. “Can we harvest some, give people something to do? We could put a few things in the cellar and pull up the sun shade canopies over the rest if you think that’s a good idea?”, I rapidly ask the Master Gardener and he agrees to my multiple queries with a nod and taps a crooked finger against his temple. Yes, I nod back, we could all use a task to slow down our cortisol-marinated minds.
Hoisting the megaphone, I hope Haff is right and take a deep breath, “Thank you for getting here so fast and at the ready to defend Eudaimonia, Everyone! We don’t know a lot for sure, but Garvey got a glimpse of a globe on one of the parachutes, so they probably are from Parnus. We have at least one human, but only one capsule open, as you can all see. We also have ripe food in our gardens which needs securing quickly”. The last part caused some pushback, “If they kill us, what good will eggplant do, Scotia?” and “Shouldn’t we guard the shore”? and “Yeah!” and “What if they attack while we’re in the garden?”. At times like this, I’ve found their leadership fluctuates, and it’s best to let their fears vomit forth for a few minutes. Exhausting, but most of the time I’m surprised they haven’t killed me, yet.
Myself, I cannot keep my thoughts from Zehmy. My heart aches in my chest. I wonder if he is shy like me or friendly like his father. Or maybe, our son is nothing like us. The sky turns from black to purple before my eyes and pulls my attention to approaching daylight. We have 5 hours from purple sky to get indoors out of the sun, with the last hour requiring protective gear. While it is possible to wear the gear for longer, it isn’t advisable with solar flares. No one has even tried since one of Garvey’s Planters (Walco Prist) fried in his suit. I notice Garvey speaking with a couple of Material Science Gardeners and then they head in the direction of our ever-ripening vegetables, much of it in danger if left for one more sun period. Re-entry capsules and our curiosity would have to wait. Small plant canopies lay assembled and waiting for late spring.
“No matter what happens during the next hour, we all need to be actively engaged in surviving! Those capsules probably don’t contain food for us, but they may need protein.” There; now they shut up. Although I hated causing panic, it was the tool they responded to best. Taking another big breath, I prodded their fear, “If many return, make no mistake-they WILL take”, I paused for effect, “Everything. Do you hear me? Every. Single. Thing. Now, please! Help Garvey secure some of the harvest. We must use our time wisely! Haff and Preeky will stay here and wait for Dr. Gronne and any others. Let’s go!” Not feeling half as confident as Haff often tells me I look, I march purposefully to our garden without looking back. Maybe the work will provide some respite from memories picking at my gaping motherhood wound.
Grabbing an ancient wheelbarrow with worn wooden handles from the long gardening shed/greenhouse, I nodded to a few of those who followed me on my way back out, “Thanks, Adanni and Pesha. Thanks, Jory and Visset.” Not as many as I’d hoped, but I never knew who I could count on in Eudaimonia, except Haff and Preeky. Heading for the squash, I heard Haff’s voice in my mind, “Sco? Can you hear me Sco? I love you, Baby. I’m in this with you”.
“I love you, Haffney”, I imagine this zipping back and settling beneath his copper head of curls, both relief and hope tempering my aura of dread a bit. If there was any chance of us seeing Zehmy again, Haff would make it happen, I knew. Picking up the largest squash in the garden, a waft of citrusy floral teases me as I whisper, “thank you”, right before I cut it’s vine a few inches from the top with my pocket knife and place it in the wheelbarrow, quickly turning to express my appreciation to another. We were hungry sometimes, mostly at the end of summer when our stores in the caves ran thin. Pressure behind my eyes comes along with the effort to concentrate on only squash. I sqeeze them shut tightly then reopened them. A cool soup, made by Preeky and a few others came to mind, with my fried millet cakes in the caves this summer. My mind circled back to wonder about the person in the capsule, and if there are others. Why? As I placed the 6th squash in the wheelbarrow, I paused to make note of who else picked this year’s harvest, but couldn’t make out everyone in the predawn shadowy light. Drs. Kilgore and Alfonso, partners and colleagues of Haff’s in Bio-C, had almost a full wheelbarrow of eggplant, the two dressed in yellow coveralls and talking low in a steady murmur. Seriously academic, and older than most of the Eudaimonia Leaders, they mostly kept to themselves, just as Haff and I do. They didn’t notice me until I rolled up behind them with my wheelbarrow of a dozen large squash. As descendants of Elites, Haff and I felt we must frequently prove ourselves not only valuable, but likeable. Haff is much better at the second part than I. “Thank you Dr. Alfonso, Dr. Kilgore”. A quick and simultaneous nod on their way toward the cellars makes me think they might appreciate our precarious position. Or, they may just be afraid of me.
“Baby, I need you to listen to me. You need to hide, Scotia. It was Dusan we saw in that capsule. Dusan came back, Sco! He came back for… “, Haff’s increasingly tense message faded to silence, our connection cut off somehow.
“Haff? Haff! Tell me you’re ok, Haffney”! Instinctively, I left the wheelbarrow and slid between the container that served as our gardening storage shed and another which housed seeds, harvest, and Garvey’s personal living space. Dusan and I were betrothed at thirteen, which everyone knows. But no one knows Dusan is also my nightmare, not even Haffney. Shit. Even leaning against solid metal, the world is spinning. I have to move. Panic is driving me as I race to our container and my S-bag hanging just inside on a hook next to Haff’s. Slipping rubbers I’ve only worn once in the past two years over thin wool socks, Dusan’s hawkish face fills my vision and memories threaten me from several directions. My racing heart won’t let me stop, has no space for logic or love or anything other than getting as far from the shore as I can. Spoiled by my parents, I didn’t consider what my relationship with Haff would do to Dusan’s reputation, to his pride. But, he’d punished me enough.
Crone Story Astro 