Saturn Return: Weekly Meditation (Crossing Ascendent)

Days of Note: Saturn crosses Ascendent

Sun: sagittarius (mutable fire), 7:26 AM - 4:54 PM
Moon: *waxing gibbous, aries (cardinal fire)
Earth: cold, in the mid-to-low 40s most of the day, starting out quite sunny but then fading to gray, cloudy weather; not that I would know, as I spent pretty much all day inside working on various things, but mostly writing


Last night I had a dream that my aunt Tricia, who works from home as a baker of wonderful homemade cakes, cookies and pies, etc., had decided that she wanted to quit baking and go into taxidermy. (Apparently, this dream was probably inspired by a scene from an episode of X-Files that Jeff and I watched together last night, which I was only half paying attention to at the time and must have gotten into my subconscious.) Anyway, in the dream, my aunt decided she really wanted to be a taxidermist, she was fascinated by it. But the only tools she knew how to use were things like blenders and egg beaters. I have some vague visual impression in my mind of some poor animal carcass being tamped down into the thin, tapering container of a blender, the lid fitted on nicely and the switch flipped, resulting in that lovely whirring and the spinning of blood and bone and fur and bits all into a uniform pinkish paste.

This might not have anything to do with anything, but I thought I would jot it down.

I started writing this journal entry at 11:11 PM, though I doubt I'll be finished with it until what is technically Sunday morning. I'm wide awake and not feeling the least bit tired - which is indicative of my sleep schedule these days, where sometimes I feel so lethargic I can't pull myself out of bed before 10 AM, and other days I'm awake before dawn (which, as dark as the days are, isn't really that hard anyway) with plenty of energy to spare. This morning, I woke up at around 5 AM and tossed and turned a bit before finally giving up and getting up entirely at about 6:30 AM. Jeff had to leave to get the kids, and I fell back asleep for another few hours, so I suppose it all evened out. We'll see how I am tomorrow morning. (Jeff, who slept downstairs on the futon because he'd been snoring a lot lately, hardly slept at all last night because of various worries about this weekend, so now he's excused and sound asleep despite me still being awake.)

I hadn't planned to do much work today - or rather, I'd planned to at least try to clean and organize the basement some in preparation for our up-coming move. But two of the four kids were sick with some kind of stomach bug (which had them on a bland diet of food, though neither of them really acted all that sick - it was a nice excuse for everyone to stay quiet and relaxed in bed reading or drawing for much of the day), so thoughts of trying to organize some kind of cleaning extravaganza were out. At one point I sat down to check out John's recent post on No Unsacred Place, which was excellent as usual, and that was the kick in the ass I needed to sit down and work on the piece I'd wanted to do for this coming week about the recent news coming out of the science journals about LUCA, the Last Universal Common Ancestor, being a single, planet-sized mega-organism very similar to a "living ocean" of genetic soup. A pretty cool concept. So I spent all day researching various creation myths from different cultures and drawing comparisons between these and the scientific evidence they have for LUCA, pointing out some of the common themes of primordial chaotic waters, a moment when separation and individuation begins to occur, and the idea of a god being dismembered and the parts of his (or her) corpse being used to actually make the world.

So even though I didn't have any time really to do some formal Saturn Return meditation as I'd planned, I ended up doing quite a bit of contemplation on some of those primordial ancient themes about dissolution, death, separation, limitation and the power of form. Some of the Greek myths actually involve Kronos/Saturn himself, so... there's that.

I find myself really connecting to this idea of a common genetic ancestor in the ancient primordial oceans as a living being that is both an ancestor and a god(dess). This just really jives for me. It works well with my more animistic sensibilities which can sometimes shy away from being overly metaphorical or psychological about the gods and would rather rejoice in and celebrate the Actual Sun Right There See There It Is than in some idea of a sun deity in the abstract. On the other hand, though, it also gives some context to Manannan as a "son of the sea" without having to bear the burden of being the literal sea itself. Manannan mac LUCA, perhaps. Manannan has continued to be an important god to me, and I think I've reconciled myself to just him and Brighid for the time being as a working pair who play nicely together. Manannan is a god of the threshold, the liminal space of the mists, the psychopomp who leads the dead into the other realm, the trickster who will turn things upside-down just for the sake of teasing and challenging. I think there are definitely some parallels here between Manannan (and Manawydan from Welsh mythology) and the figure of Saturn. And strangely enough, while I think of Saturn primarily as a planet and, after that, as some kind of psychological archetype and energetic influence, I find it a lot easier to think of Manannan as an actual god, personified, and able to help me with the Saturn Return. I have no sense that he is Kronos/Saturn, any more than Jeff is, say, Commander Samuel Vimes. But the "real" god Manannan has some understanding of the character/nature/influence of the psychological archetype of Saturn and can give me some insight - like we can have a discussion about it and share our perspectives, in the same way Jeff and I can talk about the characters in Pratchett's books and he can give me insight into what it's like to be a father, something I wouldn't know as much about.

One thing that I was reflecting on just now while I was reading and trying to fall asleep was the nature of Saturn's recent transit through my twelfth house in Libra, the sign and house of my natal moon. I think it was Arroyo who said that Saturn can have a lasting influence when passing through the sign and house of the moon, even when it's not in exact or close aspect to the moon itself. I don't remember precisely when transiting Saturn was exactly conjunct my natal moon, but I do know that the moon is associated with a lot of "mommy issues" - coming to terms with the mother's influence in the family and the inner archetype of the mother in the psyche, as well as grappling with ancestral influences of all kinds that have been "inherited" on the psychic or psychological level. With my moon in Libra, I wonder if I have a particular sensitivity to concepts of fairness, justice, balance and beauty being manifested in the role of the mother - whether by myself or by other "mothers" in my life.

Saturn has been transiting my twelfth house for about two years now, I think. It's soon to cross my ascendent and enter my first house. In fact, looking up my chart just now (at 11:48 PM on Saturday, December 3) I see that transiting Saturn is within 13 minutes of my ascendent and the cusp of my first house. So... maybe that's why I'm suddenly feeling a certain amount of energy and clarity around these issues.

Anyway, as I was lying in bed I suddenly saw all the various ways in which the energy and influence of the mother had been manifesting in my life in ways that provoked my anger or frustration over a sense of violated fairness or justice - in particular in my relationship with Jeff's ex-wife and biological mother to my stepchildren, who has consistently attempted to act in the role of controlling "Mama Bear" figure to both me and Jeff as well as the kids. It hit me that I had been grappling with two issues that were often put at odds with one another.

On the one hand, I wanted things to be Fair - both in the sense of being just and balanced, and also beautiful and harmonious. This led me to a lot of conflict on Jeff's behalf when I felt that his rights as a father were being trampled on or ignored, when he didn't get "his fair share" of time with the kids (even when him having more time with them, and the struggle to get and keep that time that was often involved, left both of us feeling worn out, exhausted and stressed). I also made a lot of judgements - emotionally and ethically - about Emily choosing to stay home and be a "mom," even going on to have another child with her new husband, instead of stepping up to be an "equal partner" in both the divorce (by pulling her weight with joint debt from the previous marriage) and in her own new marriage (which, I will be the first to admit, is none of my business, though I sure do have opinions about it). This judgement - and I won't say it was judgmental necessarily, but it was a judgement, certainly - often had me worrying about the kind of example she was setting for the kids, and my own response was to push back - to balance out her example by becoming even more ambitious (Saturn!) in my own role not as a stepmom but as a "career woman" and female adult role model to the kids. This was me pushing back against the figure of the mother - both in external form and my own potential role - and seeking instead another kind of authority. That has Saturn's influence written all over it.

On the other hand, I also had already learned the lesson - which Saturn had helped teach me before - that to find a harmonious balance it is often important to let go, to release certain emotional blockages or stubborn opinions and to give up being the kind of person who has to control every little thing to make sure it all comes out alright. This was a lesson that I actually learned from my own mother, by bad example. Seeking too much control in a world that is by its very nature so much bigger and more complex than you could ever possibly understand is the very recipe for out of control stress and paranoia. This is what happened to my mother to some extent (though I have to admit that in recent years, perhaps because of the change in her career and my brother and I no longer living at home, she does seem to be improving on this in small ways). The whole thing was, in fact, a lesson all about boundaries and limits (hello again, Saturn old friend!), learning to understand the extent of your own control and when not to push beyond them but instead accept them and trust in the greater harmonies of the universe (there's Saturn, straddling that liminal space between the concrete manifestations of the inner planets and the influences of fate and cosmic force of the outer planets). This was a lesson I knew very well, and something that I continued to affirm to myself consciously. But I was completely piss-poor at actually following through and listening to my own better judgement.

So here were two urges that were definitely working at odds to one another. The urge on the one hand to make sure things were fair and just and balanced - and the desire on the other hand not to become like my own mother and like Jeff's ex-wife, both of whom were excellent examples of the immaturity and stress that characterizes a "control freak" who uses their good intentions to justify their paranoid manipulations and micro-management of everyone around them (essentially being a "mother" to everyone and not being able to trust others to do what's fair or harmonious on their own). Confronted with the glaring evidence that Jeff's ex-wife had no interest in being fair - I think mainly simply because she was incapable of stepping outside of her own perspective in order to see how what she wanted was unfair - it was an incredible challenge for me not to respond by trying to control her.

My response, and something I had to work on with Jeff a lot, was a process of affirming our personal boundaries. It took a lot of push-back and a great deal of stress and hard work every time we were confronted with Emily's tendency to act entitled to private information about our lives that were none of her business or to bombard Jeff with unsolicited emails full of advice about issues of which she had little to no actual knowledge. We worked hard, as a couple and equal partners in the matter, to help each cope with that stress and reaffirm our right to establish clear, healthy boundaries. But mostly, it sucked. I've been getting down on myself a lot over the past couple years about my feelings of having failed at this work, or at least of having responded in ways that were not helpful or healthy. And definitely there were times when our attempts to establish strong boundaries crossed the line into an attempt to control or compensate for Emily's disrespectful or manipulative behavior. But looking back now, I actually feel like we did an okay job. One recent change came about when I broke down and asked some folks on an internet forum if they had any resources that might help. One person responded and pointed me to the "Ten Commandments for Low-Contact Parallel Parenting with High-Drama Ex's." (The idea of having a short, authoritative list of simple rules to follow.... yeah, Saturn, you bet.) Jeff and I read this over, saw a lot of ways that we were already following the techniques suggested and a lot of other places where we could improve. So we started following the rules, and we sent a copy of them to Emily asking her to abide by them as well. (This was after we caught her in a bald-faced lie about one of the kids' health issues, which for us was the final straw and, in some ways, a relief that her manipulation could no longer be denied or explained away.... though of course, that didn't stop her from trying.)

That was about two months ago now, I think. Today, Jeremy confronted Jeff when he went to pick up the kids to let him know that two of them weren't feeling well - and for good measure threw in his own two cents about how "this silent treatment isn't having the effect we [Jeff and I] were hoping it would have." The comment had Jeff fuming when he got home, but he and I talked about it and were able to laugh off the continued arrogance and immaturity. I pointed out to him that our stress has definitely gone down and we don't waste nearly as much time in pointless conflict with Emily; meanwhile, we have more energy when we do have the kids and less anxiety over every little issue that might somehow make its way back to us, so our time with them is more enjoyable than it was before. Whatever Jeremy and Emily think, the technique is most definitely doing what we'd hoped it would do on our end. Jeremy simply declaring that it wasn't working - without asking Jeff's feelings on the matter - was just one more example of why the Low-Contact Parenting techniques were a good idea after all.

One of the things that I think was most helpful about the Low-Contact Parenting was that it helped us to recognize when we were crossing the line from "affirming healthy boundaries" to "pushing back and trying to control others." With rules that restrict our email use to only short messages pertaining specifically to the kids themselves and that avoid intentionally provocative language, for instance, we're forced to catch ourselves before we shoot off that obnoxious letter that we secretly hope will smack Emily back into her place and divest her of any delusions she has about our opinion. The rules work because they ask us to turn a critical eye back onto our own behavior and to recognize when we're demanding something that we should probably just not expect given what is and is not within our reasonable ability to control. These rules give us a structure whereby we can learn how to find a balance between our sense of fairness and our need to appreciate our limits. (And I'm using "we" a lot here because it's something Jeff and I have mostly worked on together, but in many ways this is a lot about my own issues.) But all of this only came after we had done the difficult work of establishing boundaries that could safely secure at least a minimum amount of real fairness and equality between Jeff and his ex when it came to the kids - including giving us the legal ground to stand on in order to negotiate for a fair and workable schedule for child custody after our move. If we hadn't done that necessary work of pushing back and establishing boundaries first - especially in Jeff's case, I think - we would have been in a position where an attitude of "it's out of our control" would have left us open to manipulation, exploitation and a certain amount of guilt.

So here I was being hard on myself about how we handled it when, looking back, maybe we did pretty much the best we could given the circumstances. We weren't perfect, but I think we've found some long-term sustainable ways to find that necessary balance and we were able to bring our more unseemly responses into check before they got out of hand and went too far. At least, right now I'm feeling hopeful and optimistic and so that's my present understanding of the situation. I'd love to hear what Jeff thinks of all of this. (He's asleep now - maybe I'll have a chance to talk to him tomorrow about it at some point.) I'm sure his perspective will be a bit different, considering the influences going on in his own chart right now. And maybe I'm completely wrong about this - I'm kind of making it up as I go, really, and he knows more about astrology than I do.

In any case, what began as a day spent contemplating the "primordial mother ocean" has ended up with some pretty startling thoughts about the energies of the moon-as-mother in relation to my Saturn Return. Perhaps leaving the twelfth house and crossing the ascendent means that these issues are be resolved, maybe "coming to light" in a more conscious way now that I'm moving out of the house of mystery and mysticism. I don't know. I hope so. I think it must be a good sign that I just happen to be awake and thinking about this during the time when transiting Saturn is coming into exact aspect with my ascendent. That has to mean something, right? Like my willingness to be awake to this and open to it, to face it instead of just wanting to "go back to sleep" and ignore the lessons. I hope Manannan can help me stay open to the lessons I need to learn, and in the meantime help me to maybe not be quite so hard on myself if things seem like a struggle or I have to work hard. I think it's a really important insight, that coming to terms with our boundaries and limitations (Saturn) is also about learning how to trust in the greater universe. I just read an old tale about Manannan that someone randomly posted online the other day, about a shepherd who is on his way home with his sheep one evening when he runs into Manannan, who teases him about his certainty of the way and pulls down a confusing mist that shrouds his eyes and makes him lose his sheep. After bumbling about in the dark mists all night, Manannan finally relents and lifts the mist, for the shepherd to find that he was only a few yards from home with all his sheep safe and accounted for by his side - and Manannan joking that sometimes he just likes to play a prank for the joy of it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in a similar position - stumbling around in the mist all night only to finally realize once the veil lifts away that I've been close to home all along and in no real danger. But I also have to wonder if maybe, if I didn't bumbled around quite so much and fret quite so loudly (and maybe sometimes comically), if Manannan wouldn't consider me quite so worth his attention. ;)

So with that thought, I'll call it a night.

Diary - Dream & Manannan

Sun: taurus (fixed earth), 6:03am - 8:30pm
Moon: *full moon, scorpio (fixed water)
Earth: gray, drizzly, rainy and cool all day

I woke up this morning (around 5 AM) from a very intense dream once again involving a sea god or man deeply connected with the sea, who I'm almost sure is Manannan.

This dream started out as similar to a dream I had a few weeks ago focused on anxiety about the upcoming wedding. In this dream, like the first wedding dream, I was stressed out about the wedding happening "too soon" and thus our wedding guests not taking it seriously — but "too soon" in the dream meant not our set wedding date in September, but right now, this instant. In the dream, I was not engaged to Jeff but to some other man. I don't think I ever saw him in the dream, but I had an impression of him being shorter and stockier than Jeff, darker in hair and complexion and rather rough and harsh. I was set to marry him "in May" (in other words, within the next few weeks), and I was somewhere resembling something like a beach house with my parents and a number of other people, some of whom were my family members and some not.

While there, I met a man and fell passionately in love with him, in the kind of deep-longing-to-be-together-but-never-really-consummating kind of way. The magnetism or connection between us was palpable, as it was in my previous dream about being mistaken for a priestess of the sea god. I felt like my heart was breaking open, but not exactly in sadness. We spent time together on the beach, and during the course of our conversations it became clear that if I tried to enter into some kind of friendship or relationship with him — even if it could not be a romantic one — this would fundamentally change my relationship with my fiancé. I wanted desperately to delay the wedding until the appropriate time (in September) so that I could spend the next months exploring my connection with this man of the sea, and I knew that if I did that, then the man I eventually married would be changed — I would not marry the dark, short, stocky man that I might marry "in May," but would instead end up marrying Jeff as I actually know him — but this was not because the person I was marrying would literally change and I would marry someone else… it was as though the darker man would somehow transform into Jeff through my relationship with the sea god.

This was all very confusing, but I knew that I wanted to explore the relationship with the mysterious man that I felt such a connection to. Still, I couldn't bring myself to let my family know or tell anyone, so I just tried to think of reasons to delay the wedding. I would meet him covertly, among other friends, as though he just happened to be a mutual acquaintance. Once, when out swimming in the ocean, he caught up to me in the deep waters where we could be alone. He said he had a gift for me, then dove down into the depths, not resurfacing for a long time. When he did finally resurface, he was pulling up from beneath the waters a huge ship, its wood creaking and spilling water from it. Friends from shore saw the boat and came out to see, so that soon everyone was clambering on board to explore (while I still stayed treading water next to him in the ocean). On one part of the deck of the ship was a hole in the boards which was covered over and seemed almost to be surrounded by dirt mounded up with bits of grass growing around it. It looked very much like a well of some kind, like you might find on land. Someone asked about it, and the sea-god-man warned them not to open it — they thought it was just a hatch down below deck, but he said (or made me to understand, at least) that it wasn't. Actually, it was a well, a kind of portal that dropped straight down into the depths of the ocean/underworld. He made me to understand that I could stay and live with him on the ship out on the ocean, but even there, I couldn't always be with him. Everyone once in a while, he would have to open the cover of the well and drop down into the very depths, where I could not follow him, and we would be parted. The notion of being parted from him was painful, but in a way that seemed like a noble sacrifice that was well worth it.

