The last day of Mercury Retrograde, and snow settles over the city like the softest of blankets, stopping us in our tracks and quieting our conversations—what Lou Reed called, “Oh, oh, my, and what shall we wear/oh, oh, my, and who really cares.” This morning I ran my errands very early so I could climb indoors when the snow came, and marvel over the world growing old and young at once. I’ve heard the last weeks of December and first of January are out of time completely, and today this feels true. It’s not just that my solar return is on the 19th so these days are personally balsamic. It’s that this is the darkest period of our orbit around the sun, and as our eyes adjust to the lack of physical light, our souls have a rare opportunity to show us the way. The snow can seem cold, unforgiving, isolating. But if we listen below its stillness we can hear our hearts beating. More than that, we can hear them ringing. Clear as bells, they are saying, Only love always glows.
This morning I read an article about a new French law restricting the times in which work emails can be sent by employers. A communication ban is very classic Mercury retrograde—even more classic than yesterday’s Brooklyn train crash, which, thank goddess, resulted in nothing worse than broken limbs but which held up an evening’s worth of LIRR commuters. But the more I contemplate such a law, the more genius I find it. Imagine if there were a cap on the amount of time people could spend on social media or online, period. More books would be read, more eyes would be met, more gardens would be tended, more in-person sex would be had. Revolutions would be brewed–ones we need to survive as a society, frankly. What say ye, Sirenaders? Unplug, unplug, unplug. (I’ll still be here when you come back.)
Mercury Retrograde entered Sagittarius today and we’re already suffering from a surplus of sass. In this aspect, we tend to spray it rather than say it, polluting the environment with unchecked, ill-advised expression of our every bad feeling. There’s good stuff too—the impetus to mediate on your relative freedom is no small thing—but the blurting and general bad manners take a toll. Even doodles have an edge. (See pic.) So give your inner tantruming child a time-out and plenty of outdoor space in which she can tucker herself out. Goddess knows I’m doing so until this communication planet goes direct January 8.