No Title

I haven’t felt much like writing these days. I am stuck in life, and therefore stuck on page. I do okay when I’m sad, lonely, despairing. I can turn this into sub-par poetry. But resignation yields nothing. It is not made of the stuff that easily transforms into art. Its expression on canvas is nothing—the absence of paint strokes, rather than a color, form, or movement of the arm. There is no internal seed to resignation. No impetus that leads to something else.

I look around and see flatness that continues ad infinitum. They say that one thing you can count on is change, but I see a landscape that doesn’t shift or move or transform. The boredom and lack is so vast and leads no where.

I stop writing because I don’t want to be the kind of person who holds such negativity and spreads it to the world. I have a sister like that… I can only imagine how many people, most of whom are complete strangers, she has hurt in her life with her bitterness. I don’t want to be her. So I try to descend, deeper and darker into the resignation, completely giving up and trying not to want anything from life. Is this what surrender is, the not-wanting? How does one continue to want and wish and hope while simultaneously giving up? It’s a lesson I have not yet learned.

I move to plan B. The sinking does not work, and so I keep on keeping on. I go to work and force myself to tend to the daily tasks that make-up life. I try to escape out of myself. And I drink coffee as support.

Today, I am grateful for coffee.

If I could only write lyrics like this...

"Now she wouldn't dance
It's so rock and roll to be alone

And they'll meet one day
far away
and say
'I wish I was something more.'" - Amy McDonald, Mr. Rock & Roll

http://www.kovideo.net/lyrics/a/Amy-Macdonald/Mr-Rock-And-Roll.html

Love at First Sight...

I saw her today. She was beautiful. A stone exterior; colorful slate roof; concrete floors; and Soul. Beautiful as she was, she was also wounded. The cobwebs and overgrown vines speak of her profound abandonment. She is need of love.

As I walked in, and around, I could hear her speaking to me. I knew she would be able to tell me what she needed, and wanted, and how to bring her back to life. I started to assemble the Venus-inspired medical team in my imagination-- the meetings we would have to come up with a plan full of care, beauty, and integrity. The Labor of Love that would follow.

She was the home I was searching for. Intimate. Full of potential and character. Able to give back a sense of both security and beauty to whomever stepped-up to do the same for her. ... It would not be me.

I was reminded of the painful side of having a rich fantasy life; one's heart is broken easily and often.

Almost undecipherable

"I wanna wish it all away...
I wanna drum it all away...
I don't want to stay at all..."

Pearl Jam, Yellowledbetter

An Early Arrival

My husband loving put out our deck furniture this morning. It took only the slightest bit of cajoling by me. Either he also wanted to believe spring has arrived, or he wanted to make me happy. I imagine it was the latter. He knows nothing makes me happier than sitting comfortably in warm sunshine with a good book, or my thoughts.

Happy Spring.

To Be or Not to Be

I had my first experience with zero balancing, a bodywork method that combines eastern approaches to energy work with western ways of understanding the mechanics of the body. It brings together energy and structure. As someone born under what seems like an unfortunate conjunction of Saturn (structure) and Mars (energy) this seemed a very appropriate treatment for me. The practitioner is what drew me in, though, not the technique. I met her in another capacity and loved her energy. I just knew she was one of those ultra-intuitive goddesses of the body. I knew she would assist my healing journey in some way.

Her knowing hands and wise heart had the following insight for me: I haven’t yet decided if I really want to be embodied and living on this planet. She was right. The words resonated with that Piscean desire toward escapism, fantasy, isolation. I get by just fine, but do I really want to be here? If not, then I’m dying a slow death rather than living a long life. Anna rightly told me that I was good at living in the wispy realm and needed to learn (decide) to live in my skeleton, in my bones. And that my life will fill itself out once I decided to do this.

So this is my task now. I never thought I’d make it to 40. As of tomorrow, I have one year left before that fateful deadline. I will spend my 39th birthday deciding if I want to be here, knowing that yes means committing to life regardless of where that takes me….

Hendrix and Hunger

The problem with being passionate is that when I’m not in those moments of intensity, I fall into longing. Nothing is ever enough. It means that necessary activities such as standing in line at the bank are quite challenging due to the sheer boredom.

There’s a line in the album version of Pearl Jam’s difficult to decipher song, Yellow Ledbetter, just before the sensual guitar riff; Vedder calls out: “Make me cry.”

