Astro PSA: New Moon in Aquarius
Greetings as a new moon sails into Aquarius, where Sun and Venus are also perched. The challenge of humanitarian Aquarius is also its strength: It takes nothing personally! With so many planets bunched there while Venus is conjuncting wish-granter Jupiter, this lunar cycle emphasizes social networks, not individual emotions. It improves our practice of receiving and giving help and teaches us beautiful reciprocity rather than transactionalism, especially since Mercury Retrograde is stripping us of normal networking resources and St. Valentine’s Day looms on the horizon. New moons are about surrendering to the divine mystery rather than willing anything into being so I wouldn’t focus on goal-setting. Instead, bask in your longings. Think of them as directional signals to the universe—not to mention other people.
Note: I am slowly opening up my schedule for readings; please DM to set something up and I’ll get back to you within the next week. To those who’ve reached out already, thanks for your patience and be in touch soon.
Gratitude Profusion & Readings Update
It’s a sleety Sunday in Month 11,202,112,394,493 in the Pandemic, and I am feeling wildly grateful. I wanted to share this because I’ve been plenty open about my struggles over the last few months. So I’ll start with this image of me, noteworthy not only for the big cheesy grin but because I am—wait for it—sitting. You may ask: What’s the big deal about sitting? Indeed, it’s a valid question since all anyone has done for a year is sit. But in fact as readers of this blog may know, my lower back went out so badly last November that I lost my ability to sit. I could write a whole book on the back now, especially about the psychic information locked in its psoas muscle, which I tore and which has supported us long before we relied upon our brains to protect us.
But today I’d just like to thank you.
I am grateful for your patience while I have been unable to do readings. I am grateful for the massive support that you showed me while my own back could not. I am grateful for your herbal tinctures and Chinese medicine and amazing teas and coffees and lipsticks (which, yes, I consider essential) and Tilda Swinton tee shirts (also essential) and Seamless meals and referrals and chore porn and sympathetic ears and advice and referrals and books and gelt and good wishes and vibes. I am grateful for the pod-friends who have cleaned my house and fed Grace and done my laundry and brought me groceries and even changed Gracie’s litter and my sheets.
Your care has healed more than my back.
I am not 100 percent yet but well enough to re-open my schedule and so excited to tune in again on your behalf. Expect some changes as I’ve learned a lot about how better to support your intuition and healing as I’ve expanded my own. More than that, expect a new level of solidarity. It’s finally a new year and I’m so grateful to be able to walk into its light with you.
Beginning of End Times
“The Night Was Quite Dark,” Helen Sewell
It’s 740pm and I’m calling it. The electricity went out in the early hours of this morning after the big storm, and it never got fixed so my apartment is unheated unlit un-networked. A part of me–the part that obsessively reread Little House in the Big Woods (and not just as a child)–appreciates the challenge of being stripped of power. Of laying blankets over everything and setting up candles and heating water over my stove, which still works with a match. But as night has fallen, an unaccustomed darkness has blanketed my neighborhood and it is eerily silent. The outage stems from a manhole fire four blocks over and so my entire region of East Williamsburg is un-juiced. It’s like the 2003 blackout or the 2012 hurricane–only for my tiny little corner of Brooklyn. There’s no coffee shop noise, no infuriating neighbor music or loud Zoom calls hurtling through the walls. No blather on the street. No streetlights. Not even any running cars since they’ve blocked off the streets (and there are no traffic lights). There’s just the drills of Con Ed guys outside my window, grinding grinding like gritted teeth.
I know these guys are trying their best–have been since before dawn–and that so far they simply can’t locate the electrical short to fix. I know because I brought them mugs of my Laura Ingalls Wilder coffee earlier and peppered them with questions. So it’s like camping—only in a subfreezing night in which Covid keeps us from cowering together.
“Woman in the Dark,” Anonymous
I keep thinking about what this corner of land was like 10 years ago, 100 years ago, 1000 years ago. I keep thinking about that last chapter of Cloud Atlas, when the grid and governments crashed and everyone in the future was living prehistorically and no one had record of prior generations because they had been uploaded to the cloud which disappeared with the electrical grid. And I keep thinking: Is this how dystopias really happen? Step by step, so that we adjust so incrementally to the degeneration that one day it seems perfectly natural that we can’t leave our houses without masks lest we infect each other with a deadly plague that has already killed 500,000 of us, perfectly natural that we’re stumbling around in the unheated unlit un-networked dark, perfectly natural that hot regions are freezing and polar caps are melting, perfectly natural that there’s mass shootings every month, perfectly natural that we have elected officials who casually uphold white patriarchal supremacy and insist Jews use space lasers to fuck up a coastal state and . Don’t answer that. Really, don’t. I know I’m being catastrophic but it’s been that kind of day week (retrograde). The point is: There’s a fur hat on my head, a fur blanket on my bed, a fur permakitten in my arms. And I’m going to bed. Scarlet O’Hara always said I”ll worry about it tomorrow. Tonight I’m taking a page from her book.
Note: My power was out for 48 hours. When it came back on, I posted what I’d written to comfort myself.