Monday, September 29, 2008

INSOMNIA

Drip, drip, drip, drip.
The noise of the rain gathers in puddles
as a backdrop for the
annoying thoughts and images and fantasies that dance, badly,
behind closed eyes.

And I know that dreams of the nocturnal kind
would be a far more productive way
of working through the internal drips
than is this uninspired dreaming
that is more correctly a resistance of all that is.

So I pray to the goddesses of the moon
to those who watch over the night
to intercede,
taking care to work on the conflicts
that now keep me from finding the peace of the darkness they create.

Instead, and unable to submit,
I create annoying poetry
dancing, badly, with words
in an attempt to quell their dripping within
and to empty myself of those forces that keep me from peace.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

To Be Touched By He...

To be touched by he who wishes to ravish me
Challenged by another who dreams
Cherished for a wisdom deeply known
And reflected in the values I hold dear.

To soothe his deepest wounds
And explore his greatest fears
I sense that which makes his body flinch
And respond with what he craves most.

I nurture his erotic fantasies
With courage to move toward my own
We warm the world through our contact
Even as there is space to discover ourselves.

To love with the intensity of fire
And see the world’s beauty through his eyes
Devouring his juicy flesh, bones, and being,
Even as I suffer the letting go.

To build a home. Or a life. Or a project together.
Becoming a team that could take on the world
But instead we work with it,
And leave it better, through our support of one another.

Saturday, September 27, 2008

CREATING A LIFE

There are many ways to think about creativity, the most common, perhaps, being the processes associated with the traditional arts: That which inspires a painting, brings about a piece of music, or inspires the building of a skyscraper. More essentially, creativity is the generation of something new- an ushering into being of that which was not there before. Most artists speak of this process as being greater than themselves. They emphasize an attitude of receptivity and being present to that which wishes to be born through them. The form is in the wood already and the sculptor carves away the unnecessary pieces in order to liberate the figure. The music is sung and the musician "just" records what he hears from within. The words “come through” the poet from a place that is “not her.”

Creativity is not limited to those realms we consider traditional art. Life itself is a work of art, and what many of us fail to realize is that we are all artists of our own lives. Each day, with the brush strokes of every thought, feeling, desire, intention, and choice, we find ourselves painting the lives we are leading.

I realize that it is easy for this idea to sound like a platitude- something which on the surface conveys hope but is in actuality empty of real meaning. I do not mean it in this way. The idea that we create our own lives is an immensely powerful one. It is one that inspires and empowers, but also unearths a deep sense of responsibility as well as our most profound fears. If we accept this idea, then we are left to own every thought, desire, belief, and action we put forth into the world. No more blaming others, circumstances, or our upbringing. It is how we choose to respond that matters, and seeing ourselves as victims of the world around us itself creates a specific kind of life—one that is likely to keep us disempowered.

Having said all of this, it is also important to acknowledge that taking responsibility for our lives is far from an easy or simple thing to do. Again, it means confronting those core fears that take up residence in our psyches at a very early age and remain there until we escort them out. It requires taking the risk of discovering whether those fears are, in fact, valid. In this way, the devil that rears its head in most of our lives is that of avoidance. I use the term devil to indicate that which tempts us to turn away from life: We tend to avoid those situations that put us in contact with our fears, which in turn, keeps us from living more vibrantly. If we fear dependency on others, for example, out of fear of being “swallowed up” by the other, then we may avoid those very situations that would allow us to discover this is not true, and we do so even as we say we are lonely. This is a very real example of how many of us create lives of loneliness. For others of us, the fear of being alone keeps us in relationships that drag down our energy, even as we complain of continuing to come upon negative relationships. Avoiding being alone at all costs for fear that we cannot survive there leads us to jump into not-so-good relationships, and with this choice we create certain realtionships, and lives, for ourselves.

