Dark Moon in Scorpio 11*11

Today is the New Moon (Dark Moon, for those of us) in Scorpio, trining with Chiron, sextile Jupiter. Chiron is the healer asteroid who teaches us how to navigate our past as we move ever forward into our future. Jupiter is the great expander, calling us to grow in as we grow out. And Scorpio, oh Scorpio, her medicine is destruction and creation. Magnificent and terrible, her heat reduces us to our elemental forms, and we emerge as something entirely new. Or as new as we want. If you've been looking for a change, now is your hour.

Or maybe your heart is hurting. Maybe your summer wasn't as kind as it should have been. This New Moon, with her deep, deep Scorpionic and Plutonian waters, with her overarching, expansive sky, can heal that ache.

How? Mercury is sitting close and snuggly with the New Moon, offering us his microscope, that we may see with sharp clarity the elements of our lives. What helps us, what hinders us; our thought patterns, love habits, how we care for our bodies. And Chiron offers a remedy.

But that all sounds very esoteric. How, you may be asking again. How do we access this remedy? How do we spot it in the first place?

Well first off, let's talk about Chiron a bit more. As I've said, Chiron is the healer, and also the teacher of the cosmos (and the Greek pantheon, he's an interesting Google search). He originated in the Kuiper Belt, near Pluto, an area full of debris thought to be left over from the big bang. Pluto is ruler of the underworld; Chiron is the trigger of our deepest, most primal wounds. Chiron is the trigger that brings this wound to the surface, so it can heal.

So one way to facilitate this healing is to check out your birth chart to see where Chiron was when you were born (try Astro.com, and pay special attention to what house it's in, as well as what sign). This will tell you where your wound is located, and offer a remedy. For example, my Chiron is in Gemini, who is already ruled by Mercury. This means that my wound is located in communication; I struggle with feeling uneducated, I find it hard to believe in my own ideas, and I often feel unheard. And my prescribed remedy is about learning to speak and stand up for my truth, and to fully let go of what others think.

Another way is just simply to plug in. Again, how? Meditate. Have you ever imagined that swirling around your spine was a warm, glowing Kundalini serpent? Do that now. Just try it. Sit back and feel the warm glow, spiraling wider as it works it's way down. Now feel it unwind and dip into the earth. (If you, like me, live 8 floors above the earth, this will take a little longer. Watch that root reach down past each floor, twisting along the steel frame, and then finally bursting through the concrete. Don't worry. Roots were meant for this). Feel it pass through earthen layers till it suddenly plunges into a deep and secret pool. Linger here. Drink the water and let it nourish you. Dwell on the transformative power of water, how it whittles away all that would hinder it. Now think of what hinders you. Send water rushing over it, till it is swept away.

(Or, if snakes are scary for you, you can also think of a crab stepping out of its shell. That's what I mean by growing in while we grow out. We grow out of an old self and into a new one.)

As you do this work, answers will float to the surface. This is a time of intuition. You'll know it when you know it, and then it's your responsibility to apply these answers. Its up to you to call on these cosmic energies. Change doesn't just happen. You must do the work. And as you do the work, you can know that you are infinitely, cosmically supported.

What does this have to do with knitting? Destruction, creation. What don't you want? What doesn't quite fit? Take it out and examine it closely, find the snag, seek out thee missing, or the extra. Undo. Redo.

How is this New Moon treating you? What do you see when you look through Mercury's microscope?

Thank you for reading.
-AH

November, your voice is a flute.

Its a new month. Its the best month.

Its odd that for me, a spring baby, the deep autumn-that-is-almost-winter is the most important time of year for me. Its full of unique energies, and I make good use of them. Its a time for getting down to brass tacks and into the heart of the matter. This is the shedding time in the cycle of regeneration and rebirth. Just like snakes shed their old skin and crabs crawl out of shells that no longer suit them, the trees shake loose their leaves and flowers trim themselves back to the root bulb. There is often talk of dormancy, but I don't think its dormancy that dominates this time of year. It is waiting yes, but a useful, productive waiting. There is ruminating, germinating, rehabilitating, and rest. This is when the roots and branches and birds really get to spend their time thinking. I imagine them holed up with good books and warm lamps glowing, keeping out the cold and finally free of the burden of making and raising young.

(Not to mention that now is the time of year that the crows move to my block. Hoards of them come in with the sunset and crowd together on roof tops and in the bare trees, silent and still as stones, standing watch. And the leaves on the hill have begun to smolder, and this is what I watch when I write to you, or when I do my homework.)

I've begun a new tarot challenge. Having hopped on board a few days late I'm playing catch up, and so today I'm doing the spread for the 3rd of November, who's prompt was simply "Shadow".

Sometimes I jump unceremoniously into readings. But there are some questions, and some journeys, which we know will go deeper and into darker places, and these require a bit more preparation. Descending down, gingerly over rocks and under earthly ceilings into the still air of musty roots, you will need smoke, you will need fire, and you will need mindful breath.

