Winter solstice winter solstice winter solstice. To me, it’s the most magical day of the year—the longest night pierced by the greatest light. For to find ourselves in such looming darkness we require extraordinary light. Miracles, in fact. Early Christians decided to celebrate Jesus’ birthday this time of year not just to override the pagans (boo) but because now—when the sun shines so seldom, when the earth is so barren—we must be most pregnant with faith. It is the same faith that kept the oil burning for eight days for the Jewish holiday of Chanukah. And it is the same faith that reminds us love can subsume any black hole. Here at this turning point of the year and of our country, on this hardest and holiest of days, we are in the most dire need of faith. We must listen, we must light, and we must love.
Mercury retrograde begins today, just in time for the challah-daze and the electoral college to cast their vote. Yes, yes: back up your electronics, buy travel insurance, release all expectations of business as usual. But because this retrograde is taking place in old-soul, mastermind Capricorn, accept that this will be a quiet, contemplative time–a moment of sobriety metaphorically if not literally. The retrograde doesn’t end until January 8, so I’d advise shying away from serious decadence, especially for New Years Eve. Instead, use this time as an opportunity to reflect on the hardest year in recent memory—the lessons learned, the paths to build. Embrace the energy of the sea goat rather than the mountain goat, which is to say: pursue spiritual wisdom rather than earthly gains. As always, I send love and light to all.
I wake, I send light to Aleppo, Standing Rock, every community under attack, every heart I’ve failed or has failed my own. I make a list of which representatives to call about what, and I pray for the Electoral College to step the fuck up and for my higher spirit to guide me to clarity and compassion. Then I tell my permakitten she is beautiful and kind and, in her rapid blinks, feel her telling me the same. I make a second list–which onerous personal tasks I must complete; what buttons must be sewn, what bills must be paid–and scan headlines with baited breath. Then, only then, do I make my coffee. This is the world narrowed through my door since November 9.
Winter solstice winter solstice winter solstice. To me, it’s the most magical day of the year—the longest night pierced by the greatest light. For to find ourselves in such looming darkness we require extraordinary light. Miracles, in fact. Early Christians decided to celebrate Jesus’ birthday this time of year not just to override the pagans (boo) but because now—when the sun shines so seldom, when the earth is so barren—we must be most pregnant with faith. It is the same faith that kept the oil burning for eight days for the Jewish holiday of Chanukah. And it is the same faith that reminds us love can subsume any black hole. Here at this turning point of the year and of our country, on this hardest and holiest of days, we are in the most dire need of faith. We must listen, we must light, and we must love.
Mercury retrograde begins today, just in time for the challah-daze and the electoral college to cast their vote. Yes, yes: back up your electronics, buy travel insurance, release all expectations of business as usual. But because this retrograde is taking place in old-soul, mastermind Capricorn, accept that this will be a quiet, contemplative time–a moment of sobriety metaphorically if not literally. The retrograde doesn’t end until January 8, so I’d advise shying away from serious decadence, especially for New Years Eve. Instead, use this time as an opportunity to reflect on the hardest year in recent memory—the lessons learned, the paths to build. Embrace the energy of the sea goat rather than the mountain goat, which is to say: pursue spiritual wisdom rather than earthly gains. As always, I send love and light to all.
I wake, I send light to Aleppo, Standing Rock, every community under attack, every heart I’ve failed or has failed my own. I make a list of which representatives to call about what, and I pray for the Electoral College to step the fuck up and for my higher spirit to guide me to clarity and compassion. Then I tell my permakitten she is beautiful and kind and, in her rapid blinks, feel her telling me the same. I make a second list–which onerous personal tasks I must complete; what buttons must be sewn, what bills must be paid–and scan headlines with baited breath. Then, only then, do I make my coffee. This is the world narrowed through my door since November 9.