Make me cry, make me laugh, make me love, make me feel. It’s as though I can’t believe I’m alive unless the fire of inner experience is burning.

So, I’ve been listening to Yellow Ledbetter over and over again this afternoon. The guitar solo, a tribute to Hendrix, evokes a feeling that I cannot name. The closest I come to describing it is arousal—it makes me want to rise and meet the world in full openness with the hope of transcending it all, flying to new heights, or reaching invisible depths. Hungry for something, though I’m not sure what.

Nessus: Wounded Eros

In addition to the traditional planets, the discipline of astrology takes note of many other planetary bodies, including asteroids and centaurs—the latter of which are named for the half-horse, half-human creatures of mythology. As planetary bodies, the centaurs move in long, dis-orderly orbits around the sun. Wikipedia describes how “many [within] the astrological community approach [the centaurs] with less dignity than the celestial bodies now considered planets,” then adds that “many astrologers believe the centaurs are of major astrological significance, recognizing one or more as rulers of Zodiac signs” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centaur; March 1, 2009).

I grant the centaurs much significance, and I respect their profound teachings on human nature. Nessus is the third discovered centaur and is associated with intergenerational wounds, karma, and sexual abuse. It has been described thusly: “Nessus represents primitive, unrestrained energy which can destroy without thinking and thus is destroyed by the same energy it seeks to dominate. This asteroid is also implicated in ancestral sin or the violation of one family member by another... Often the problems implicating Nessus are generational in span and duration” (http://www.mysticmarguerite.com/WebDocs/Texts/Asteroids.html; March 1, 2009).

Eric Francis writes that “Nessus is a Centaur planet that assists with identifying and healing of abuse patterns. But on another level, it reveals the complex interplay of causes and effects; of stated motives, underlying motives and of outcomes. While it can address cycles of karma, the most poignant key concept comes from Melanie Reinhart: the buck stops here, indicating that it in some situations it speaks to the conclusion of the karmic cycle involved: the truth revealed, the perpetrator caught, the situation resolved, responsibility taken” (http://www.planetwaves.net/smallworlds/contents/planets/nessus.html; March 1, 2009).

We can learn something also from the mythology of which Nessus gains its name. As one version of this myth has it, Nessus was killed by Hercules when Hercules discovered him about to rape his wife. And, as if the rape and his own death weren’t dark enough, in an act of betrayal toward Heracules’ wife, Nessus then kills Hercules-- after his own death!-- with his poisoned blood.

We see themes of rape, betrayal, damage after death (and therefore between generations), domination, and love. At the time of its discovery Nessus was in the sign of Scorpio, a sign associated with the deeply psychological, dark, taboo, and sexual aspects of life. Scorpio, in turn, is associated with the 8th house of astrology, which carries these Scorpion themes as well as that of contracts, agreements, and the use of others’ resources for one’s own gain. Nessus may have something to do with the ways in which the energy of one person is extorted and violated by another—and I believe it’s the fundamental energy of Eros that we’re talking about here. In fact, Nessus was square Eros at the time of its discovery (the square being an uncomfortable aspect between two energies that are related in ways that require a “working through”).

Reflecting on this mythology, the centaur’s discovery-location within Scorpio and square Eros, and its place within natal charts, I have come to wonder about Nessus as an expression of the way Eros has been wounded, diminished, and even raped—in our world and in our individual lives. Sexual abuse is the most obvious way in which this wounding can happen. But we are talking about life energy; and forms of psychological abuse, neglect, as well as the simple task of growing into a world where certain aspects of human nature are disallowed can also lead to a wounding, or disruption, of Eros. It should come as no surprise that this energy is wounded within our culture. And I even wonder if it may be human nature, regardless of culture, that Eros is disturbed in some way.

In other words, Nessus may represent the specific form of the challenge to Eros, which each of us suffers—a challenge to that energy that speaks of love, vitality, and our place in the Unity that sources our world.

For those who practice astrology, the location of Nessus in your chart (see below) may point to the ways in which Eros has been diminished for you, within your lifetime and/or across generations. It may help you to ponder the following questions: What gets in the way of my vitality? Where has my energy been diminished? Or what is left out within my way of relating to the world? To others? To myself? Nessus in Gemini might indicate a split between mind and body that diminishes Eros. Nessus in Taurus might point to a wounding of one’s feminine connection with matter (presenting as an eating disorder) or a heavy connection with matter and the things of the world, manifesting as depression felt deep within the body. Of course, the house it is located in and its aspects will also reveal something of the nature of what I am conceptualizing as a wound to Eros. And we do not need to know astrology to ask such questions.

