Archive | Queer Matters

How to Outfox a Wolf Moon Eclipse

Happy wolf moon eclipse!

As promised, I’ve been busy finishing not one but two writing projects. “Getting her done, son,” as a lover calls getting busy in all capacities. I’m not implying I’ve been getting laid left and right–just that I’ve been harnessing Saturn’s taskmaster drive to make things right and true. Maybe you have too? Capricorn season is all about hitting the new-year ground running.

But if you’ve been noticing things have been screwy over the last week, you’re not the one with the screw loose. It’s because at exactly 2:21 p.m. today the Sun in Capricorn faces off with a full moon in Cancer (also known as the Wolf Moon) to form a lunar eclipse that is some powerful shit. We’ve already been feeling the effects of homebody Crab in her home base of the moon as she crosses swords with tough-love Cappie: a lot of boundary-explosions and boundary-setting. I myself spent a day in traffic court on Tuesday as a result of last summer’s speeding ticket.

Truth and consequences galore!

Any flaw in the love-and-money works is coming up to be fixed because tonight’s lunar eclipse marks the end of a story that began with July 2018’s new super moon in Cancer. What transactional dynamics masquerading as unconditional love have you been prodded to re-evaluate during this period? Especially with Saturn and “the great exposer” Pluto opposing this eclipse point, tonight’s full moon reveals and releases the trades we make in order to bask in “stability” or “power” (quotation marks necessary).

Consider this explosion to be like the ultimate facial–hideous in the short-term, gorgeous in the long haul.

So tonight ask yourself: How do I sell myself out? How do I try to control others to feel safe? Even if you don’t ask yourself, tonight the heavens are going to show you. So howl one relationship, habit, or gig that comes at too high a price. This lupine lunar eclipse is feral, she doesn’t mind. Then take a salt bath and light your cauldron or candle to release its residue. Just remember–always!–to hydrate!

For an ally in this trek from the overfamiliar to the deliciously, free, schedule a Ruby Intuition reading. Get in touch!

The Oyster of Your Desire

It’s been a full lunar cycle since my love affair ended, and after our initial rupture we parted with more peace and kindness than I’ve experienced in any other breakup. I chalk this up to the fact that we were grownups when we found each other, and that it was mostly circumstances that pulled us part. Still, I miss her—voice, mouth, hands, pulse at her throat. Her extraordinary perception and reception.

Her brine.

I often copy out quotes I admire, not just to study them but as a postcard to a Lisa I may someday meet again. Today my computer opened to these words by Amy Bloom, a writer who has helped me understand that what I most crave is what the world tells us is nothing to know, let alone desire.

It’s been seventeen years since we were together and I can still smell her own scent, salt and cucumber. Under our breasts and in the creases, we smelled like fresh-baked bread in the mornings. We slept naked as babies, breasts and bellies rolling toward each other, our legs entwined like climbing roses. We used to say, we’re not beauties, because it was impossible to tell the truth. In bed, we were beauties. We were goddesses. We were the little girls we’d never been: loved, saucy, delighted, and delightful.

The first thing I knew in this world was that I was alone and unseen. Then I knew I was not. You are not just my port in the storm, which is what middle-aged women are supposed to be looking for. You are the dark and sparkling sea and the salt, drying tight on my skin, under a bright, bleaching sun. You are the school of minnows we walk through. You are the small fishing boat, the prow so faded you can hardly tell it’s blue. You are the violet skies, rain spattering the sand until it’s almost mud, and you are the light to come.

I don’t believe in coincidences, but even now I believe in love. The ache comes all at once, a rush of want and wonder, and it subsides slower, nothing like the sea.
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Vintage 1960s photographs, artist unknown.

Vegans Need Not Apply

My personal ad, posted October 4, 2019

My grandmother Alice was an exceptional woman. Though she received very little formal education she was an autodidact par excellence and well-versed on topics ranging from train engineering to transcendentalism. But what I loved most about her was her great equanimity. Though she lived most of her life in an especially intolerant corner of Massachusetts and died in the Reagan 1980s, she was brilliantly open-hearted when it came to matters of race, sexuality, religion, gender, class. Her only true bias was against Presbytarians, whom, for whatever reason, she found ridiculous. When I’d ask about that, she’d shrug. “Everyone has a bias,” she’d say, “and that’s mine.” Well, I’ll be super super honest. When it come to dating, my only true bias is against vegans. As far as I’m concerned, a romantic connection that works on many levels is so rare that it’s ridiculous to rule anyone out on the basis of gender or age (within the realm of decency) or race or class or physical type.* But I will never date a vegan again. Life is too short to maw impossible burgers when there’s sirloin to be had.
*I have my preferences, but that’s for a different post.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy