Monday, August 25, 2008

The Season of the Fire Goddess: Why Jacoby Could Benefit from Sacred Sex

With the recent ingress of the Sun into Virgo, I thought I'd write about the relationship between Virgo and Vesta, the minor planet thought by some to be a ruler of Virgo. As someone with both my South Node and chart ruler, Pluto, in Virgo, I love the notion of Vesta as ruler of this sign. The symbol for Vesta is that of a flame, and she represents the goddess that tends the fire with great devotion, making sure to keep it going. Vesta is associated with fire, earth, devotion, passion, service, courage, sensuality, and sexuality. According to Eric Francis, astrologer and specialist in the minor planets: “One interesting thing about Vesta is that she does not have a specific identity; there are not classical representations of her. She is the spirit of the eternal, core fire of humanity itself…” (www.planetwaves.net; 8/22/08). The core fire of humanity itself! Now that’s a powerful energy.

Introducing Vesta as ruler of Virgo unearths a facet of Virgo that too often goes overlooked. Virgo is well-known for its tendencies toward discrimination, analysis, detail-orientation, and service to others. The shadow side of these traits can manifest as self-criticism, unconstructive self-analysis, being judgmental, and being self-sacrificing in a way that rolls into martyrdom or victimization. I think about Vesta, in contrast, as empowerment and wholeness from within. It’s akin to the Virgin archetype Marion Woodman refers to: The energy of being who I am because that is who I am. That is, being whole in oneself. Interestingly, Vesta is often associated with being a virgin, but not in the sense of a person who has never been sexual. Rather, Vesta is virginal in her being complete within herself, which in my estimation is the kind of goddess that then exudes sexuality. There is a pure presence to Vesta and from this place she can be absolutely devoted… to humanity itself.

This description of Vesta is strikingly different from the tendencies of Virgo toward self-criticism or judgment of others or sacrificing oneself. From the perspective of Vesta as ruler of Virgo (Mercury is its traditional ruler), the task for Virgo, perhaps, is to work toward recognizing that one is whole in oneself (which requires acknowledging and accepting all of oneself) and to then practice devotion from this grounded place. It is about the truth of who one is and living from that truth and sacred space.

Here's a strange example: Jacoby Ellsbury, right-fielder for the Red Sox and Sun-sign Virgo. As I have watched Ellsbury enter into a batting slump this season, my fantasy has been that some passionate, mature, sensual, healing Vesta-style sacred sex would help him get back into his flow. Now anyone who follows baseball knows that women go crazy for Jacoby (outside of Fenway people make lots of money selling pink t-shirts that say things like “Jacoby can steal my bases anytime”) and so what follows may just be a result of my own projecions... but I think I may be in touch with something else. It’s almost as though I can see Ellsbury’s self-criticism (Virgo) paralyzing him as he gets up at bat. I imagine it’s mostly subconscious-- that he is barely aware of this. Still, one cannot be in the present moment, and therefore in the flow needed to realize one’s potential—- particularly athletic potential, unless those voices are turned off or better yet confronted and found to be false. I imagine Vesta-style sex would accomplish this, at least for a while. The idea is that it would teach him that he is worthy and that all of him is acceptable, which is an effect that some sex can have, and has the parallel effect of shutting down those critical voices. More importantly, perhaps, what Jacoby needs is anything that will allow him to feel fully grounded in himself, in the here-and-now, thereby shutting down that self-criticism and from this place to become devoted to baseball—not as a pressured stage of performance, but rather as sacred sport. This would mean playing baseball for the sake of baseball, rather than for the sake of performing or winning. Now, the Sox might not hire me as their sports psychologist with this philosophy, at least not until they saw the results. And I guarantee they would see results with the encouragement of true devotion to the sport as sacred activity. The thing is, we reach our potential from this place of being grounded, present, and devoted; and not from the place of putting pressure on ourselves. Devoted discipline is very different from discipline driven by self-criticism, harshness, or self-abuse.

Jacoby-as-example is meant to illustrate the small yet significant step of moving from the shadow side of Virgo (self-sacrificing, self-criticism, and rigidity) to that of Virgo shining as truth-and-wholeness-in-oneself and the sacred devotion that comes from this place. Moving from discipline fueled by self-criticism to the discipline of sacred devotion.