Individuals who create the lives that they truly want to lead are those who choose to face core fears. There is something else, though, and it is related to what has been described thus far. That something else is ambivalence. It is not just that we’re afraid to confront our fears and therefore avoidant of situations that would help us to do so (and to thereby discover whether the fear is, in fact, warranted), but some of these fears are so deeply hidden within our psyches that we experience very real ambivalence about what we actually want in the first place. As an example, if I am really, really hot one steamy summer day and want to go in the water and am aware that I am afraid to do so, then I can talk to my friend about this dilemma and she can say: Just try it. You want to be cool. It will be okay, and you’ll be glad you did so. .. However, if I am so scared of the water that what I experience is “I really don’t want to go in, and I do want to be cool..”, then I am much further away from that conversation with my friend as well as from facing the fear of the water. I experience the fear in a covered-over way. I experience ambivalence-- I want two things at once. I want to move toward life and to move away from fear. In the moment, though, I don’t know I’m afraid, I just know that I feel trapped.

Feeling trapped is often a red flag that some deeply covered-over fear is operating within. Ambivalence is often a sign of the same. When you are feeling trapped or ambivalent, a very useful question is: What fear is at the core of this dilemma? Like the artists we are, we should not try to figure out the answer but rather make time for silence and stillness and see what we hear, feel, and sense. Like the artist, it is our task to be present, to receive that which arises within. And as with art, this is often a process that unfolds over time. There is likely to be a back-and-forth movement between confronting ambivalence, and the fear which underlies it, and becoming clear about what we really want for our lives. Like carving away the wood—little by little—to reveal the figure hiding within, we carve away our ambivalence as we confront our fears. In doing so, we gain clarity about how we really want to live our lives, and we can then manifest this way of being.

As artists of our own lives, each and every one of us can experience the frustration of the process, the challenge of the self-discipline required, the feeling of being alone in our creating, the excitement of birthing something into life, and the exhilaration of witnessing the creation once it is born. And c’est la vie. This is really all there is.

The Harvest

Fall is upon us and the astrology for the season, both individual and collective, is rich, powerful, and full of potential. Throughout the month of October, the majority of personal, or inner, planets are in Libra and Scorpio. The Sun ingressed Libra on the 22nd of September followed by Venus’ (ruler of Libra) ingress into Scorpio two days later. While Venus rules Libra—bringing lightness, beauty, harmony, and balance, Pluto rules Scorpio—painting a picture of depth, darkness, destruction, and transformation. Libra speaks to relationships with others; Scorpio to relationship with oneself. Within the cycle of the zodiac, Scorpio follows Libra. They are adjacent signs. And now, the ruler of one is in the sign of the other.

I’ve seen the relationship between adjacent signs described in various ways in the astrological literature. The latter sign incorporates the former. It deepens the lessons of the sign before it at the same time as it acts as a “correction” to it. A sign also learns something from the one which precedes it, as well as from the one which follows it. Scorpio, then, takes the lessons of relationship (of Other), honed by the energy of Libra, and is called to deepen them; to apply those lessons to oneself; to correct for the emphasis on other, harmony, and balance through its emphasis on self, destruction, and rebirth, for example. From Scorpio, Libra can learn to deepen and to touch those taboo areas of life, just as Scorp can learn something about balance, diplomacy, and the beauty in all things from the Libra influences around him.

In my own life, I experience tension due to the influences of these two energies as reflected in my natal chart. There is an exact opposition between Pluto (ruled by Scorpio) and Venus (ruled by Libra and Taurus) in my chart, as well as a second exact opposition between Jupiter (in Pluto-ruled Scorp) and Saturn (in Venus-ruled Taurus), adding to the tension I experience between these two energies. I tend to favor the deep, dark energies of Scorpio. As I look out my window today and notice the dark sky and at times heavy rain, I am less aware of the necessity of rain for the beauty of colorful, fall leaves; drinking water to purify our bodies; and budding plants next spring (expressions of Libra); and am more aware of diving into myself where I might indulge those feelings evoked by the rain—melancholy, anger, and self-absorption (expression of Scorpio). Truth is, I could use more Libra energy in life, and probably a little less Scorpio. What my chart suggests, though, is a need to learn better integration of these energies, rather than favoring one over another, and to do so from an evolved perspective.

