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.