Soon after understanding the purpose of the well on the ship, I woke up.

So a great deal to mull over and contemplate in this latest dream (including the question of why I seem to be able to connect with Manannan so much better in dreams than during my ritual times with hi — or, I guess, why he chooses to show up at one time instead of another).

Part of what fed into this dream, I think, was my emotional state last night, spurred on by (yes, I'm a nerd) finally watching the Doctor Who specials from the year between the end of the fourth season and the beginning of the fifth with the 11th Doctor (that obnoxious actor guy who isn't David Tennant). David Tennant as the Doctor saw me through some pretty brutal, lonely times during those years of solitude and poverty — as well as the first few months of my budding romance with Jeff when we finally met in person for the first time (we spent several nights curled up on the futon watching Doctor Who, and then lapsing into make-out sessions while the TARDIS churned on the DVD menu screen ;). For the two or so years since then, I couldn't bring myself to watch the final episodes of Season Four (when the Doctor definitively loses both Rose and Donna, his best friend) for a second time… until just a few weeks ago when Jeff and I decided to go ahead and do it because we were going to start watching them over again with a friend of ours during a weekly "Night of Doctor Who" get together. Just last night, we watched the Special when the 10th Doctor dies. I cried like a baby. Like, we're talking sobs.

Several hours later, when we were settling into bed, I started crying again in a kind of odd mixture of sobs and laughter…. I can't describe exactly why I was crying, but it wasn't just about some silly TV show. I was remembering who I was during those years of deep, wrenching loneliness, and in some ways, I felt like I was mourning that Alison who had to live through those years. I rarely think about that time of my life these days, and my life now seems full of lots of little stresses and anxieties… and yet, now I am so amazingly happy and grateful that it's almost like I can't really allow myself to fully feel that joy, or I'd just be wandering around like a grinning idiot all the time. So there was this weird, sublime tension between my deep grief for that Alison of memory who is, in some ways, always going to be there, in that past, alone and weeping… and at the same time realizing how utterly ridiculous I was for not opening more fully to the joy of my present life. The only way I coped with those years of heartache was to embrace that loneliness and learn to grieve openly and cleanly, so that grieving became a process of healing and an affirmation of life. Now, I have so much to be grateful and joyful about… and yet I'm busy pushing myself, always striving, and beating myself up for not accomplishing more, not moving my career forward as quickly as I want to, not being as good a stepmom as I want to be, etc. All these stresses that, really, aren't that big a deal. Last night, it was as if I was again that sorrowing Alison of memory, only now I was looking forward at my life today… and laughing at how silly I can be, never cutting myself any slack or letting myself enjoy a rest. The whole metaphor of "regeneration" in the Doctor Who series, and this idea that the new Doctor is not really the same even if he has all the same memories… that's kind of what I felt like. Except, I don't want to forget the sadness and grief and loneliness of who I was before. I want to honor the lessons that sorrow and solitude taught me, and be more present to the very real joy in my life right now.

So before going to bed, I had resolved to develop some meditative/ritual practice to help me cultivate my joy and offer it as a gift, as I once did with my loneliness, to my gods and to Spirit and the Song of the World. I didn't know exactly what kind of practice this would be, but I wanted to pursue it. So it's not that much of a surprise to me that this kind of intense emotional turmoil and catharsis last night brought on dreams once again of Manannan. He always seems connected, for me, to that liminal state between sorrow and joy, grief and gratitude. The longing to be with him — and the wrenching awareness that I can't ever be, not really, not permanently — is a theme in so many relationships in my life (and one reason I think I found the Doctor so resonant and moving as a character). That I'm in a good, happy, stable relationship now doesn't really change that. In some ways, Manannan is reminding me, I think, that even with those we love, there are dark places we cannot touch and depths to which we cannot follow, and that as close as I feel to Jeff, I cannot take our relationship for granted. If I do, then the person I am marrying won't really be Jeff, but some shallower version of him more prone to my projections, more of a stranger than the man I love. But if I work to cultivate my joy and my gratitude and my love, especially in the depths where all becomes liminal and the autumn mists rise, then in the coming months my relationship with Jeff will deepen and blossom even more, and our marriage will truly be one of souls in love. I remember in the dream, understanding that it was important to wait until September, and spend time with this Man of the Sea, so that when the time came for me to marry, my marriage would blessed by the cool mists of autumn.

~

Ellen on the LotS SIG asked what I do during a "Seakeeping" shift with Manannan, so I thought I would share my response to her here.

Honestly, at this point, my practice with Manannan is still in its infancy, taking many stumbling baby-steps. My basic pattern for ritual work is the same I use for Brigid during my Cauldron Cill Flamekeeping shift. I begin my shift at sundown of the appropriate day, opening with a small, simple ritual of welcome.

For Brigid, I have prayers that I use to more fully invite her presence into my life and to charge/consecrate anew the flame pendant that I wear during my Flamekeeping shift. I light a physical candle during this ritual, even if I'll only be able to keep an LED one "burning" during the shift itself, and I pass the pendant above the flames while chanting, "Fire and Water in the Earth of my body, I keep your Sacred Flame." I don't really have a similar thing to do for Manannan, though I've been thinking for a while of finding either a shell pendant to wear, or a ring made of shell (like those hokey ones you can get at beach tourist gift shops). Instead of lighting a candle, I have a blue pitcher that I fill with water which I'll hold between my hands to charge, then pouring libation into my offering bowl (and taking a sip to honor the Spirit/god within). I do have a large whelk shell that was a gift from the sea when I was down at the beach last fall that I also bless. Afterwards, for both Flamekeeping and Seakeeping, I spend some time in meditation and prayer, maybe doing some trance work if I have the stamina for it, and usually concluding the ritual with a divination. During the next 24ish hours, I keep/carry/wear the symbol of my shift with me (and for Brigid, keep either a real or LED flame burning) as a reminder and object of focus for my shift. The next night at sundown, I do a closing ritual where I thank the god/dess for the gifts they've brought into my life, and basically do a kind of "unwinding" (for Brigid, this kind of takes the form of a metaphorical "smooring the fire" for safekeeping until my next shift).

This works very well for Brigid… but I'm finding that for Manannan, it's not jiving as well. For one thing, the metaphor of the flame or fire as something that requires tending (and then can be "smoored") means that the activity of the Flamekeeping shift is actually, well, active, even if only in a metaphorical sense. I feel like I'm actually doing something during my Flamekeeping shift, and usually my creativity feels a bit heightened. During my Seakeeping shifts, though, I've more often felt at a loss for what I was supposed to be doing… There was kind of a sense of the ocean not really being something that needs tending or "keeping," and lighting a candle just feels more active then filling a bowl with water (which will slowly evaporate over the next month, whether I pay attention to it or not). I think this may be one area where I need to rethink the Seakeeping shift and how I approach it. I'm exploring the idea of incorporating some ritual practice that's more about opening myself up to receptivity and relaxing into the presence of Manannan, and not so much about the active engagement and honoring that I do with Brigid during my Flamekeeping… if that makes sense. Some kind of ritual bath would probably be good in this case, but not always possible depending on where I am and what my schedule is.

Like I mentioned already, what I'd really like is to be able to develop some unique rituals for each of the Flamekeeping and Seakeeping shifts, particular to the energies of those deities, but then have one or two practices that I do during both that kind of connect or help to integrate them in some way. (I'm thinking, for instance, of the "Running the Iron/Pearl Pentagrams" in Feri, though I know very little about that other than their names, or the Turning the Three Cauldrons meditation that I've heard about here and there.) So that's where I'm at right now. Trying to find some kind of ritual that is simple enough and practical enough that I can actually commit to doing it regularly… but is also effective and ritually/symbolically meaningful and fitting…. So, lots to think about and experiment with.

Lady of Star Fire, Son of the Sea

A post to the Lady of the Stars SIG on TC, that I thought would be relevant to my "seakeeping" shift today.

So this is something I've been mulling over for quite a while, since a ways back when I had that intense dream about a "sea god" and began to explore and expand my relationship with Manannan. My work with Brigid seemed to be put "on hold" for a period, and she's only recently started to reassert herself. Now I'm working to try to integrate and understand how these two deities might somehow work together or relate to one another in a shared practice.

I think there are several of you in the LotS SIG who also work with Manannan as well as Brigid. A lot of our responses in the "Who is the Lady?" thread evoke some pretty significant connections between fire and water, and I'm feeling a similar push/pull from Manannan, though from a bit of a different perspective.

The Lady of Star Fire seems to me very much like a spark in the darkness. Sometimes, her "spark" is what feels emphasized, her fire and light, her warmth and activity and creativity and passion (and these feel very much like Brigid's more traditional "solar" aspect to me). Other times, it is her "dark" aspect that seems to come to the fore, the primal, primordial nature, the black seas of the universe stretching between the stars.

Manannan feels equally paradoxical in nature. If the Lady is the fire-in-the-water, Manannan sometimes feels to me like the water-in-the-fire… The overwhelming energy of intense emotion, the inspiration of the past, the palpable tingling of mist against skin, the lightning in the storm...