We all have both Virgo and Vesta somewhere in our natal charts. In order to get in touch with this energy, and to use the current energy of many of the personal planets in Virgo, we may wish to consider just what we hold sacred in our lives, or what we wish to. What are we devoted to, and does our energy reflect this? And where do we experience ourselves as gods or goddesses, whole within ourselves and devoted to our own self-service and nurturing? The answers to these questions will put us on our own paths of healing.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Confessions of a Therapist

Ten years ago today, I entered the hospital for what ended up being an almost month-long stay. I was suffering from kidney failure related to an autoimmune disease, and because it went misdiagnosed all of my other organs began to fail. I spent most of the time in ICU and came very close to dying, but ultimately recovered completely. I was lucky. (For astrology fans out there, this happened during my Saturn return in Taurus.)

It seems like a very long time ago. There are some things I remember well: My brother's face when he came to visit, reflecting the fear that I would not make it; the way my mom took charge to get me the help I needed, including a transfer to a better hospital; how I, under the influence of some strong medication, told one of my nurses she should really take better care of herself (I regretted that one!); and the phlebotomist/ angel who told me God doesn't give you more than you can handle. I remember the intense sense of freedom I felt when I left hospital number one to drive to hospital number two. I refused to take an ambulence and basically had to sign my life away in order to do so, but that 2 hour car ride was worth it. I begged my husband to stop by a mall so I could do some shopping, but he refused. Still, I felt more like I had just been released from twenty years in prison than a few weeks in ICU during that drive. I also remember packing my bags one morning while in hospital number two so that when my admitting physician came to check on me he would be more likely to let me go home that day. And he did. I appreciated his willingness to listen to my own self-assessment. I knew it was time to leave and recover at home. Anyone who has spent any time in hospitals knows that they are not the most conducive environments for healing.

I wanted to write a blog about how this experience changed me, or how it didn't. To reflect on the memory and gleen some wisdom from having faced death and survived. I don't have anything to say about this, though. I'm not sure how or if it changed me. Whereas at first it shifted my priorites a bit, I soon realized that although it sounds good to live as though you will die tomorrow, there is also something to be said for a long-term perspective. If I were going to die tomorrow, I wouldn't have had the healing session I did this morning, nor would I have updated my accounting software, or taken a young friend/acquaintence to breakfast. I would have, instead, visited with friends or family. Why focus on self-development, accounting, and service to someone you barely know if you are going to leave this world tomorrow? But why not focus on it if you are going to be around a bit longer?

If I ever write a memoir I might call it Confessions of a Therapist. One such confession is that I often feel like a failure for having gone through something like that and not discovered the secret of life or the way to more joy or satisfaction. I know what it is like to almost lose all chances at life and yet I still can't seem to translate this into anything like happiness for myself. I feel like a failure for having almost died and ten years later still not living the life I wish to, or think I'm supposed to. So I keep trying, because really it's all I can do. And whether I learned this lesson or not, the whole near death experience does remind me that we need to take care of ourselves, and our bodies, or they break down. So as I keep trying, I attempt to do so with some semblance of self-compassion and self-care. May be that's all any of us can do?

Thursday, August 21, 2008

An Alter Ego?

I'm thinking about resigning from my remaining board and committee positions. I began this resignation process a while back, but still have a few lingering commitments with several organizations. As the oldest of five children and with a South Node in 10th house Virgo, I am very good at managing things. It's a skill that comes naturally to me. There are ways in which I enjoy it, and I love the satisfaction of a job well done. I recently organized a party in Boston for about 25 colleagues who were there for a conference. They lovingly ridiculed me for volunteering for this task when it was brought up at a board meeting. I, on the other hand, felt that in the time we were taking to decide who would do the organizing, the arrangements could have been made already. So I said I'd do it. No f---ing around, let's just get to it. That's my management style, and because of this I end up in charge of a lot of things. The party went very well, and pulling it together was, in fact, easy for me to do.

The problem is that I don't like myself very much when I'm managing. I fear being bossy and controlling. I fear that I come across as too dominant, or as a "know-it-all." And there's a compulsive nature to it, which I find so frustrating. I just can't hold back. If something needs doing and nobody else is doing it, I step into the lead and can't help myself from doing so. I have such an ambivalent relationship with myself-in-managment-mode, and I haven't yet figured out how to make peace with this. The fears represent baggage I'm carrying around from childhood, no doubt, and the compulsion seems to be in my DNA (and natal chart). Still, I don't want to even be close to being this way.