Lighting my candle, I bathed in lavender smoke for a few moments before I fanned out my cards. This prompt comes at an opportune time. My shadow self has been particularly active of late (I've written a bit about it already) and its been a real effort to keep myself afloat. The best response to a looming Shadow is to walk right up to it and ask "What do you need?"

But this is careful work. My Shadow Self comes in the shape of a small girl child, my inner child, shut away in the past by PTSD, phobias, eating disorders, and loneliness. So it doesn't do to go charging into the dark corners and demanding answers or obedience. I don't think Shadow Selves of any age or sort respond to that approach, but I could be wrong. A more tender approach, slower and deliberate, is required. Here's that smoke, here's that breath. So I fan out my cards and place my hand over my heart. And I inhale. And I exhale. And I ask, sweet and soft as Lavender smoke, "What do you need?"

The Sun, 2 of Wands, and the runes Nauthiz and Wunjo.

What does my Shadow self need? Attention, apparently.

This is an almost endearing response. Or it would be, if Shadows weren't known for fucking your shit up. While I talk often of this topic and use words like tenderness, mindfulness and understanding, its important that we understand the power involved here. I think of my eating disorder and my shadow self and my inner child as all the same thing. Merging them helps me manage them and maintain a sort of adult "inchargeness" over my compulsions. But even as an incharge adult, I have to admit I'm frightened by this girl child, however "merely conceptual" she is. There's a reason why scary child ghosts are put in horror movies for adults; they're deceptively small, but having lived for an untold number of decades, they're stronger and meaner than you'd think. A combination difficult to overcome. If you want a picture of what this interaction looks like when it goes wrong, picture Elastic Heart. A very small, very scary person who pops up and wrecks havoc.

Another very scary thing pops up and wrecks havoc is an eating disorder. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of all mental illness. I once compared it to Gollum and the One Ring; its the thing that you love which kills you, and it cares not; it wants your life, and it will undo your connection to reality as well as your very humanity to get it.

When looking at The Sun in light of all this, it could be interpreted as an almost comical or maybe even a deceptive response. But I don't think so. When we follow this disorder to its deepest root, what we find more often than not is a child, wounded.

This is an image before the Sun was blotted out; her first and truest nature. Free, innocent, greeting the world with a gleeful warmth. She's bursting forth in rays of light and flowers in their fullest bloom while the 2 of Wands looks on.

So what does my Shadow self need? Attention. But lets pause, that needs some more thought; there's good attention, and bad attention, and children who aren't shown good attention will seek both without distinction. So how I can I give what is needed in a healthy, productive way?

I pulled Nauthiz from the pile of runes waiting in my lap. It is an image of two sticks rubbing together to make a fire. This rune has a lot to say about struggle, resistance, and constraint. It talks of hard effort and the force of growth. What it also says to me is "patience" and "understanding". In an tired voice its telling the tale of how the Shadow got here, and reminding me to be kind.

I then pulled Wunjo; Joy. A rune that has been showing up often for me, and a most welcome sight. Wunjo is Joy, Harmony, correct application of will, contentment, hope, family, bonding, trust. "It wards off woe and sorrow so that abundant gifts of the multiverse have no trouble bestowing themselves on you." "In Wunjo we find harmonious energies characteristic in functioning families." "Wunjo reduces alienation by broadcasting love into the human energy field."

This is what I can give her. As an adult I have access to all these things, because as an adult I can correctly apply my will and make these beautiful elements part of my reality. It is this that is being handed to that small baby on horseback.

This idea of multi-generational, multi-dimensional healing isn't a new concept. Its one that's been hard at work in Buddhist psychology for ages. Thich Nhat Hanh writes about it, saying "If we take one mindful step, we take it for our ancestors who have come before us, and those who will come after us. If we take one mindful breath, then they breathe with us." Another particularly pertinent passage comes from his book Touching Peace;

"When we touch our pain with mindfulness, we will begin to transform it. When a baby is crying in the livingroom, his mother goes in right away to hold the baby in her arms. Because mother is made of love and tenderness, when she does that, love and tenderness cover the baby and, in only a few minutes, the baby will probably stop crying. Mindfulness is the mother who cares for our pain every time it begins to cry. ... When pain is in the basement, you can enjoy many refreshing and healing elements of life by producing mindfulness. Then when the pain wants to come upstairs, you can turn off your walkman, close your book, open the livingroom door, and invite your pain to come up. You can smile to it and embrace it with mindfulness, which has become strong. If fear, for example, wishes to come up, don't ignore it. Greet it warmly with your mindfulness. "Fear, my old friend, I recognize you." If you are afraid of your fear, it may overwhelm you. But if you invite it up calmly and smile at it in mindfulness, it will loose some of its strength. After you have practiced watering the seeds of mindfulness for a few weeks, you will be strong enough to invite your fear to come up anytime, and you will be able to embrace it with your mindfulness. It may not be entirely pleasant, but with your mindfulness you are safe."-Thich Nhat Hanh, Touching Peace.