[snipped for relevance]

Diary

Days of Note: Seakeeping, Moon Conjunct Saturn

Sun: taurus (fixed earth), 6:05am - 8:28pm
Moon: waxing gibbous, libra (cardinal air)
Earth: gray and rainy, milk temperatures, the garden is just beginning to green with the sprouts of onions, carrots, lettuce and peas (and weeds weeds weeds)

Wave and water,
mist and storm,
I seek Manannan.

That was the invocation I used last night during my meditation to begin my "seakeeping" shift. I am still experimenting with this idea of keeping a shift (staggered with my Flamekeeping shift for Brigid with the TC Cill) in honor of Manannan as a way to connect more deeply with him. One thing I've noticed — and which probably should've been obvious to me from the start — is that I'm finding that a candle is not the most appropriate ritual object to use in this respect. For Brigid, it works well (the blue bowl with the floating golden candle, and the white pillar in the orange-and-red hurricane glass holder both work exceptionally well). For Manannan, I got a large pillar candle of rippling shades of blue (and that smells, supposedly, like the ocean)… but for obvious reasons, it's not serving as a very strong connection to him. I also included on my working altar my blue pitcher full of water, the photograph of an ocean wave in the blue glass and silver wire frame, and the blue-green whelk shell that washed up at my feet on the beach down in North Carolina when we were there last September. I also had my usual incense blend burning.

I admit, I'm not a big ritual tools person. I like having a fairly simple, basic set-up for ritual that I can just rely on each time. Thinking up clever, complex ritual symbolism for each ritual wears me out, especially for fairly simple rituals that I do on a daily or at least fairly regular basis. I tend to be a minimalist in this regard. So having a basic set-up of candle, incense, water and bit of earth is how I usually approach the issue, exchanging out certain objects for others where appropriate. So for instance, I exchange my Brigid candle for my Manannan candle, and the green and purple fluorite sphere for the whelk shell. Incense is the same — just some generic, all-purpose frankincense — and either the blue pitched of water, or the blue bowl full of glitter. Maybe this is lazy of me. When I was in my old apartment, it was easier to do more complex, purpose-specific altar spaces that incorporated various objects. Now, between the cat and the kids, I find it very hard to set up any kind of altar space with any permanence that won't get knocked or handled or treated (by kid and cat alike) as a plaything. It's easier to keep supplies stored away and bring them out whenever I want to do ritual.

But for Manannan's seakeeping shift, I'm finding this approach is just not working well. What I would ideally like to have is some kind of small fountain of running water or at the very least a libation bowl of some kind. During last night's ritual, I held the whelk shell in my hands, attempting to connect with its watery origins. This has worked in the past, but last night fell flat. The shell felt very much a hard, clunky object, not the fluidly crystalline "gateway" it's been before. And all of this might also be due to my lack of disciplined meditation recently, or a whole host of other issues I've been dealing with. I'd like to see if I could arrange a bath this evening — but when the kids are over, they dominate the entire house and its energy shifts decidedly in their restless, noisy direction. I'm not sure deep ritual of any kind is likely while they're around, unless I go out into the woods or somewhere equally solitary.

Do I sound cranky? (Is it because they've been in and out of the house, slamming the door each time, for the last twenty minutes or so?) This weekend is also supposed to be dedicated to some Saturn Return work, with the moon conjunct Saturn at the moment. In general, I'm feeling a bit cranky and distracted. Sinking into meditation feels impossible — like trying to fall asleep despite intermittent noise. That's the thing about intermittent distractions. Constant noise or movement can become part of the background — but distraction that is only intermittent dominates the subconscious, which remains on constant alert for when the next disruption will be. This is why folks who live too close to wind farms say it's a nightmare to try to sleep at night. Not just because the changing atmospheric conditions at night can amplify the noise of the windmills (which it does), but also because the noise is not constant white noise, but comes and goes with the breeze. Some small part of their mind remains in a mode of continued vigilance, in subconscious anticipation of the next unpleasant experience. And as a result, it feels impossible to concentrate — part of the mind's resources are permanently dedicated to that subconscious process. That's often how it feels here on weekends. I never know what to anticipate from the kids, and with four of them, it's almost guaranteed that one of them is going to need something every few minutes. Fiona can be the worst — she'll come to me instead of Jeff thinking that I'll be more lenient or give her permission that her father denied (or, more often these days, try to punish the other kids for not doing what she wants). Just now, in fact, she came in to tell me that Savanah was doing stuff she didn't like, specifically, she was off exploring the garden instead of playing with Fiona.

~

Excellent example. Jeff returned home with Jerilynn, one thing led to another, and it's now three hours or so later, after lunch, that I'm finally able to get back to this (now that the kids are downstairs with Jeff playing Settlers of Catan).

In any case, the day is warm and muggy, and even the walls inside feel somewhat damp to the touch. I'm feeling a little better having eaten, though not fantastic all the same. I'm going to just go ahead and post this because my train of thought was lost. I'd wanted to write a bit more about various projects Jeff and I are working on, but that can wait. Perhaps this evening or tomorrow I'll have another chance to write, as well as do a bit of divination with the cards.

DOTR Lesson 4: Air

Sun: taurus (earth/fixed), 6:07am - 8:26pm
Moon: waxing gibbous, virgo (earth/mutable)
Earth: gorgeous and sunny, bright morning, with an afternoon getting up near 80º with thundershowers

I've done a pretty poor job of keeping up with this diary over the past month or so, but that doesn't mean I haven't continued my spiritual work, as well as work more specifically pertaining to DOTR. Sometimes it's difficult to remember to journal here, just because so much of my work seems to tie back in to my spiritual life and path in one way or another, though perhaps not always in clearly definable ways. In any case, I just finished some meditation on Air (for Lesson 3), and I wanted to spend some time noting a few important bits. But (as to be expected, I suppose), I'm feeling a bit "air headed" and scatter brained at the moment, so don't expect too much coherence.

First, a reflection on Air as an element. On Monday morning, I sat outside and did a simple ritual of meditation and connection with the element of Air (though, thanks to the brilliant weather we've been having, I also made passing acquaintance with Fire in the form of sunlight and, subsequently, sunburn). I haven't been keeping up with my meditation as much as I would like, and there have been plenty of things to distract me (more on that later), so I wasn't able to sink deeply into trance or anything like that. But rather than force it, I simply allowed myself to spend time with the element as it expressed itself in my immediate landscape. I felt the breeze on my skin, listened to it play through the wind chimes in the backyard, and watched as it moved the spiraling incense smoke this way and that, turning first away from me, then surrounding me, then lifting up to disappear into the air above me.

Sitting inside this morning to do meditation, I again watched the incense and not for the first time marveled at how solid the forms of smoke seemed, how they kept their shape (though that shape was definitely mutable and spiraling and every-changing) and I could watch one bend or curl of smoke as it wafted on its own unique journey through the barely moving currents of air in the room until it slowly faded — not so much dissipating as simply disappearing, fading away.

This brings my mind back to the relationship between the four classical elements (earth, air, fire and water) and the three Druidic elements of nwyfre, gwyar and calas. In JMG's Druidry Handbook, I always found the explanation rather dissatisfying. It seems to me that these three v. four are distinct systems of understanding the world, with their own implications, and if that's true then one should be able to bring them to bear on one another. Instead, in the Handbook, the four seem simply an extension of the three — so that the implication is the three are somehow incomplete — and nwyfre seems to morph and change not in any essential way, but more as a matter of convenience, taking on whatever extra role seems necessary. Really, the three Druidic elements as JMG presents them seem like a hobbled version of the four classical elements, less like a three-legged stool than a four-legged chair you've taken a saw to. In our teaching work with Savanah, Jeff and I have tried to develop both an understanding of the three elements as complete in themselves, and an understanding of how the four elements can be understood in relation to the three. Anyone who talks to a twelve year old probably knows that you need to know your shit and have your explanations clear if you want to escape endless scrutiny. It took a while to explain why gwyar was different from water, for instance, and calas not quite the same as earth, and so on. But it's been helpful work, and has forced me to articulate some things in my own approach.

The approach I use now is that the three Druidic elements can be understood as guiding principles or aspects of the world. I understand them, most simply, as form, flow and force (for calas, gwyar and nwyfre). Thus, calas is the principle of form, manifestation, boundaries, limits, distinction and individuality. Gwyar is the principle of flow, exchange, movement, communication, connection and freedom. And nwyfre is the principle of force, energy, initiative, desire (and repulsion), drive and life-force in the kind of spiritual sense. Each of these describes aspects that can be found in absolutely everything in the physical (and nonphysical) world.

How do these relate to the four classical elements of earth, air, fire and water? Here I borrow an understanding from astrology (and as I study more, the more I see how much insight this approach has to offer!). The three Druidic elements can be likened to the three qualities in astrology known as cardinal (corresponding in my understanding with nwyfre), mutable (with gwyar) and fixed (with calas) — for each of the twelve zodiac, a sign is a combination of one of these three aspects with one of the four classical elements. Thus, you have Taurus as fixed earth while Virgo is mutable earth, Leo is fixed fire while Aries is cardinal fire, and so on. The three combined in this way with the four create twelve, each with its own particular expression. Taking a cue from astrology then, I see the three Druidic elements as principles or aspects, and I see the four classical elements as qualities or "building blocks," so to speak. Each of the four classical elements has a quality to it that can be expressed by any of the three principles. Thus earth is dark, cool, dry and heavy; air is bright, light, hot and moist; fire is bright, light, hot and dry, water is dark, cool, moist and heavy. These combination of qualities mean each element has particular associations as well — times, places, objects, tools and other symbols that best exemplify or embody the quality particular to that element. (So, for instance, the seasons: spring as warm and moist, summer as hot and dry, fall as cool and moist, winter as cold and dry.)

