Yule and the New Year Moon
Sunday gratefuls: Jon. Ruth. Gabe. Kep and Rigel, sleeping in until 8 am this morning. Me, too. Snow, maybe 6 inches. Beautiful. Flocked Lodgepoles. Black Mountain flecked with white. Chores yesterday. Done. Ready for the last of the cabinets on Monday. Working sink. 3 Margaritas takeout. A new year. 2020-2021: title of a horror novel. Based on real events. Love and its vibrations.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wildfire
Tarot-Energy for January: The Knight of Vessels, wildwood
The New Year. Of course, yes. It’s a fiction. An arbitrary division of motion into a measure of change. What’s new is our spot on the spiral journey of Earth as it moves in thrall to Sol who draws His followers in a feverish Galactic dance. Headed for places we’ll never see.
But it’s a useful fiction. Bracketing 2021 and 2020 as long as we’re doing it allows me to think about the next months not as a continuation of the bitter flavors we tasted in the last two years, but as a potential, as sweetness. As open space in which our lives can once again spread out, flourish. Even do our own imitation of the Cosmic dance in which we all participate.
I choose the fiction. The space travel for the next year does encounter new perspectives, new views. If we could see them. This is true: we are not stuck in the same spot. Ever. In that sense the novel is eternal. I choose to see the next twelve months, calculated of course by the intricacies of our satellite’s own orbit, as new space, new room. Space in which a new life can begin to bloom, open itself.
The physical manifestation of my new life will be important. A new kitchen (maybe next week!) and a new living room not long after. Plus some things moved around. Will do some things up in the loft, too. Not sure what quite yet. But, something.
Somehow tarot and astrology and kabbalah and torah will inform this next, fourth phase. So will writing and painting. At some point travel, too. Still very cautious about travel. Probably overly so.
Time has not sped up for me. They say it does at my age, but not so far. There is no question though that the end is closer than the beginning. This finds me struggling with an issue that surfaced in my Tree of Life tarot reading with Mark Horn.
What will I write? What I will paint? Will I continue political action? Why am I here, in this fourth and final phase of my life? Here’s the struggle. Love underlies all of this work: novels, paintings, reading tarot, birth charts, kabbalistic texts, torah. I know this for sure. It also underlies my relationships with the Ancient Brothers, with Jon, Ruth, and Gabe. Joe and Seoah. With CBE. Family. In that sense there’s a thread that ties this phase together.
Love underlies political action, too. Love made concrete in the structures and systems of our culture. The Emperor tarot card showed up in the Keter, or Crown position in the Tree of Life. Mark interpreted it as my having management skills, skills I needed to use in the fourth phase.
Here’s what I wrote the day after the reading:
“The Emperor suggested I look at how my organizational skills might help some as yet unidentified cause. I’m moving in the hermit direction but the Emperor suggests I should not foreclose any particular style of living. I’m currently resisting the idea of becoming engaged with or creating a new organization and might continue to. But even the resistance is a creative tension. Making me consider facets of my new life I might have pushed away.”
The resistance here is the struggle. I know how to do the work, but I know how to do it in the old fashioned pre-zoom, pre-cellphone way. Face to face. A lot of meetings. Taking random opportunities to connect, to network, to link ideas and people and resources together. It feels like the old me and I don’t want to go back there.
Why? Down the hill and back in winter. Tough. Also, driving now wears me out. Plus, the dogs and being here for them. Most of all, the writing, the painting, the learning. Scholarship. Reading. At home, hermit work. In the past if I focused on a project I had others I could turn if I got bored. Not sure I have the patience, savlanut, to work a long project either. With other people that is. I can write by myself, paint by myself, study torah and kabbalah with friends, but I don’t have to get an end point, a finish line.
Still. The fact that in my head I could still do it wars in my heart with other, what seems to me more age appropriate, work that I know I can do. Sigh.
All this will clarify itself in the next year. The fire of reality.
New year, new home, new life. Old me. Sounds about right.