Oppositions in the natal chart ask this of us: To learn to balance or integrate the opposing energies. Squares, too, require this. Regardless of whether Libra and Scorpio are related through squares or oppositions in your chart, they are present in some form, and during the fall months, the vibe of these two energies are intermingled in the surrounding atmosphere. One aspect of the shadow-side of Libra is the denial of those depths that its neighbor, Scorp, is so known for. Likewise, a shadow element of Scorpio energy is the tendency to get lost in those depths to the exclusion of noticing the beauty of that which surrounds one right now.

Remember, Libra and Scorpio can teach each other. The zodiac is represented by a wheel—by a circle and cycles. The energies are meant to work together; to find their own unique ways of coming together. This is why all astrology is full of potential, this fall’s astrology included. The potential that exists this fall is manifold, and includes the opportunity to reflect on the relationship between beauty (Libra) and transformation (Scorpio). It is a good time to deepen your experiences—to pursue them into their core—not for the purposes of getting lost there, but rather for the possibility of creating the beauty that comes from knowing what motivates us and appreciating what we have thus far created in life. It is a time to appreciate the lightness of life, maybe particularly the lightness that comes with letting go. The opportunity to harmonize energies after we’ve let them “cook” within us is also present this fall, as is the juice of life that comes from stepping inside of oneself with full disclosure and emerging from a place of greater authenticity, from which we then share ourselves with the others. This is the gift of those intermingled Scorpio and Libra energies, the fruits of sticking with their tension, and the harvest of knowing oneself in all of one’s beauty.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Tonight's Phantasies

My husband left for a business trip several days ago. I've been looking forward to a few days alone. At this time last year, I had just begun what ended up being my too-short, though much appreciated, sabbatical from marriage, during which I lived on my own. Several days home alone isn't quite the same thing, but I'll take it.

So, here, tonight, alone, I have time for my phantasies. The first: I have a husband who reads my writings-- A guy who, in wanting to stay connected to me while away, would think to check out my blog to see what was on my mind and in my heart. It's not that my husband doesn't think of me or miss me when away from home, he just isn't all that interested in what's going on beneath the surface. Tonight he called to tell me about the people he met in the new office that will now be reporting in to him- he started rattling off who looked like whom. Someone there looked like our handyman, another like our brother-in-law, etc. etc. "Do you have anything of substance to say, 'cuz I'm watching House?" was all I could say in return. I was wishing for the guy who wanted to know what I might be writing about these days. Perhaps as a coping mechanism for not having such a guy, I turned my attention to phantasies about someone else.

Phatasy #2: That someone else calls me up because he's lonely and wants to talk-- to run something by me. We talk for awhile and say good night. But I cannot get him off my mind and so I get into my car and drive over to his place, nervous but possessed--I have to see him, to have him, really. I walk up to his door and knock. He answers immediately, as though he's been waiting. And when he opens the door and sees me, he doesn't seem surprised. I take his hand and without saying a word I hold it, and caress it, with fingers, then lips. My hands make their way, slowly, up his arms, lovingly devouring his biceps and triceps, while my lips find his and we both catch fire...

I think I'll leave the rest of that phantasy for me, at least for now, and move on to phantasy #3: It's a silly one-- I make sacred, chocolate covered nuts with various healing properties; and I can read people for what kind of healing they need. I'm a healer in a different way than a therapist (my position now) is a healer and I find this discipline to be nurturing to me in a way that practicing therapy no longer is. As I write this, I'm aware of Chocolate, the movie with this very similar theme of healing-chocolate used by an intuitive sort of woman. Though I loved the movie, I hadn't made this conscious connection until now. No doubt it was influencing phantasy #3 subconsciously.

I'll have to make a point of watching this movie again soon. I'm also remembering that when I was living on my own just a short year ago, I worked with my intuition a lot more. I was practicing tarot card readings and other forms of intuitive play. And I enjoyed it. I think it's time for me to connect with my phantasies more often and bring some of them-- yes, just some of them-- to life.