But the key here is that each of the elements can be expressed through any of the principles represented by the three Druidic elements. Thus, we can have fire as a quality expressed in calas - that principle of a physical fire which gives it shape and definition in our experiential engagement, which imbues it with a kind of perceivable form, that gives it an edge and a boundary. Fire expressed in gwyar is the process of combustion and consumption, the transformation of fuel into flame through a reaction and exchange. Or, another example, earth in calas is, most simply, the material world itself, all around us, which we experience as a realm of form and manifestation, full of distinct entities with limits, boundaries that bump up against one another. Earth expressed by the principle of nwyfre, on the other hand, is the urge in Spirit itself to manifest through form and limit. It is the spark, the initiative, the force of life that gives rise to form, that seeks to consolidate itself into particular organized entities. It is the energy of nwyfre expressed through the quality of darkness and opacity and heaviness.

These are just preliminary thoughts, and I have work to do to tease out the details and how each combination really works. Some qualities (four elements) seem to have particular affinity with certain principles (three elements). (For instance, the element of water is deeply related to the element or principle of gwyar.) So one thing I want to do during this time of revisiting the four elements through the DOTR work is to explore how each of the four elements is expressed or exemplified or affected by the three Druidic elements as principles of being. I'm hoping my divination work will help with this as well. Not only do I plan to keep studying astrology during this time, but I'm also looking into Erynn Rowan Laurie's book on the ogham, in which she talks about using three full sets (of 20) for three "currents" — chthonic, oceanic and celestial — corresponding to the three realms. My understanding of the three Druidic elements of calas, gwyar and nwyfre is that they also correspond to the three realms… though exactly how they correspond is something I'm still working out, and some of it will depend on my deeper research into this approach to ogham.

In particular, on that note, I find myself wavering between associating calas or gwyar with the chthonic/earthy realm. My two patron deities, Brigid Star Fire and Manannan, seem to dwell in tension with each other, with Brigid very much a deity of sky and the celestial, while Manannan is not only a deity of the ocean, but of the depths and the darkness, so that he also seems connected to the "underground" (as well as the mists that rise from the earth to obscure our way, and the rain that pours from the sky and soaks into the earth, seeking its depths). This is another issue that I have with the DOTR Three Realms practice itself. Maybe because of my aesthetic sense of my need for balance (or because I am overly analytical about these things) — I find myself wanting to reach down to connect with "water" (or more specifically, with gwyar) below instead of with "earthy" aspects associated with calas and the land. For me, the blue, deep, dark, heavy, moist, watery qualities below can then be brought into relationship with the yellow, high, bright, light, dry, fiery celestial energies of nwyfre above…. mixing and mingling and expressing themselves in the green aspects of calas and the land, the realm of form and manifestation.

The tree then, a mighty presence of the land, is a symbol of that bridge and that relationship — reaching its branches and leaves up into the sky for sunlight and air, and reaching its roots deep into the earth in search of water and nutrients…. at both these extremes, you have fluidity, exchange, change and a kind of blurring of boundaries, a liminality where Tree merges with that which is seeks. And then, having received the gifts of the heights and the depths, the fire and the water, these extremes, opposites, are integrated and brought into relationship in such a way that you have the "middle earth," the land we walk upon as a meeting place of these other realms, the realm of unique manifestation and expression, individuality and boundaries. The individual can be lost in the mysteries of the depths just as in the celestial mysteries — there is a dark mysticism as well as a bright mysticism. But the "real world" of sensual, sensory experience, where we know ourselves as distinct entities for the most part (only sometimes sinking into depths or rising to heights where we forget our "selves" completely in union with something greater)… that's the realm of calas, of the land, and the Tree. It seems to me that a daily spiritual practice works best (in my experience, anyway) when it teaches us how to bring the more liminal, fluid mysteries of the depths and the heights and integrate them and express them in the everyday world around us. In Kabbalism, as I understand it, there's the idea of climbing up the tree to reach those heights, and then bringing that energy back down "the lightning strike zigzagging through the ten sefirot. But in this idea, the tree not only reaches up towards the celestial, but down as well, into the depth and darkness of the "underworld," and that energy and experience is brought into relationship from both directions into a center. (Plus, blue + yellow = green, duh!)

Is this "underworld" of watery depths and darkness most appropriately called "chthonic"? I'm not sure — I haven't ever used that term much. Perhaps "oceanic" makes more sense, especially since we tend to think (even if just metaphorically) of the lands kind of "floating" on the oceans (and understanding the underground lakes and rivers, the moistness of caves, and even the liquid molten rock below the earth's crust, it makes a kind of literal sense as well). If that's the case, then, does chthonic fit well with the idea of the Tree as bridge between celestial and oceanic, and the land as a kind of "middle ground" where these two Mysteries are brought into manifestation? I can't answer that, because I don't know enough about what the word "chthonic" is supposed to imply (though my first instinct is to answer no, it doesn't quite fit). Still, the relationship between "fire" and "water" (not as elements, now, but as symbols or representatives of the realms, I guess) is something that seems to rest at the core of my Celtic spirituality…. So it's worth exploring. Perhaps I'll tidy this up a bit and post it to the DOTR group blog for some feedback.

This became a long, rambling exploration in a rather more abstract way than I'd originally intended. This was all sparked by my observation during meditation of the way the incense smoke hung together, spiraling around itself — or, the other day, cast shadows on my arms and chest as I sat in the sunlight — bringing to mind again that this smoke, and the air currents themselves, are still very much expressing themselves in calas. The air currents, though they seem invisible to the human eye, are just as distinct, real things as fire or earth (or water and its slightly less invisible currents). To the birds who fly through the air, or the dogs and other animals navigating by scent, the currents of air are palpable presences, distinct bodies with their own boundaries. A story David Abram tells in his book, Becoming Animal, illustrates this point nicely — he describes one time watching ducks flying into a hard wind, dipping here and there, testing to find the edges of the strongest current of air and where there were slips and gaps in the wall of wind coming at them that they could push their way through. For the ducks, the air was as solid and bounded a thing as the landscapes of hills and valleys, forests and fields that we walk through, looking for our own slips and gaps to help us make our way. So air has expression in calas, in the realm of form and manifestation. The invisible, the unseen still has an active presence in and engagement with the manifest world. And as I watched the incense smoke, I understand that the element of Air, too, has its limits and boundaries.

I did want to talk a little bit about some other work I've been doing, but it seems that most of the morning has passed while I've been writing this (and I haven't even done a tarot card reading!). So I'll wrap things up here and maybe come back to it later. I am going to try to be more diligent in writing down these various reflections and experiences. I swear!

Diary

Days of Note: Seakeeping with Manannan

Sun: pisces (water/mutable), 7:32am - 7:27pm
Moon: *waxing gibbous, leo (fire/fixed)
Earth: gray, somewhat chilly and rainy all day, though at least we seem to be safely past the snowy season, if not the morning frosts

I'm raging again tonight. Every once in a while I get into moods where everyone just strikes me as stupid and selfish and, despite my pacifism, I want to kick people in the head.

What set me off this evening was reading Rand Paul's rant about low-flow toilets. How a grown man can throw such a self-entitled tantrum that would make our eight-year-old roll his eyes, and do so as a member of an elected government.... ! Jeff insists he's just blinded by his particular ideology, to which I responded, "Well I'd like to kick him in the head so that he would be blinded by my foot in his face!" Low-flow toilets! Of all the things! Like there aren't people who use a bucket or a hole in the ground... like there aren't people in this country who do it by choice as part of their effort to live an environmentally respectful lifestyle, recycling their own byproducts through their compost toilets and giving themselves back to the earth, ensuring there will be enough clean water for the rest of us. And meanwhile, studies are rolling in that those most disproportionately affected by the climate change crisis are those who tend to contribute the least to the world's pollution — those who live impoverished and close to the land — while studies show that we Americans with our air-conditioned SUVs rumbling around the suburbs are growing increasingly less worried about climate change in recent years. It drives me nuts!

And then my cousin, who can sometimes be a bit, well, judgmental, makes a passing remark on Facebook about how as a journalist she used to hate interviewing writers because they always had such big egos. Which, even if it's not an intentional swipe at me personally, still feels like one. Like there's this whole nobility that comes with struggle and failure, like those of us who are passionate about our work shouldn't dare take pride in our accomplishments — or like working to cultivate a thriving community of "niche" readers in love with your subject matter means you're still just a "little fish in a huge sea" and shouldn't imagine that what you do is actually -laugh- important!

Then the irony hits me.