So I'm beginning to fantasize about being a different kind of woman entirely. The kind who tatoos her husband's name on her inner thigh, marking herself as his possession. She spends her day planning for his return home. After a quick trip to both the lingerie and grocery stores, she tends to his errands-- arranging doctor's appointments, picking up dry cleaning, sending flowers to his administrative assistant, and the like. Once home she watches a few soaps before getting ready for the 5 o'clock whistle, when I begin cooking one of his favorite meals. And before he walks through the door, I've slipped into my newly bought, pink, lacy panty set. (As a power-woman who manages things, neither lace nor pink work very well. Flesh-colored fabric, with the minimalist lines Calvin Klein is known for, is the more appropriate manager-style of lingerie.) Then I patiently wait for him to have his way with me... after he has eaten, of course. No direction from me; no bossiness; no control. I am not dominant. I'm submissive. I completely surrender to his wishes, all the while enjoying the shear pleasure that comes with not having to be the one in charge.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

MIRRORS

I saw myself
in him
so completely

and understood
in a way
that I could not have
without this mirror

Maybe the reflective glass
returned
false images

And I saw
what I wanted to see
or
what I could not otherwise perceive

I wanted to bring
him
healing
so completely
through love

I wanted to bring
myself
healing
through love

But I could only
grant it
to my reflection

I could only
allow it
for him

Sunday, August 17, 2008

To Tat or Not to Tat

I have temporary guardianship of my nephew, who has been living with me for the summer. This means that decisions such as curfew are made by me. One decision I’ve had to make recently was whether to allow him to get a tattoo, or not.

I have a fondness for tats and am attracted to the idea of marking one’s body, especially if it is approached with a respect for the potentially sacred spirit of such an act. There are those individuals who decide to get inked in a moment of drunkenness when they pass a tattoo studio on their way home from the bars. Many other individuals, though, have put thought—sometimes a lot of thought—into what they will wear on their body for the remainder of their lives. It strikes me as an act of rather intense intimacy with oneself, which is an experience that I see lacking in our culture. We tend to seek what we're looking for from others, rather than looking within. Getting inked often involves a process of looking inward, and the tatoos we choose often reflect our relationships with ourselves, or the relationship between our selves and the world-- reflecting something about what we wish others to see in us. We ink ourselves with inspirational words and images that we believe best reflect who we are, or who we wish to become.

Given my fondness for tatoos and the meanings they hold, the decision to tat or not to tat my nephew was a relatively easy one for me to make. I told him that I would allow it after he completed a five week summer program focused on character building, which he did. And so we’re going to the tatoo artist tomorrow. He has the drawing, which represents a sort-of rebirth that he has recently experienced: A rising up from and through the darkness, guided by divine forces that bring him closer to the light. A very enlightened image for a 17 year old to create. Still, as tomorrow approaches I notice some doubt. His mom, who initally agreed to this when I consulted her, was having second thoughts. I know that my parents, with whom my nephew is very close, will be outraged. It's a large tatoo that will fill his entire upper left arm. It's his second and they were none too happy with his first, even with its inspirational message intended to honor my father. His school will probably want to have a talk with me, labelling me as one of the many parents of their students who need a lesson in strong parenting. And what would my friends and colleagues say? Especially those that are mothers? How would they view my decision? In short, others' responses and potential responses have led me to question myself and my judgement. How could I have possibly agreed to allow my beloved 17 year old nephew to carve a wound into his entire upper arm?

As is often the case for me, it's been difficult to know if these are my doubts or if I'm just absorbing something from others. So I settled myself and tried to get back to my initial feelings about this. I wish to encourage Daniel's self-expression and his freedom to make choices, I reminded myself. I support his desire to mark his experience of rebirth,... He is almost an adult and it is time for him to make more decisions for himself, accepting more responsiblity and accountability for such decisions... The tatoo really isn't the issue, I remembered. Maybe to tat or not to tat is not the question. I think its more like to choose awareness or not to choose the same. Can we choose to have as full awareness as possible about the motivations and desires that drive our decisions and actions? This, to me, is the definition of freedom and it comes with great responsibility. My job as guardian of my nephew, I decided, was to help him cultivate such awareness and responsibility. So, with that intention, I created the following tatoo prayer for him:

May all the angels and gods that watch over Daniel gather together and protect him tomorrow as he literally marks a part of his journey that he has imaged as a lotus, which rises out of the mud and muck into beauty. May the angel represented in his tatoo, with her large, striking, protective wings, always remind him of the many angels that will be by his side at all times as he continues his journey through life. And may the symbol of resurrection help him to know that when we have the courage to go through we do indeed get to the other side. Most of all, may the gods and angels that look over Daniel help him to make choices in life that are based in ever expanding awareness and responsibility for all that he brings into this world. Amen.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

GREAT SEX?

