I’m on Facebook again. I can’t help it and I’m deleting friends like Idi Amin on a bad day. Mars and Saturn are taking turns whomping on my Venus in Libra and the pressure has to go somewhere, exerting itself on the hapless, whose comments, pictures and posts I can no longer look at.
There’s the rake from Southern California, who can’t seem to commit to the revolution due to his latest Bacchanalian diversion. I can’t stomach the dilettantish self mythologizing any longer. He’s gone. Then there’s the sadsack liberal friend from Sacto who might be the best writer I know, who can’t seem to extract himself from his pomo-liberal-victim-blues narrative–yeah I know you were raised in Berkeley, but you live in the central valley for fuck’s sake. Gone. Then there’s the friend from another board who chimed in on my sarcastic posts about Obamacare with a pious, “Well Ron Paul and Mitt Romney would let that person die on an ice floe.” I don’t need no tit-for-tat on that thread, since you are still entangled in your web of Hegelian dialectic. Let me cut you loose. Gone. Thats the way its been today. Mars conjunct Saturn. No more patience.
And yet, I realize that they are all me. Yep, each one of them. They’re all contrarians in their own way, trying to find some semblance of balance in a chaotic universe. They’re iconoclasts and yet I just couldn’t sit there and watch it anymore, I had to perform hari-kari to those parts of me. Sayonara.
Three weeks ago, my son fell off a horse at camp. He told me that he had a dream about falling off a horse and the horse trampling over him. Since I am an intuitive sort and I do this thing for a living, I told his mom about this and “gently” suggested that he do something different, especially if he wasn’t into it. Her response? “Well, maybe he should get back on the horse? I think it’s good for him.” Three weeks and three falls later, he broke his leg on a horse, after falling off.
Maybe this is why my patience was so short with the itinerant parts of me on FB. Finding balance in the maelstrom is the art of the Silver Surfer shooting the temporal tube in the turgid waves of the end times.
The comments on my last post were conspicuously absent, though I had friends tell me that they couldn’t read my blog anymore or that I was a big, fat battery for the dark forces. I know that I have a responsibility to people. Its hard-wired into my matrix. I shock people occasionally though. I’ll never forget when I realized this.
I was working at a restaurant in Olympia, Washington and I was having a typically shitty restaurant day. I snapped at the line cook, who looked like I had just stabbed him in the heart with a butter knife. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that I would say something cutting and well, not nice. He felt betrayed. It took me days to talk him off that ledge. We eventually got there.
Its funny, I stayed away from the closing ceremonies of The Olympics, not dipping into a play-by-play and symbolic breakdown, but instead, I went for something bigger, trying to understand and decode the knots of illusion in a cinematrix reality where dimensions and actors bleed through on multiple levels.
The message I got was loud and clear. The edge and the abyss were too dark. Too ominous. People need hope–that’s exactly what Axelrod and Plouffe knew as they cynically exploited it in cascading levels of NLP, culminating in a mile-high-ritual of epic proportion.
I get it, and I don’t want to lose the room. We have too much at stake.
One night, I was at Burning Man and I was in one of those brilliant, temporary discos that rise out of the playa like some mirror ball mirage, dark and strobing against all thought and endless night. There was a DJ who kept speeding up the beats until he emptied the dance floor. He didn’t care. That was his maniacal moment, fueled on meth and jamming the frequency at 150 BPM, half-a-century above and beyond the comfort zone of the human heart.
I walked up to him and told him about what he was doing. His response? He just jacked up the jackboot beats and said nothing.
I don’t want to be that guy.
Last night, I had a dream. I was in a great river that emptied into a lake. It was crystal blue and virgin water the way it was, in its most pristine state. For some reason, I had a dog and it had fled into the hills. I had to let it go. There was my computer on the river bank, encased in its satchel. Naked, I grabbed and thrust it over my head like a soldier would hoist his rifle above him and walked towards the edge of the river. I remember the weight of the computer–it was almost unbearable–I made it to the other side.
For me, the dream symbolized the abandonment of my instincts (dog) in favor of the mind (computer) as I navigated the floes of emotion (river). The meaning wasn’t lost on me.
In many ways, that’s what the current Mars/Saturn conjunction in Libra means. We need to stay close to our instincts (Mars) while honoring the logos of patience manifest in Saturn.
Talk about a balancing act!
This epic conjunction challenges us to find short AND long term solutions to achieving balance in our lives. You can’t be too rash and yet you can’t let losers squat on your dreams while you continue to justify their stultifying presence. A radical balance must be achieved. But how? To what end?
The key is equanimity and finding it in this conjunction. If you go a bit far, that’s okay, you can reel it in. Look, the world is a hard place right now, there’s no denying it, but you’ve got to live in it, not of it. This is the codex to the Mars/Saturn conjunction and the beauty of it is that you cannot detach. Nope, it doesn’t work that way. You have to wrestle with “time” and “will” and if you play nice (Libra) that’s cool, but remember, its about achieving balance and sometimes, well, you gotta go just a little overboard to get there.
New Moon on Friday. I’ll be writing about it with my new found optimism, snatched from the jaw of Molech’s sinister maw.