I can't fully articulate it, but there must be a lesson here, about judgement and kindness and rage and passion. And community. What strikes me over and over is how hard it is to save the world each on our own. Every effort Jeff and I make, every step we take towards a healthier lifestyle is one that we take, firstly, as a family, and secondly, as members of our local community. It would be impossible to do this if we didn't live in an urban neighborhood with stores within biking and walking distance, if we didn't have the local co-op with organic, local produce, if we didn't have restaurants nearby specializing in vegetarian and organic cuisine, if we didn't have neighbors and community volunteer programs involved with keeping the city parks clean and available, or protecting the local landscape from developers and corporations. And still, I feel like I'm not doing enough. And when I think of folks in the suburbs, I get angry. I get judgmental.

What I should probably be doing is seeking kindness, and passion. Passion will connect and grow, where rage only isolates and repulses. Kindness opens people up to the possibility that they are good enough, that a good and healthy life doesn't have to be one of desperation and frustration and struggle. There is nothing wrong with taking pride in what we do to help one another and improve the quality of life for ourselves. Harping on how hard and tiring it is to drag American culture along by its teeth into the realities of the twenty first century isn't going to win anyone over. If change and health is something that we can only find in community (with each other, and with the earth), then first we have to nurture and share those things that help to foster community: joy, laughter, kindness, generosity, and gratitude.

I can feel the rage like a physical entity in my body. When I sit for a moment and breathe, I can feel how close that rage is to love and excitement, how easy it is to change my mind about the physical sensations coursing through this meat-space of mine. In a few breaths, that energy is transformed and directed, no longer a destructive force that wants out through clenched fists and tensed muscles, but now something that I can work with, shape and direct to transform the world.

This is what daily practice is for. This is why meditation and prayer are so absolutely vital. The tools to transform rage and anger and frustration and fear — to change them from the center. To reform and redirect, to refine and renew. I can do this. I can learn to do this.

Diary Tarot Card

© Stephanie Pui-Mun Law, The Shadowscape Tarot

The King of Pentacles stands sure and steady in the center, presenting a choice or offering alternatives. A figure of stability and generosity rooted deeply in the earth, he remains grounded and humble (close to humus) even as his aspirations reach ever higher towards the sun and rain above. The choices he presents, with his wise guidance, are two alternatives, two ways of handling the energies of the earth that well up within, drawn from the roots and gathered in from the limbs.

The Nine of Wands is a choice that brings us constant vigilance and resolve, tensed with uncertainty, straining into the future and what it may hold. The lone sentinel astride his mount, poised on the cliff, already worn with previous battles and perhaps overly eager to see strife and conflict in what's to come.

The Four of Wands, on the other hand, is a choice of freedom and joy, celebration and jubilation, finding harmony and balance among our energies so that, through them, we discover our freedom and lightness of being. Lush flowers bloom below as the sun shines above, and we discover ourselves not alone, but part of a community dancing and bounding with gladness through the beauty-charged landscape.

Both these choices lead in the same direction. The center figure, the King, holds his arms out in an equal length cross from his chest, reaching towards each. But to his left, the Nine of Wands, his open hand is lost in shadow, while to his right, his open palm shines in sunlight, holding the glimmering, golden acorn, seed of great and mighty things to come. Prosperity, generosity and stability come not from the battle-weary and bitter, but from the energies of joy and gladness shared in community, which lead back to the center, back to the feet of the King himself.

Flamekeeping Meditation and Divination

Days of Note: Flamekeeping (begins at sundown), New Wind Tossed Moon

Sun: pisces (water/mutable), 6:48am - 6:16pm
Moon: new moon, pisces (water/mutable)
Earth: warmer and raining all day, with some winds rustling the trees

Meditation

For a while, I sat quietly in darkness, eyes closed, waiting. For a while, nothing came. I felt my body relax as deeper trance took me and, after wandering in obscurity for a time, I found myself back on the cliffs of my inner landscape, looking east out over the long, silent waters of blue ocean. To my left, along the cliffs edge, the rocks raised to a peak where the huge, ancient Shrine of the Ashless Flame burns, stone bowl carved of the rock of the land, covered with lichen, filled with dew and rain water, over which the ashless flame flickers, a mirror to the sun, a fiery arrow pointing ever upwards.

This was where I first met Brigid in my meditations, here on the edge of the forest that led into my grove, on the highest point, a pinnacle over the sea and woods, reaching towards the sky. I laid offerings and poured libations and sat before the impersonal, eternal flame as it danced in the wind. It was months before I made the connection to Brigid as a goddess — she was, first and always, a primal force, surging upwards from the earth, rising like wellspring and steam and the scent of stone and soil as it rises with the midday sun's heat as the twilight settles in.

All at once, I was hearing her voice again, unprompted, speaking in low, steady, vibrating tones. She spoke of that power, that I have forgotten perhaps too often recently in imagining her as a goddess with body and human shape, a human face. She is, above all, the exaltation, the rising energy and force. She is not a human, but a Person of glory and light and brightness, and also of underground water and sacred sources of healing working in the dark and the mystery.

I felt a resistance to my left, the west, where the edge of the forest seemed to loom dark and thick in my peripheral vision. I turned towards the woods, saw the shadows lurking beneath the tangled branches despite the bright sun overhead. That was the place I must turn to and enter, what had been dwelling on my mind — she seemed to say, and yet, the forest was thick and dark with growth, that green sprawling and spreading and climbing over itself to reach the light that poured out upon them, each leaf finding its place. The darkness was not apart from the light, but an aspect of it, a response to it; the shadows of the forest existed because of it, not in spite of it. It was not Brigid who gifted me the Sword of Light, though she may have had a hand in forging it, nor was it in the light of day that the Sword of Light is used, but in the darkness and the night, in the mysteries and the depths. I know now whose gift the Sword of Light is to give, she told me, and turning I saw again the ocean stretching wide beneath me. Though the sun was intimate and close in its self-giving, impersonal in its distance and brilliance and illumination, the oceans wrap the earth in a surrounding embrace, so very close, dark and deep and intimate and passionate.

What, then, should I do about these flamekeeping shifts? I thought I was meant to know her more personally, but it seemed that she would always be, to some extent, the great fiery arrow, the blaze and glory, the guide and inspiration but also the drive and power — not tame, not ever so intimate or quiet as I had hoped. Should I turn my attention and energy, then, to cultivating that personal relationship with Manannan? Should I stop my flamekeeping shifts and leave the Cill? No, for the perspective and illumination of these moments of seeking her to honor her in her power and impersonal wholeness are also important. Hold these flamekeeping shifts still, but do not expect too much of them. Hold them because you honor that Light, that Flame, not because you expect personal attention or intimacy in return. It is important to remember that not all gods are tame.

Flamekeeping Divination

What does Brigid ask of me for this Flamekeeping shift?


© Stephanie Pui-Mun Law, The Shadowscape Tarot

(a) Page of Cups - She holds the golden chalice up to gaze within at the stray sunbeams and lost treasures that have sunk into the deep, shining even deep beneath these waters with the warmth and radiance from a far off sun. She is the true romantic, the dreamer of dreams, listening to her intuition and her depth of feeling with all the enraptured attention of a child. Here, there is peace and simplicity, and dreams of sunlight kissing the rocking surface of the waves.

(b) Page of Pentacles - Perched high upon the molded stone, above the curling, sleeping figure of the dragon green and verdant, powers of the earth, its lush fecundity — she holds in her hand the glimmer of invitation and initiative, of opportunities for prosperity and, more importantly, for growth. It is her gift, with her practical nature and her concerns for earthly, earthy matters lightened by her joy in the physical bounty around her. Diligence and rootedness, giving rise to the blossom, the fruit and the seed.

(c) King of Cups - Calm, patient, guardian of the deeps, strength of the sea in both its storm and the slow erosion of its caress, breaking open the rocky shores, opening and smoothing, gently claiming them over eons of murmuring and the dance of the tides. He is a protector and guide, and the quiet strength of mystery and compassion well up from within him like the waters of the ocean from the unimaginable depths, yet as close and intimate as the blood, that private sea, we carry within our own bodies and hearts.

The Story: Each card of Cups faces in towards the center, the Page of Pentacles, which gazes ahead, reaching out her gift before her in offering. This is the Central Destination story, and suggest the ways in which these energies, patterns or people may converge and meet, and what that meeting might lead to. It seems, perhaps, that I am represented by the Page of Cups, who holds a sacred chalice close, gazing deeply into the shining golden light within. I seek to know that sunlight and that warmth — and, as with the Page of Cups, perhaps this gazing and dreaming is an aspect of a romantic longing, a listening to the lessons of my intuition and subconscious. Yet, the Page faces towards the King of Cups, who faces her in return. He, too, holds a chalice, though it seems to be made of silver and does not glow with golden light — it is as if he is offering up the very essence of himself, the depths that are the seas and their dark waters. In some ways, then, it seems this story is one of mutual offering and exchange between myself and the God of the Sea, Manannan, a marriage of patience and strength of ancient seas with the liveliness and voyage-dreams of sun-gilded surface of waves. As a result of this meeting or relationship, the Page of Pentacles offers a gift of initiative and opportunity for growth, a place in which both practicality and levity have their place, or perhaps a chance to bring these gifts to manifestation beyond the realm of emotion and intuition and into the physical world as part of the earth's fertility and creativity.

It seems, then, that Brigid's advice is clear: to give myself over to this relationship with Manannan, to embrace that new meeting, and to carry my own light into that relationship, a light I have received from and learned from her. Doing this will lead not only to a relationship of mutual exchange, but fruitful, concrete results of productivity and initiative as well.