As is always the case, our wounds also hold within them the potential to transform, grow, and in this case, reconnect with Eros--- with that life forces that animates life and makes it worth living. As Francis indicates, quoting Reinhart, it is about the cycle of abuse, diminishment, or wound to Eros stopping. And the way to do this is with awareness. It is in this way that Nessus points us in the direction of the shadows in need of light, and through that, toward what we need to heal from a legacy of diminished love.

THE MATRIX

The Matrix is the well-known sci-fi film about a computer hacker who, over time and with the help of others, discovers that the world he believes he is living in is an illusion. He is a character in somebody else’s reality, much like we are all characters in a larger, Divine or Universal plan, which we cannot possibly grasp in its entirety.

The Matrix is many things, including a metaphysical exploration: A commentary on the nature of consciousness.

To one degree or another we all live within our own matrix; and it takes an-Other perspective to help us step outside of this and to see our matrices for what they are. The point being that we cannot see our own blind spots. We can think of the matrix as the framework with which we approach the world; the perspective through which we view ourselves, others, and situations more generally.

An example: A guy believes that he has to be strong, and in control, and right all of the time. At about midlife, he begins to glimpse how this gets in his way: His wife complains that he does not embrace his vulnerability, for example, and this leaves her feeling lonely. So he vows to learn to become more comfortable in his vulnerability and goes to therapy. Once there, he “does vulnerability” in a very in-control way. He plans exactly what he will say to the therapist before each visit, wanting to talk about something that connects him to his feeling-life. He is really trying. And to a certain degree, things are different.

In another way, they are the same. His matrix (approaching the world in an in-control, strong, right kind of way) is still in place. And because it is being threatened by his attempts to be more vulnerable, it may be even stronger. Our matrices don’t like the process of dissolution very much.

The problem is this: His matrix (our matrices) is SO compelling. Here he is, in therapy, talking about feelings! He sees that he is doing something differently; his wife sees it; his therapist sees it. What no one sees, yet, is the blind spot: The way he is doing vulnerability “strongly” and in-control.

Here is another example: This time, a guy who lives in the world in a very safe, secure, and therefore sort-of rigid way. His penchant for ritual and routine seem to hold him in or hold him back in some way. He is starting to notice an absence of passion in his life and so seeks to loosen-up the rigidity. He decides to take up yoga. Before long, he is going six days a week, at the same time every day, and wishes his mat to be in the same location at each class. He is literally loosening-up, but the matrix is still in place.

Can you see it?

Maybe the structured way of approaching yoga keeps other people out. Maybe it keeps him in. Maybe it prevents him from looking inside to ask “Do I want to do yoga today?” and therefore from coming into contact with the spontaneity that is feared as too wild, uncontrolled, dangerous. But his yoga practice is SO compelling. “Look, I’m participating in the alternative and spiritual world where people trust their instincts!”
… But is he?

I am giving examples that are both exaggerated and simplified; and perhaps I am being too hard. Both of these men are trying to do something differently and to enrich their lives accordingly. And this is part of the process—a significant part. In my experience, as we make this kind of progress and travel through the process, we bang up against the walls of our matrices again and again, and again. The bumping is what teaches us they are there. Others, by virtue of offering a different perspective, framework, or way of looking at things, teach us about the existence of our matrices as well. Glimpsing the Divine, the invisible, the formless world also teaches us that there is so much more than the form or framework to which we are so attached.

And slowly, and often just a little bit at a time, we begin to emerge. The emergence doesn’t mean we cannot ever enter back into our original matrix. It’s just that when we do, we do so with more awareness that it is one of multiple frameworks. Not the only one. And we begin to understand that those painful moments of glimpsing our own insanity—the way we do the same thing over and over again hoping for a different result—are gifts that point the way toward an ever expanding consciousness; and more fulfilling relationships. Toward a way of being in the world that gives us choices, each and every moment; including the choice to be more fully our selves.

The discomfort of bumping into the familiar walls of the matrix leads outside of these same walls. And into freedom.