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My Corner of the Sky Inside

It was a beautiful morning full of the bittersweet longing that defines middle-age, regardless of whether you’re coupled up, family’d up, quarantined up. I woke before the sun, made strong French-press coffee with cream, finished reading my detective novel before springing into the day. Maneuvered mini-car Minerva over the bridge to pretty-pretty John Lindsay park from which I walked miles and miles up the Manhattan side of the East River–steering clear of the runners (oy vey), nodding at all my fellow masked travelers. On a patch of waterfront grass as far from the madding crowd as you can find on a NYC morning, I flopped down to pray and meditate and swan in soft unkempt sun. Only a particularly curious squirrel crept up, and she kept a respectful distance as I pulled down my mask and breathed in big big air. By then it was 9 am so I cruised over to the Tompkins Square greenmarket to fetch gorgeous spring produce (strawberries! ramps! mint! pea shoots!) and mediocre peonies (even mediocre peonies are peonies) before scooting home, Roberta Flack pouring out of the speakers. Back home I baked skillet cornbread and pickled watermelon radishes while jabbering on the phone with a friend about a disappointing love.

From a corner permakitten watched through greenly slitted eyes–judging my backsliding as only a feline can judge.

Now it’s midday and I’m already worn out and at loose ends. That’s not pandemic. That’s the sadness that finds us in all the places quotidian pleasures can’t reach. You know: those corners we just don’t feel held. Come mid-life, only the foolish believe those corners fully disappear.

So, dear ones, no nonchurchy church this afternoon. This is a day for reception rather than inception–for rest rather than rigor and wonder even when you can’t wander. Mary Oliver wrote: “My job is loving the world.” It’s all of our jobs, really. Love up your corner of the sky today. I suspect I’m poised for a three-hour nap and a to-go tequila cocktail. Then next Sunday (5/24) we’ll Sky-Inside together. Mark those calendars: (5/24) at 1pm on Rubyintuitionbk IG Live.

Astro PSA: Venus Retrograde

Outside Me

I always tell Ruby Intuition clients: I may deliver information with a heavy dollop of cream, but I never lie. So let me be honest: This is one of those moments when I wish I were a bullshit artist. Because this Venus Retrograde, which began Monday and will affect us until July, promises to be a doozy.

Venus rules all loving resources—everything connected to matters of beauty, the heart, and money. So what happens when such a planet is taken out of the equation? Occurring every 20 months and lasting for six weeks (10 if you count its notoriously long shadow), its retrograde compels us to reevaluate our issues around intimacy, worth, beauty. Usually this amounts to movie flops, regrettable haircuts, the resurfacing of old lovers, zits, breakups, and frozen bank accounts—basically, tons of romantic and financial drama, as well as aesthetic faux pas. But because we’re all sheltering in place and this retrograde is taking place in Gemini, which governs communication and technology (o the irony), we’re in for a very fucking wild ride.

We’re already on Month 2 of being profoundly unkempt. We’re already on Month 2 of a stressful incubation with whomever we’re stuck with—including ourselves. And we’re already at on Month 2 of widespread unemployment and Illness with a federal government that does not give a fig about the 99 percent. Things are about to get downright desperate.

Inside Me (dirty)

So what’s the fix? Nothing short-term. But we may begin the long and arduous process of unlearning materialism, including transactional attitudes around love and friendship. For this may be the impetus we need to accept the glory of our unadorned selves–those indoor selves we’re all debuting–and move into a true economy of love. Yes, that sounds like a lot of bollocks. But like I said: I don’t lie. So dry your tears, wash your face, and let your un-dyed, un-styled locks fly. I’m here if you need me. Better yet: So is your own best self.

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Divining Mother’s Day

I’m not going to do my usual drill of shitting on Mother’s Day. Yes, I am electively child-free and have gone on record for years about my complicated relationship with this Hallmark holiday, and the pit-pedestal roles projected upon mothers (all women, really). But I honor the challenges, sacrifices, and very hard work competent care-taking entails, especially during this time of profound upheaval. I honor all compassionate guidance. I honor the Divine Feminine, whose principles of radical receptivity, loving-kindness, and limitless love offer our only true path forward. And I am holding space on my Rubyintuitionbk Live Instagram feed at 1pm for those who’d like some non-churchy-church service around the very human need to receive and give care. Do drop by, and pour yourself a strong one if it helps.

Book an intuition reading for yourself or a loved one to better activate loving-care.

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