Divination: The Relationship between Manannan and Brigid

I just finished Robert M. Place's The Tarot: History, Symbolism and Divination (one of the books I got Jeff for Solstice this year), and so I thought it might be worthwhile to experiment with his three-card story technique. One of the spreads he recommends is a nine-card "relationship spread," so I used that spread to explore the potential relationship between Manannan and Brigid Star Fire. My clarity in the question ("What is the relationship between Manannan and Brigid?") may be somewhat lacking, since I didn't exactly ask what their relationship was in regards to me, and I'm not sure my interpretation of the cards will be all that accurate since I've only experimented in a kind of intuitive way with three-card story readings before (jumping to a full nine-card spread may have been ambitious, now that I'm looking at the cards all laid out in front of me). But here goes:

(g) (h) (i)
(a) (b) (c) . . . (d) (e) (f)

Manannan

© Stephanie Pui-Mun Law, The Shadowscape Tarot

(a) The Star (XII) - A card above all of hope, renewal and inspiration, the guidance of starlight emerging from darkness and difficulty. There is respite, rebirth and peace in this card, the optimism that resides in stillness and quiet, in which the first stirrings of joy begin. The image of the card is dominated by the soft blues and purples of water in ripples and swirls around the figure of the Star stepping delicately over the surface of the water. Around her swim golden carp, and above her shines a seven-pointed star in silvery-white reflected in the rippling curls of her hair. All is still and quiet, shimmering. The figure of the Star walks forward, but looks to her right (my left) with a hand upraised in blessing.

(b) Ace of Wands - A card of energetic beginnings and passion taking root, the wand of fire planted firmly in the ground alights with inspiration and creativity. This card seems to reflect the classic meaning of new beginnings and fresh starts in the realm of activity, yet the image depicts an autumn landscape at sunset, golden-colored fallen leaves swirling and rustling around the feet of the foxes, while small red mushrooms push their way up from the soil nearby. This spark or seed of creativity illuminates and draws out the creatures and spirits of the woods that otherwise may not be seen — just as in autumn, with the baring of the trees can reveal new aspects of the landscape usually hidden by the thick green of foliage. Of the three foxes, one faces right, one left, and the third forward — this last has a sun-spiral tattoo on his flank, spiraling outward. The seed of fiery energy and passion can take root even in a waning season, and germinate and grow throughout the spiraling year.

(c) Page of Pentacles - The Page perches upon a mounded rock around which an ancient dragon, green and verdant, curls asleep and dreaming of prosperity, fecundity and opportunity. She holds forward glowing in her left outstretched hand a small golden orb, the spark of opportunity and initiative, the key and invitation to plunge in and enjoy the sensuality and physicality of the world. She faces forward on her perch, as does her owl companion, though the sleeping dragon faces off to the left (my right), towards the center of the spread.

Story: The general flow of energy in these three cards seems to be from the central card (the Ace of Wands) outward in two directions, towards The Star and the Page of Pentacles on either side. One fox each faces left, right and straight on — my interpretation of this is what Place calls the "central teacher" pattern, in which a central figure is pointing out or commenting on two options or alternatives. The spark of creativity and passion symbolized in the Ace of Wands takes on two different forms. In The Star, that spark becomes a silvery seven-rayed point of light, far distant yet able to give guidance and hope in the midst of darkness. The figure of the Star reaches towards the utmost left of the spread, in fact almost directly pointing towards the placement of Manannan's candle and shell on my altar. In the other card, the Page of Pentacles, the spark of energy in the Ace of Wands becomes an invitation or offered gift to take the plunge into a sensual, pleasurable engagement with the physical world and encouragement to seize the opportunities presented. Though this card, too, is mostly a forward-facing one, there is some movement of energy to the right, towards the center of the spread. The Ace of Wands, as a central teacher, seems to be suggesting that these two approaches to an initial spark of inspiration need to be balanced and brought together — the intertwining bodies of the foxes, the spiral tattoo that draws both together, and the spiraling double-twist of the staff on the wand itself seem to suggest bringing these two approaches together to inform one another.

Brigid Star Fire

(d) The Hanged Man (XII) - A card of willing surrender and self-sacrifice, especially a time of reversals, transformed expectations and a new perspective on the world that can bring further insight and breakthroughs. The figure of the Hanged Man is one of release, but also of tenacity and strength, the inner courage and commitment to see through a period of difficulty and sacrifice, a suspension of the ego on the World Tree. Upside down, hanging from the branches of the huge oak, he faces off to the right, but his head tilts back so that he almost seems to be craning to gaze left from his inverted position. Above his hands, protected by the fold of his legs, he cradles a small, glowing golden orb similar to the one the Page of Pentacles offers.

(e) The Moon (XVIII) - A card of dreams and things half-seen in the pale moonlight which sometimes seems to only create more shadows and uncertainties in amongst the dark trees of the woods. The figure of the Moon stands within a ring of mushrooms, an enchanted faery circle glistening with tiny fireflies and dew. She holds up her left hand pointing upwards, a tiny red heart in her palm, and in her other hand she holds a strange, white mask with elongated nose and red ribbons trailing from it, which she turns her head (to her right, my left) to contemplate. Above her, a gray-white bird, possibly a doe, flies off to the left above her head. She is a figure deeply involved with masks, questions of identity and honesty — she holds at once the bright heart of true emotion revealed to all, and the mask that one might use to conceal it. She stands within a sacred circle, danced around by faery beings, yet she appears solitary and singular in the center, not exactly participating in the gathering. The world around her seems very much like a dream world, both obscure and revealing.

(f) Nine of Cups - The mermaid-figure in this card marvels at the swirling beauty around him, so rich and luxurious — the school of golden fish turn and move, circling almost as one being, sparkling and shining in the dark waters, and the mermaid seems to bow in reverence and gratitude in amongst them. This card symbolizes wealth and luxury, especially in terms of emotional contentment and gratitude, and suggests a feeling of exquisite harmony and fluidity in how everything seems to be coming together. The mermaid faces left, towards the center of the spread, but although the fish swirl around him, many seem to face to the right, towards the placement of the candle of Brigid Star Fire on my altar.

Story: It seems as though these three cards might be illustrating what Place calls a "central problem" pattern, in which there is no clear energy flow and the central card is blocking or dispersing the energy. The center card, The Moon, faces forward, but her face is turned towards the left (her right), with both hands raised. This might also be a "central teacher" pattern or even a linear pattern from right to left, where the final card (the Hanged Man) is turned to meet the action. The figures in these cards seem much more ambiguous than in the Waite-Smith deck Place works with, so I'm not exactly sure how to interpret the energy flow in this story. Assuming a linear pattern to the energy flow, the story moves from the Nine of Cups towards the right — suggesting a beginning in harmony and emotional contentment that then leads through a period of confusion and uncertainty as the Moon contemplates an open, revealed heart on the one hand (literally) while contemplating the mask in her other and what role it might play. This uncertainty and exploration into the dreamworld leads to the final card, the Hanged Man, who is turned to face the on-coming action but holds behind him (to the left, nearest the center of the spread) the glowing ember of possibility and, perhaps, renewal. This interpretation might suggest that a period of confusion will lead to a revolutionary change in perspective, turning the world upside-down and revealing new insights. In some ways, a central teacher or central problem interpretation sees very similar meaning in these three cards, with the Moon acting as a turning point in the process that can either block or give aid during a transition from the emotional contentment of the Nine of Cups to the wisdom-gifting self-surrender of the Hanged Man.

The Bridge Between

(g) Two of Swords - A card of blockage and impasse, the hooded figure stands in the center of the path, blocking the way with drawn swords crossed. A dark and immovable figure in the midst of the forest, his eyes are hidden by his hood so that he cannot see the offerings of the two swans by his side — the small, red heart of love and receptivity and the red-orange flower, possibly a poppy, symbol of sleep and death which open up the way for dreams of respite and renewal. He is frozen like ice, his back towards the right, the center of the three-card spread.

(h) Justice (XI) - A card of balance and harmony, a clear and even mind capable of weighing all things carefully and perceiving clearly and with piercing insight their true character and quality. A card concerned with truth, even when such truth is as subtle and light as the lightness of a feather or a butterfly's wing — in many ways, Justice is also a figure that turns inward to consider the inner tensions within the soul itself, seeking a balance that will help to ease these tensions and allow a return to center and equilibrium from which to take just and appropriate action in the world. The figure of Justice holds the light father-like sword of insight and discriminating mind close to her breast, turning her insight inwards, while holding out the balanced scales to influence and respond to the world around her. She faces forward, balanced and symmetrical in her stance.

(i) Eight of Wands - A card of energy and activity, beginnings and initiatives that move forward with the momentum of what has come before but that leave behind established projects to seek new ground in which to plant new seeds. The figure in the Eight of Wands sets loose her seeds drifting in the wind, carried to new fertile ground where they may germinate and take root, growing into new saplings and eventually great trees. But this process seems to happen largely without personal effort or involvement, carried along simply by the force and energy of the activities themselves and the wish that set them spinning out into the world on their gossamer filaments. The figure faces away from the center, towards the right, watching as her wishes are carried off by the wind.