I appreciate the fact that he says "probably stop crying". Any of us who have cared for babies, even if for just a short time, know that this isn't always the case. Sometimes it takes hours and some pretty inventive measures to get babies to quiet down. Mostly it takes an intuitive listening to what is needed. But with patience, and love, and understanding, it happens.

I also appreciate the cautions Thay shares, saying that only once we've strengthened our mindfulness through meditating daily on joyful things can we bravely and skillfully invite our pain and fear to sit with us and be transformed. Its a wise piece of counsel.

I go back to the cards and take a loot at them, because I always wonder what I can do in actuality. These are nice concepts and ideas, but what can I do in a physical, material way to facilitate this healing? Wands are the suit of creative energy, creative fire. Practically speaking, maybe its time to explore and express myself in a creative way, beyond the cerebral sphere of words. Perhaps its time to paint a picture, create some happy trees for my wall.

Here's to hoping you find the sun, even in your November shadow.
-A.H.

Harmless monster in the liminal light.

Opal Creek, raging.

Its been awhile since I spoke at any length about my eating disorder. I think, as silly as this may sound, I actually hoped I was "done" with it. So long had it been since I'd experienced a trigger of any size that I did kind of think, well, maybe..

But now, maybe not.

I guess that's what I'm here to talk about right now, the seasonal nature of things. Seasonal indeed because somehow this autumnal shift, my favorite time of year, has sent me reeling across my recovery. Maybe the darkness has seeped in too far, past my windows and into my skin, maybe its the cold or the desperate look of the bare trees by the river.Whatever its origin of source I feel it, the way someone standing too close brushes against your arms.

But I've learned what to do. And I understand why this shadow part of myself would rise up to be seen at this time of year, with its liminal nights and transparent curtain and heavy action in the 8th house we had on October 29th. Its fitting. I can now recognize this eating disorder, this shadowy, dark, and truly honestly dangerous part of myself as my inner child, tugging at my hem because she needs something that I've over looked. In this light, soft as bedsheets, this monster is not so dangerous. With compassion and gentleness, I ask, "What is it?" With compassion and gentleness I eat, and sleep, and coo that test scores aren't everything, and don't drink too much caffeine.

And so it goes. Soon it will pass and she, and I, will rest again. Tides turn, trees burst and bloom and rest again. Eating disorders are far reaching, touching each aspect of our lives, ready to morph into new triggers we never would have expected, like having to put your cat on a feeding schedule.

And so it goes. And I'm thankful for these seasons and cycles, in the trees and in my body. The stubborn, gorgeous insistence on survival, no matter what the odds.

-A.H.

Limbic memory and savory yums.

There are many ways we get in touch with our past. Some of us take up knitting (me) or genealogy, meticulously regraft our family trees. And some of us borrow cook books and feast our way through the pages.

A familiar scent can call up memories so deep they lie in our limbic system; the very definition of "muscle memory". These limbic memories are why you never forget how to ride a bike, or why you keep reaching for the coffee pot by the stove, even though you moved it to the counter weeks ago. Scent fits like a key in a lock, sweep right past our conscious mind down to the deepest recesses of our nostalgia.

And perhaps even further. How do Monarch butterflies remember a mountain that hasn't existed for millennia, when no one generation of them makes the complete trip? Its in their genes. You know the saying, that something is so second nature to someone that its "in their blood"? That deep-as-marrow instinct that tells those Monarchs to divert inexplicably round an invisible mountain is the same heart warming (or heart sinking) feeling you get when you smell Lilac's, salty air off the ocean, or the spices aisle at your favorite grocery store. Its no wonder that the favorite way many of us connect to our past is in the kitchen, in those little four by five cards covered in swoopy handwriting and gravy stains.

But what if you don't have Grandma's recipe book? You'll have to start somewhere else.

"A Mediterranean Feast" by Clifford A. Wright is a big, dignified book with a beautiful red and gold spine. The Mister recently borrowed it from a co-worker in exchange for fresh pasta once a week, and he's cooking his way through.

Part One begins with the tantalizing title "An Algebra of Mediterranean Gastronomy" and sweeps us through the history of Mediterranean food, beginning with the Cabbage and a recipe for Minestrone di Cavolo, a.k.a. cabbage soup. "Make this soup, and the lessons of this chapter will be well digested" says Wright, and its the truth. Cabbage soup is super healing, specifically when it comes to the digestive tract, knitting up that lining, clearing the way so that we can get in touch with our "gut".

This soup, while simple, is perfect. This is the soup you want on a cold rainy day. Its hearty, and it lasts. Eat this for dinner on a chilly night, have it for lunch the next day, and maybe even the day after that.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy something delicious tonight. Treat yourself to some warm fuzzy nostalgia. Let those memories nourish you.

-A.H.