What makes great sex great? I asked myself this question the other day and wasn't sure how to answer it. It struck me as strange that I couldn't come up with a satisfying answer. I wanted to believe it's about a level of intimacy, but if that were true then long-term partner sex would be really great much of the time, and for most individuals this is not true.

Is it about the orgasm? Whereas most people I've spoken to would rather have the orgasm than not, and whereas a lack of orgasm is a way of discriminating not-so-great sex for many, the big O doesn't seem to answer the question of the essence of great sex.

My husband told me that all sex is great. This wasn't a very helpful answer and I don't believe it's representative of how most individuals feel. I think most people would say "this time was great, but this time wasn't," even if they cannot say why.

As I gave this more thought I kept coming back to the intimacy answer. Maybe great sex has something to do with intimacy, not with one’s partner, but with oneself. And not only knowing oneself well, but accepting oneself well. And then sharing from this place.

Sex is the paradigmatic experience of merging our spiritual and animalistic urges and potentials. We can only do this, though, if we accept all of who we are: Primal desires and transcendent needs alike; light and darkness; assertiveness and receptivity; aggression and softness. Before we can merge these tendencies, we need to acknowledge that they exist at all. And then we need to accept them. And to love ourselves for being this way.

Intimacy comes from a word meaning the "action of making known." Being intimate with oneself means making oneself known – that is, revealing oneself. I would add that when a person truly reveals herself-- makes herself known-- that she is then faced with the task of accepting herself, or not. Once "out there," we must decide to keep it out there (and therefore to accept what has been revealed) or to place it back into the shadows. And for good or bad, sometimes the latter choice isn't an option: It's difficult to go back once the path of self-revelation has begun.

The sexiest people I know are those who exude a sort of god- or goddess-like aura about them. They seem grounded in themselves through self-knowledge and self-acceptance. They embody a sense of freedom in being who they are. We often call this confidence, and it is that, but also more. When we accept ourselves from a core place, confidence shifts into magnetism (for those observing the goddess) and into pure presence (for the goddess herself). In other words, the person who is comfortable revealing herself to the world experiences a sort of pure being-there, with herself and in the world. And we see her as charismatic, magnetic, and sexy.

My best guess is that such a woman has really great sex.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

An Ode to Summer

August brings much sadness to me each and every year. I can feel summer slipping away the minute I flip the calendar. Back to school shopping with my niece, Al Michael’s voice talking through my television set, college football tickets arriving in the mail, and the whispers of drier, cooler air carried on just the tip of the wind all speak to the imminent change of seasons, which I cannot help but mourn. It’s not that I dislike fall, it’s just that I love summer with unreasonable passion. My husband says “it’s my season.” And he’s right. Summer loves me, I believe, with the same intensity that I love it. The sun smiles down on me, my health improves, and I become more vital and alive. I love the sights and sounds of my youngest neighbors as they find ingenious ways to spend each moment of their unstructured days: Walking pet bunny rabbits, jumping through sprinklers, screaming happy screams for no apparent reason. I love summer clothes and the socially sanctioned dress code of “barely anything.” I love the tanned bodies of well-built construction workers in tank tops and the smell of fresh sweat when my husband comes in from pulling weeds and planting on a particularly hot day. I love iced-coffee and outdoor concerts and the freedom that seems to permeate the air while days in general get longer even as the working day seems shorter. It is August 6th already and I will soon say good-bye, making way for the remainder of another annual cycle of the New England seasons. I will do my best to enjoy my football tickets and boots and active fire place and burning candles until I can once again taste summer on the tips of a different kind of wind. I will rest up for that day when my vitality overflows once again and the energy of a hot sun infuses my body. And I will be sure to take a trip or two to a place that can recreate summer for me in the depths of my own short, dark winter days that I appreciate all the more when reminded of how they offer contrast with, and therefore remind me of, my favorite days of all.