Family Ties... that bind

I come from a pretty f—ked up family, myself included. By f—ked up, I mean that we all struggle with life, often in the midst of lots of drama and chaos, and seem to spend much time in unhappiness. There are seven of us, counting my mom and dad. Of those seven, three are full-blown alcoholics and three enjoy their booze to a point where it can, let’s say, get in the way. And then there’s me. I’m messed up in a different way—in a way that doesn’t interfere with anything or anyone other than me. In a way that lacks drama and chaos. In contrast, I’m calm, responsible, and lead a mature life. I own a home and a car and a business, and I run my business well and help others while doing so. My craziness is of a different brand than that of other members of my family, and I cope with the craziness differently as well. For example, I rarely drink; though when I do, two glasses of wine are two too many.

I had one and half (too many) on Saturday night. I was out with two of my sisters and my five year old niece, M, celebrating the five years of life M has had to date. When I ordered a glass of wine, I thought: Why not? I have nothing planned tomorrow. I know I’ll feel lousy and lazy and sleepy, but that’ll be okay for tomorrow. I love the feeling of being slightly inebriated. I love the freedom, easy laughter, and relaxation which overcome me. Like most members of my family, I’m a good drunk—the kind who can bring more life to a party. It’s like I’m a better version of myself—or at least that’s what I’m tempted to believe. It is tempting to believe this other version of myself is better than the mature, responsible, and sometimes rigid one. It’s tempting to think that if I just let go, I’ll be more fun to be around as well as happier myself.

Being the odd one out in my family, I was always teased for being responsible, even as I was held to that standard. An unintentional trap is what it was: Take care of your younger siblings, but when you show maturity elsewhere know that you’ll be teased for it. It’s now etched into my being that responsibility and maturity are not traits to be proud of. Still, it is me…

It is excruciatingly painful to hold deep, negative judgments about one’s core self. You would think those negative judgments would cause me to be less responsible-- to give some of that up, but it is almost as though I cannot help it. If something isn’t being done that I think needs to be, I step up to do it—even when I tell myself not to. I can’t seem to shake it—unless, of course, I’m drinking.

So what happened on Saturday? I have a modest amount of wine. In the moment, I have more fun than I would have if I drank tea. Later on, and the next morning, I believe I’m a terrible person. I wasn’t responsible, for others is the significant modifier here.

As usual, the conversation at Saturday night dinner turned to my sister’s f—ked up relationship with her on again off again mobster boyfriend. This, at my niece’s birthday dinner. Had I been drinking tea, I would have done everything possible—and I imagine would have succeeded, and diplomatically so— to make sure the focus remained on M. But I had wine instead, and indulged my sister, and because I didn’t drink too much I remained aware that M, and my other sister— M’s mom, were not having as much fun as they should have had celebrating the anniversary of M’s birth five years prior. This is what I later regretted. And this is the problem, the trap: I dislike myself both ways. Had I chosen not to drink and had I been the one to essentially shut-down my sister-with-the-mobster-boyfriend, bringing the focus back to M, I would have regretted that as well, judging myself as someone who cannot have fun. Of course, I realize that it is me and my internal judgments that set up the trap.

I have so many more examples of how this dilemma plays out without a sense of how to step out of it. If I were working with myself as a client, I would try to facilitate self-acceptance: Acceptance of self with both the responsible traits and the less responsible ones. I guess I should try to begin with that…

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

A Knock at the Door

Several major financial institutions are crashing around me- including one that paid my bills for a while as my husband's employer- and I remain self-focused, wondering if I will ever be happy again. I hate this about myself: The self-absorption. Yet I can't seem to shake it. Writing-- here, now-- is an attempt at this. Maybe if I get it out I'll be able to widen my now myopic lens. (May be not.)

