In the space of a morning–this morning–I spoke to a friend over breakfast about the nature of learning to love ourselves. We talked about the pain of being human, and the beauty of it too. No definite conclusions were arrived at, but what is true that in the connecting over our mutual and shared humanity there was comfort, and perhaps some wisdom gained, or a previously unseen thread revealed.
I returned home to find the mail from yesterday, and a card from my ex-husband. For those of you who don’t know me, our marriage was one of souls meeting and celebrating, and the ending of the relationship the entry into an emotional journey which utterly transformed my soul–as much as the marriage itself did. Time, forgiveness, understanding have mellowed the experience so that now a card from him is welcome; the contents shared some emotional and vulnerable details of his life, and I marveled again at the journey we all make. The journey to love, and fail, and die, and rebirth . . . the journey towards recognizing our Selves that seems to never end.
A quick shower and I was on the phone with another friend, ostensibly to talk about our goals as artists; that explored, she shared news with me of a mutual friend’s discovery of a terrible terminal illness present in his body, and he and his family’s exploration of the now imminent end of his life. We spoke of the death of a child she had known, and the unfathomable nature of this human experience.
Now I’m sitting, writing, watching the snow fall and listening to Max Richter’s Blue Notebooks, which is a soundtrack for many moods. I’m reflecting on the nature of existing with our fragile hearts, the preciousness of seizing our lives, however and if we believe our souls live on. I’m feeling how important it is to make the journey toward love and connection. How finding the connection between ourselves and others, between myself and the snow that falls, and the orchid that just died, and the man walking his dog and the geese on the lake is the only thing we are here to do, the only thing that matters.
It often takes death or heartbreak to spur us to reflection of these things; yet I am continuously impelled to create a life of meaning. To find the larger “why,” the greater truth behind what is present, yet largely unseen. The world seems turbulent, of late, like a confused sea. From the weather to the end of one life at 2 years old and another at 82 . . . from the shining moments of clarity about how to proceed with one’s life, or receiving the love of a friend, to the ineffable joy in just watching black ravens fly across a white sky . . . to the pain of realizing I’ve cut myself short again on my ambitions, my cosmic to-do list, and that I’m still feeling afraid, misunderstood. There are currents and cross currents, and it’s hard not to feel buffeted about.
How to navigate such a confused sea? I know that over the last week Mercury and Jupiter turned direct, Saturn and Mars turned retrograde. The moon is waxing into a fullness that will culminate in Virgo. The energy from the cosmos seems as confused as I am, a complex dance of energies that balance, pause, turn in a pattern of movement that offers much yet defines little. Shall I feel? Speak? Retreat? A vision is struggling to emerge; a perception that how we feel about ourselves and each other is the largest area of growth, the greatest doorway to connection, and, if not joy, then an end to the isolation that seems to dog the human experience. Can we take the lessons of Jupiter’s journey through Cancer and expand our definition of family and home? Can we feel with the same exuberance with which we analyze and think? Will we speak with compassion and objectivity as Mercury retraces its steps back through Aquarius and into Pisces? Is it possible to face our relationship to ourselves and integrate the unexpressed pains of our lineage wounding to create a new inner harmony, as Mars and Saturn look inward to Libra and Scorpio respectively?
One need not know the movement of the planets to find healing, insight, and strength. Yet these heavenly bodies do create a symphony of energy that permeates all, and if I choose to listen–as I listen to music now–I may be assisted, inspired, informed. I don’t pretend to know the infinite nature of the universe, or the Truth, should one Truth exist. But I do know that opening to the existence of some greater pattern and meaning aids in the navigation of both a calm and confused sea.
Be both bold, and gentle!