Scorpio is a time of dying. Just look around and you’ll see the rusted jewels of autumn falling from the limbs of heaven. Barren days ahead. Halloween was potent; stellium surges in the soul sector of the chart, dark currents of spiritual voltage coursing through the depths, looking to ground. Saturn is inching ever closer to to my natal Venus. I spent most of Halloween’s daytime hours squatting in a cafe with wi-fi. Its one of those places that has a personality crisis every six months. In just two years, it went from a charming French styled cafe, with salade nicoise and jambon baguettes, to a Chicago styled hot-dog-joint. I get etheric acid reflux just thinking about it. Now its completely faceless. They sell decent coffee, espressos and some baked goods. They have a fast wi-fi and they don’t hassle you if you stay for hours and only drink one cup.
I had just finished a lot of writing when I got an email from my ex. I had sent her an email the day before regarding the presence of her new boyfriend and his influence on our son. It felt like things were moving fast with them. In my email I told her that she was likely to marry him. Yesterday, she confirmed my intuition. He proposed last week. She said, “yes.” The Scorpio drip line opened.
I felt numb, angry, frustrated and a little resentful. My son would now have a step-father. He would have step brothers and sisters too, though they live in another state.
Part of me died in that cafe yesterday.
I wasn’t jealous of the new guy, however I was envious that they were starting a family together, and I, the rootless cosmicpolitan was a mere witness. I could feel the velocity of their life whip past mine.
Many years ago, I studied very briefly, with a deeply flawed medicine man. I learned a great deal from him during our brief time together. The wisest thing he ever imparted to me was that humans have two, baseline fears; madness and death. For a few moments I was on the cusp of both.
I felt dead, a huge part of some hazy version of the American dream DOA, halfway through this incarnation. After a some extended moments of dazed contemplation and past life review, I surrendered. I moved on. There could be no sentimentality, no nostalgia for what never was or could have been. Done. Over.
As the Sun descended and tiny monsters took to the night, I mingled in the geographies of families on suburban streets, my young wizard leading his pack of sweet marauders from lighted door to lighted door. I realized that this would never be my life and that I would always be an interloper on their square blocks and seasonal pilgrimages to The Magic Kingdom. It was as they say, “a moment of clarity.” Then I asked myself, “If not that, then what?” What did I have? In another moment of next level clarity, I realized that “I have this.” You. Me. Us. Its all in now. We’re sitting at the final table and the stakes are high. There is no turning back.
When I got home, the little wizard melted into a puddle of tears. He too realized that something had died. I held him and we sobbed together. When the dawn of my new day rose, a sense of purpose and resolve was cracking through my conditioning.
The enigma of Scorpio is that it makes us harder and softer simultaneously. It carries within it the tabula rasa of beginning and end, end and beginning. It is the eternal spiral of our spiritual code, the fleeting gift of life ever lasting, not in the individual sense though; stars die, even their great lives have an end. But somewhere, out there and in, in the vast void of space, new worlds are always being born and so it goes.
Speaking of lives beyond life, I had the great pleasure of chatting with the delightful and spirited Echo Bodine last Friday. She’s a gifted author, researcher and medium. We talked about her latest book, The Little Book Of True Ghost Stories, the lives of disincarnate beings, how she discovered her psychic gifts and then made a life work out of them. Its a very good listen. Just click on the podcast below.
8 thoughts on “Dying On The Day Of The Dead, Scorpio Strikes Again”
Man, sometimes you write stuff that really hits home, know exactly how you feel. Good for you in redirecting the energy.
Best of luck
Last week on the new moon I felt everything shift. I could see all the orbits and usual gravities slide and spin sideways, sheets of energy grinding across etherical plates. I struggled to find equilibrium. But the poles have moved. Oddly, I felt aching in my sinuses, a headache, a storm coming. It lasted until Friday night.
All Hallows evening I set the table with clean linen and set out one plate. A glass of red wine, salt, an apple split though the sides to reveal the star, honey, and cook a meal for the dead.
The third baseline fear is fear of being alone. And dying alone.
Your writing is exquisite, Robert, I’ve missed you.
Yep. That’s tied into it, isn’t it? Dying alone. I watched a documentary recently about a cowboy matchmaker that found Mexican wives for lonely Gringo men. There was an old dude that he found a wife for that spoke no English. For her, it was a better way of life. For him, someone to be there when he died. His words.
Tessa, your writing is pretty damned good as well.
There are 11 hours of documentary footage I’m traversing entitled Tribal Wives where six British women go live in a tribal community for a month; the two I’ve watched have brought tears from the heart and soul as a witness to what we are seeking is what we have virtually lost. Woman A had never felt a maternal connection with her mother but found it in a little welcoming tribeswoman who adopted her as a daughter. The second, single mother no husband, was steadfastly wooed by a real little warrior man spending up to 20 miles per day hunting on her behalf. I’m looking forward to watching the third episode. I worry that it’s The BBC and that the intimate lives of the few remaining natural humans is being cynically exposed and manipulated. However, not by the women seekers. The biggest shock and surprise is that these tribespeople with ‘nothing’ in Western materialistic values, are extremely balanced, happy and contented with the simplicity of their family and community bonds; bonds which are both fiercely protective yet disarmingly flexible enough to embrace a peculiar white woman and her camera crew.
Thinking of your Scorpionic 8th house experience of endings of shared resources (Son) and the pain of witnessing your little boat enter a new and unfamiliar harbour, I felt the texture of this emotional and psychic photograph of the connection between yourself and Griffin; from something temporary emerged a spark of the eternal as the bond between yourself and Son is sacrosanct and will ever remain so.
As you speak of already being with your family (all of ‘we’) ’tis true; we are all conscious that something absolutely beautiful and precious is being attacked within the human heart of mankind and we seek to heal and reconnect where we may find others of like inclination to share the insights, breakthroughs, pits and frustration of the journey itself.
But there’s no denying the primal feelings of protection and rejection that another man’s association with your son will inspire. And what if, a couple of years down the line you see how it had to be in order to release you to your life more fully and I trust you will be in circumstances for which to be grateful for all that real man growth and I hope to be around to hear all about it, Robert. May the transition pass smoothly and with grace.
Our hero in the second tribal film was recorded saying ‘if I had a wife, I wouldn’t want sex, I would just want to cuddle her for a few months first. Then, maybe’ and that’s just so open, honest, innocent and well, sweet. Sweet to describe a man and his tribe who had killed off speculating, jungle-destroying Westerners whenever they found them – as late as 2005. Sweet killers.
What brought the tears for me (and this is an achievement following suppression) was the realisation in motion that we’ve lost ‘that lovin’ feeling’ and this is the key to a happy ending in this long and sorry saga of mankind vs the psycopaths.
Thanks Aida. Its all towards some greater surrender.
I found a link to the program you’re referring to if people want to watch it.
You write to beautifully of things so painful. Know what? I predict you’ll not be alone for long; and another thing: you’ll never, never, ever be rejected by your wee wizard. 🙂
Your path was charted long before you ever came here.
You didn’t come here to be “normal”.
You came here to be extraordinary. So be “extraordinary”.
Your very, very small tribe is made up other “extraordinary” people.
We are not so many, but we are powerful. You are powerful.
Be content with your power.
Let the “normal” people live their large tribal existence.