As far as the banking crisis goes, I'm reminded that I also have a perspective which is the opposite of myopic, even wider than broadminded actually. It is more like I can remove myself from earth and float above, witnessing centuries of happenings all at the same time. From this perspective I am very calm. It has to happen this way. We cannot see it if we’re in it, but this is part of a much larger progression. And progress sometimes requires knocking things down in order to begin anew, hopefully learning something along the way. We've gotten way too carried away and this is the correction. Not just a market correction; a way-of-being correction. We haven't been living consciously for a very long time. We might even say that we should have woken-up many, many times already. But we’ve ignored these calls. And as is the case with individual lives, worlds collapse as well when the tapping and then knocking and then pounding is ignored. The door has been knocked down completely at this point, along with crumbling walls, and torn-up floors, and crashing ceilings. And it's okay because we need this in order to move forward more thoughtfully, with more awareness, more responsibly, and with an eye to what we truly value and how to nurture such. Hopefully, we’ll listen this time around.

In the meantime, I’m trying to hear the knocks on my individual door. I truly want to be open to changing in whatever ways I need to, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes, including being alone for the rest of my life. I’m just not convinced that this is where I supposed to be. So I’ll keep listening, trying to bring awareness to the impending crash in order to minimize it. And if things have to crash, I will try to imagine the broadminded, floating-above-earth perspective that is so much easier for me to achieve on the collective level.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

"I wanna perfect soul..."

“I wanna have control
I wanna perfect body
I wanna perfect soul..." Radiohead

What if life were meaningless? What if our desires for the perfect soul didn't matter? What if we really didn't belong here, if we were just here for a meaningless ride? There are of course people who believe this, and some theories of enlightenment seem to me to extend into this when taken to their natural conclusion. I'm referring to a sort of meaninglessness that is more bland than the kind of nihilism studied in Philosophy 101.

Personally, I don't get it; though when I imagine this as a possibility it's somewhat freeing, even if boring. It doesn't matter if I sit home and sharpen pencils or try to facilitate healing for individuals in counseling. Why not sharpen pencils, or fold towels, or shuffle cards? I could listen to music all day while doing so and could give up the quest for whatever it is I'm doing here on this earth. There is something appealing about this.

Would I be happy within meaninglessness? I'll have to answer this question at a later time-- I'm about to try it for awhile.

Thursday, September 11, 2008

A September Memory

It is just about 1 PM on September 11th, 2008, seven years after the Setember 11th we all remember well. It was on that day, at a little after 1 PM, that I discovered my dad was alive. I was in session with a psychotherapy client. My friend and colleague, Dee, knocked softly on the door to let me know. It is the only time I've ever asked to be interrupted while in session. Even after the faint knock at the door, the client I was meeting with didn't know about the intimate connection I had with the disaster of that morning. I remained calm both before and after the news that someone had finally heard from my dad, however tenuous that calm was.

I went to work that day because I needed to be around people. It was perhaps the only time in my life that I have ever felt this need. I remember the thought clearly: "I need to be with people." I may have even said it to myself out loud.

As I went about my usual routine that morning, with the television buzzing in the background, I caught sight of the devastation that was unfolding and just then the phone rang. It was one of my sisters; the one who had happened to move many, many states away not long before all of this happened. "Daddy's there... daddy's there," she kept repeating, barely able to breathe. My parents had been out to Minnesota that weekend and my father must have mentioned that he had a meeting in the towers on Tuesday. My nephew was young at the time, and I imagine my father shared this detail in order to connect with him in some way-- a kid who would have been impressed by his pop working at the Trade Center. I quickly snapped back to the phone call: "Where are the kids?" I asked, knowing they would be worked up and worried all day at school if they saw their mom like this. My nephew, especially, was very very close to my father. I talked my sister into a calmer state and helped her to send her kids off to school; then I let her break down. She was all the way out in Minnesota and almost all of the rest of my family was in NY, surrounded by the disaster. My dad in the towers, we beleived, in one of his usual meetings with the Port.

