Lately, my clients have been reporting an antsy sluggishness. Astrologically, it makes sense. Eclipse season with two planets in retrograde is a lot. But this “I need change yesterday yet have no plan nor motivation” feeling stems from more than the stars.
Whether we feel free to admit it, many of us are genuinely conflicted about coming back into linear time. It’s hard to hasten back to pre-Covid paths that led to so much destruction, harder still to map new paths. After so many months of dormancy, we’re desperate for motion and change. To be alive is to always to be changing–but in service of what?
I receive different downloads for every person, of course, but one message has shown up repeatedly in sessions: Be patient with your impatience.
Eventually—maybe in an hour, maybe next year—something in your life will stand up and demand attention. When it does, your only job will be to care for it with the same urgency with which you would rescue a child. Why? Because it will be your imaginative, open-hearted, unacknowledged younger self who is doing the demanding. This kid knew what you needed before life wore you down, and she never forgot. She’s the person who dreams for you at night. She’s the person who calls bullshit on what your conscious mind is rationalizing. And collectively, these are the people who shift time itself. Divine consciousness has a way of doing that when necessary.
So for now, while you’re sorting out what’s next, don’t drag this kid into anything against her will. Sit with her while she fusses. Let her wear herself out. When she really, really needs something, she’ll stamp her foot.
Her impatience will be the greatest gift you’ll ever receive.
To tune into this beloved child, book a reading for yourself or a loved one.
Maybe because my love life is in the crapper once again, all day I’ve been thinking about a moment I shared with a woman I dated briefly. I’d gone upstate to see her, and she was running the visit because being in charge was clearly the only way she felt comfortable.
It’s an aspect of queer life I don’t dig—the gender roles that can become more bald than in heterocontexts, though younger generations are loosening up those binaries. With my lipstick, big blond coiffure, and tight skirts, I present as femme, but only in that world. Certainly in my last decade, the only people who have dared boss me around have not been cis-men. On the rare occasions I date straight guys, they often see me as more masculine than them. In terms of temperance, they are absolutely right.
Really, I’m only me in every context: someone who prizes freedom over security, who can change a tire and style anybody, who drives a stickshift, who is more than a little vain, who cries at the drop of a hat, who shies away from processing but says what needs to be said.
Anyway, this woman I was dating was butch but barely and that was fine with me. I liked her lush breasts and hips and pussy beneath her suits and country-boy gear; her curly, silver-streaked bob. Maybe not so much the silver chain she wore at her neck but only because it was ugly, not because it was a feminine flourish. I have a very expansive and flexible definition of beauty, but find ugliness—a jarring lack of integrity in construction or presentation—to be tough. Continue Reading →