My sister described to me her conversation with my dad that previous weekend; she knew he was there that morning instead of in the Long Island office he usually worked out of. Much of the rest of those ensuing five hours are a blur to me now. Another one of our sisters, our mom, and brother were all in Long Island and it was very difficult to get through to them by phone. The phone calls that we did manage to have offered conflicting reports from my dad's office about whether anyone had actually heard from him. I was at my office, with psychologists and staff and clients alike all huddled around a tv set sharing our shock and concern, when another sister called me to say that my dad's office had not in fact heard from him all morning; previous reports that they had spoken to him were mistaken. This was the moment when my own calm began to break down. But I forced myself to "be strong." And I stayed strong up until I heard he was okay and, of course, until all my clients were gone. My dad finally got through to his office, and they to my mom, her to my sister, and my sister to me at about 1 PM.

The rest of the story goes like this: My father was early for his 9 o'clock meeting and so he took the next subway stop up, past the Trade Center, to get his shoes shined. He then walked back that one block toward the towers only to see the fire, and then the second plane, and then the collapse and clouds and horror that followed. After some sense of what was actually happening registered, he walked uptown to the office of a friend and some four to five hours after the initial blow finally got a phone signal, which allowed him to let us all know he was okay. It was then, upon hearng "he's okay," that I felt everything that had been buidling up since that first call with my sister crying, "Oh my god, daddy's there..."

In the following weeks I was made to feel a similar pain all over again as I watched television clips of the rescue effort, looking into the television set for my brother, who was working there as an iron worker. It was harder than usual for me to just trust he would be okay after having been through the uncertainty of my father's fate only days prior.

I am grateful that my father is alive and saddened, today especially, to think of the many, many people who have been left to grieve. My father lost many colleagues that day and one in particular for whom he still holds tremendous grief; and survivor guilt, I'm sure. He is not the same since that day seven years ago. Most people, my own family included, don't understand the profound impact that something like this has on a person. My family doesn't quite get how it has changed my father. I know; and it helps me to feel closer to him. Today, I am sending prayers and healing energy out to all of those who witnessed the destruction of the day, to all of those who lost someone in the midst of that destruction, and to all of those who helped others get through it. I am grateful, also, to and for the guy who shined my father's shoes that day-- a guy whom my dad returned to thank soon after 9/11.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

THE OPENING

It is a chilly night and I have wrapped myself in cashmere for the blend of softness and warmth that it offers to the delicate boundary which connects the world to the spaces deep within; the now permeable border that is my skin. I step into the gorgeous and revered Soho art gallery, which is made more so because the Artist of the night is also a muse to me. It is opening night for the exhibit titled Book of Blue. I see friends whom I met yrs ago at a sexuality workshop, of all places, and a swelling of joy radiates out from the center of my being as I linger for a moment to take in their faces. A spiritual connection continues to bind us to one another and each is the Self of his or her own Lover.

I taste desire in the air, which in turn sends a sensation of red wine pulsating through my veins, and warmth returns to me. Removing my cashmere I am aware of the lessening need for a boundary. I experience the world, suddenly, as a sea. A sea of photographs and souls and friends and lovers. I wish to merge completely.

“Eris,” my partner calls my name, “I found you.” After 17 years of togetherness, he discovers me again and again, as I also do for myself. This time he meets me in a photograph.

The soul that collaborated with the lens once upon a time when the photo was taken appears to me as the perspective of my naval as center. My torso fills the frame and my signature very-small-breasts identify me as the soul of that navel. A rosy ipod, the wire of a white ear piece, and a set of sea-green fishes tattooed just above where the ipod peaks out of nude-colored panties add color to the photo, all viewed from within the mirror. I was listening to Lennon’s Imagine and now long for gazers to see the passionate peace that existed on the inside of the boundary that day. I long for the boundary to dissolve.

A time of more peace; we acknowledge the absurdity of war.
When oil is needed less
Because the juices of life are more,
Wars we fight now are against a culture of oppression
Claiming freedoms that for too long have been deeply hidden in our depression

reads the description below the photo.

An old man in a bow-tie, his arm clutched by an impeccably dressed white-haired woman of about the age of 70, enters the gallery. They are beautiful to me. They greet the gallery’s owner, accept an offer of wine, and take-in the first few photos gathered on the left-hand side of the gracious, elegant, yet urban space. He stops—unexpectedly—in front of one in particular. It has caught his eye, from which a tear now falls. She places her palm ever so lightly on the small of his back and the tear almost cries itself in response, in comfort, in knowing. Salty water begins falling from the outside corners of my eyes, pulled by forces of gravity unrelated to anything within me, except that I am in that moment one with the forces of the world, no space between me and him, or her, or another me. No space and spaciousness. No boundary, yet centered. Peaceful and calm and very alive. Water and energy and skin.

The Artist is there. A light ignited by the fire within washes over me and the warmth of a smile graces my lips which, like my breasts, are too slender for the fullness of the kiss I wish to give. I am grateful that they swell in response to the touch of his breath and I once again feel the electricity that rearranged my cells much time ago. The energy that melted away the too rigid boundary now dissolves me completely. I don’t know if it’s joy for me or for him or for the world. Somehow, it does not matter. In this new world ushered in by him, by them, it does not matter. This is the world I wish to live in. And on this night, the sky cracked opened and great rays of creation shone brighter than the Sun*. On this night, I did not doubt, but rather I dreamt—and believed—that I was whole.

* From 2008 Annual Planetwaves horoscope: www.planetwaves.net. Exact quote: “But Chiron does much more, teaching us how to heal; cracking open the sky and allowing the great rays of creation to shine brighter than the Sun. You might doubt these; but please, acknowledge them when you see them.”

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Anniversaries of Death

It continues to be the ten year anniversary of a near death experience for me. I was hospitalized for just under a month, and so the anniversary spans this length of time as well. It’s probably close to the date within those 3-4 weeks when I was at my worst.

I woke up with some physical symptoms yesterday and automatically interpreted them as life-threatening. I’ve also been worried about the health of another person in my life these days. As I’ve been told often, my tendency is to minimize and even ignore symptoms, pain, and discomfort. I’m not a worrier. I try to keep the chronic illness I live with and everything else associated with it in the background. I wish to lead as “normal” a life as possible. It is interesting to me that I have chosen now—this anniversary—to overact.

I think that something deep inside of me believes that I should not be alive. I wasn’t supposed to make it ten more years. My doctors never said this to me, but I felt it. I’ve allowed myself to hang out in the sun and eat whatever I want and not eat whatever I don’t want because somehow I didn’t think I’d make it long enough for these things to matter. As the day went on yesterday, and I imagined myself lying in a hospital bed with a life-threatening infection, I felt a lot of grief. I didn’t want my life to end, even though somewhere within me I thought maybe that’s how it should be.

As a psychologist, it never ceases to amaze me how our psyches work. Almost dying is not something I usually carry with me. It didn’t leave a permanent, significant mark on me. I never denied it or the impact of having gone through something like this, but neither did it play an extraordinarily transformative role in my life. Like most others, for the past ten years I’ve been living my life as well as I know how and striving to be better. Still, ten years comes along and not only do I know that I was hospitalized ten years ago to the day, but I am stirred up. It’s just some arbitrary amount of time passing and yet it stirs me up. Most of the time I have no idea what time or day or month it is, and now I seem utterly attuned to all of this.

Saturn is currently transiting my South Node, possibly calling for a break with the past, a reevaluation of what really matters in life, and a push to be more conscious (aware of and responsible for) where I am heading. When we’re called to take a really deep look into ourselves and our lives, the whole question of death and the limits of life and it’s eventual finality is inescapable. This is one of the tasks of Saturn, which transited my natal Saturn exactly ten years ago.

I’ve been hospitalized a few times in my life. Each time, there has been a sense of peace that comes from a timeout in life—time away from the many obligations I don’t really want. Maybe it’s time for me to let go of these without needing to be hospitalized in order to do so. Maybe that’s what the fantasies of life-threatening symptoms and Saturn’s position in the sky is all about. Or perhaps I’m just sad and scared in the face of the passage of time.