Story: The flow of energy in these three cards very clearly fall into the pattern Place calls the "central origin" — a central card facing forward, with cards on each side facing away from the center in opposite directions. In this case, the center card of Justice may indicate a current pattern in the relationship and the two results that may arise from such a pattern. Clear insight and discernment, with a focus on finding a careful balance and weighing truth against truth, gives rise, on the one hand, to the Eight of Wands, a card of momentum and energy (especially one that will lead to new beginnings) that are largely impersonal in nature and somewhat "left up to" the forces and whims of nature. This might mean that the stillness and inward-turning nature of Justice is likely to give rise to activity of a dispassionate and impersonal nature, instead of a more personal involvement and engagement. In the other direction, another result that may arise from the pattern embodied in Justice is the Two of Swords, an impasse in which the swords of analytical thought are held at cross-purposes, barring the way and preventing a deeper receptivity to the gifts being offered. Given that the Two of Swords appears to the left, closer to Manannan's side, and the Eight of Wands appears to the right, closer to Brigid Star Fire, this suggests to me that too great a focus on discernment and balance may lead to an impersonal but potentially fruitful relationship with Brigid, but will only serve to block or prevent a deeper relationship with Manannan, whose fluidity and receptivity might be stymied by over-analysis.


Overall Interpretation: I find this reading difficult and rather ambiguous in its meaning, and I suspect one of the biggest reasons why is because I did not clarify enough in my own mind exactly what I was asking before beginning. Am I treating Manannan and Brigid as two distinct entities and asking for insight into how they relate to each other, as though they were two mutual friends of mine and I was looking for insight into their relationship? Or am I asking for insight into how each of these deities fits into my spiritual life in an integrated way that brings them into relationship? In other words: where am I, as querent, in this spread? I think the second version of the question is probably the closest to the one I was intending (though having a clearer question in mind may help in the future). If that is the case, then it seems likely that the three cards for each deity suggest how that deity is in relationship to me and how that relationship shifts or changes with the involvement of the other deity; while the "bridge" between the deities seems to be about my own attitudes in how to consciously connect them or bring them into relationship in my practice and approach. What's interesting is that, for each deity, the card closest to that deity and farthest from the center seems to reflect or echo the "core" of the other deity: the card closest to the heart of Manannan is The Star, a symbol that I have been connecting deeply with Brigid (Star Fire); the card closest to the heart of Brigid is the Nine of Cups, an intensely watery card depicting an underwater ocean scene. In both of these cards, water and fire, darkness and light share an intimate relationship with one another, suggesting that it is unwise, if not impossible, to try to separate them out into distinct entities without running the risk of diminishing one or both. As the relationships in each of the three cards moves towards the center, ambiguity and uncertainty seems to enter the picture (especially in regards to Brigid), but the card closest to the center in each three-card grouping holds that seed of light that is offered as a potential new beginning, new opportunity or new insight into the world. In this case, the "bridge" with a fulcrum as Justice, concerned with separating out and discerning between opposites, might represent my intellectual attempts to reconcile these changing relationships and clearly delineate each deity, though it seems such an attempt may be wrong-headed and unhelpful right from the start. This seems especially ironic considering that at the beginning of my reading, I spent a minute in meditation reaching out to the energies of water/sea below and fire/sky above, joining them together in the earth/tree of my body (as per the DOTR three realms working from Lesson 2) and asking for clarity of insight in my reading.

With that, I'm going to do a final three-card reading asking for advice to see if this interpretation may be even remotely on the right track.

Final Advice

(c) Ace of Cups - A gift and beginning, the first drop of water that unites with the ocean, merging with the source of all water and life, sending ripples out in all directions. This card is one of utter unity and wholeness, the emotional and intuitive core from which all else springs and ripples outward — mystical in its connection the the sacred grail or chalice, source of life. The first stirrings of gladness and joy, an initial surge of connection and attraction, as the tides are pulled by the moon, it is also a card of imagination and receptivity.

(b) Queen of Wands - A fiery queen of passion, initiative and energy, she stands at her harp, her living wands, drawing the delicate strains of music from its strings as the creatures of the forest still to listen, entranced by her energy and enthusiasm. As queen, she has the maturity and composure to balance her fiery energies with receptivity and love, and these weave through each other to lend beauty and depth to her activities. She is self-confident, playful and at ease with herself, whether she is the center of attention or retired into the background.

(a) King of Cups - A king of intuition, emotion and receptivity, he governs with endless patience and calm, deeply in touch with the emotional and spiritual needs of his subjects. He is a protector and provider, offering healing and cleansing from his sacred chalice. Balancing out the receptivity and fluidity of his natural element with his maturity and authority as king, bringing structure and order to his realm. Yet his authority arises not from imposition or control, but from being deeply attuned to the patterns and currents of intuition and emotion that flow through the world.

Story: The pattern in this final three-card reading is obviously, almost overwhelmingly linear, moving from right to left, from the Ace of Cups through the Queen of Wands to the King of Cups. All of the figures in these three cards face to the left (even in the Ace of Cups which might be expected to be forward-facing, the golden fish that arise from and swim around the chalice face to the left). In this story, then, it seems that the Ace of Cups represents a beginning, an initial gift of connection and intuition that then led to a relationship with the Queen of Wands, a queen of fire, energy, passion and creativity. This seems to clearly indicate a relationship with Brigid (Celtic fire goddess). Through this relationship with the Queen of Wands, there is then movement towards the King of Cups, a powerful king of the depths of intuition and emotion. Again, this seems to so obviously indicate Manannan, not only in imagery and symbolism, but in the suggestion of intense emotional engagement that I feel with him. The three cards, moving from right to left, actually move across my altar from my Brigid candle to my Manannan candle, again seeming to indicate a linear movement from one to the other. Yet, the fact that Brigid is represented by a Queen and Manannan by a King (each of which themselves have a balance of energies within them — fiery feminine, watery masculine) seems to be a strong suggestion that, even within this linear progress, Brigid and Manannan are paired as a couple and are intimately related to each other. Overall, the advice of this final reading seems to be to accept the unfolding progress of events at face value — a linear movement through/away from Brigid and towards Manannan — and to allow myself to explore this relationship with Manannan more deeply, but without worrying that to do so will somehow weaken my relationship to Brigid. As a fiery Queen of Wands used to being the center of attention and showing up in the center of the spread, it's unlikely she will be going anywhere any time soon.

Diary

Days of Note: Last Quarter White Waking Moon

Sun: pisces (water/mutable), 7:03am - 6:04pm
Moon: last quarter, scorpio (water/fixed)
Earth: quite a bit of sunshine all day, though still cold and very little melting going on - the bird seed I scattered after last week's thaw thinking, foolishly, that we were in the clear is now under three to four inches of snow, except for the seed I scattered on the low partition wall just outside the dining room window, where the birds have brushed aside what little snow snuck in under the awning and made a feast of it where the cat can watch them


There are a lot of things to be angry about these days. Let's start with the good news: today, the scale said I'd lost a pound, despite the gorging on holiday chocolates for the past week. Also, early this morning, the package from Amazon arrived with Jeff's Official Valentine's Day present for me: two new books, including the new David Abram that I've been salivating over for months (and another, about the role of fiction in the evolution of the human mind).

Now the bad: The check from my last invoice was only just mailed out today, delayed almost two weeks because the person who has to sign off on these things was traveling. This is the second time in in the past few months with this new job that a check has been delayed so long that I've had to go nearly a month without income. With bills and student loans to pay, not to mention wedding savings, the unreliability of a regular income even while I'm working the max number of hours I'm allowed to according to my contract... well, it's frustrating. I have to be one of the more fiscally responsible adults I know, and yet even with my "cushion" of savings, it's hard to go so long without money coming in, and especially frustrating as I know that I have been putting in the hours and that the money will arrive eventually. I am, technically, allowed to send an invoice whenever I want. I had been sending them regularly every two weeks, on the dot, assuming that even if there was a wait of a week or so, after a few weeks of working those checks would be arriving regularly, albeit delayed. But as it turns out, I receive payments seemingly at random, sometimes within a day, sometimes more than two weeks late, with no way to predict. It is certainly a change from the immediacy of earning cash as a waitress when I knew, even if over time I didn't earn as much, what I did earn was mine immediately. You never starve when you can earn cash enough to at least buy your next meal. But a person could get into real trouble with all of this imaginary money being promised to them, and the checks never seeming to come.

But that's just on the personal side of things, and even that's not a big deal, just a minor frustration. On the socio-political side of things: I may have to rethink my policy about not voting unless there's a candidate I actually support. As news comes out, week after week, of all of the truly disturbing, woman-hating, worker-hating, minority-hating legislation and policies coming from Republicans since they won back their coveted power-seats in the last election, they are really challenging me to redefine the "worse" of two evils. The idea of paranoid game-theory in the voting booth makes me sick to my stomach, when the "lesser of two evils" seems still so very evil and backwards and destructive and militant. But if you had wanted to argue with me that "things could be a whole lot worse" back around election time, you would probably have made some headway if you suggested that, once voted in, Republicans would take serious and far-reaching steps to roll back women's and workers' rights to pre-1950s standards. Of course, I wouldn't have believed you. I would have thought you were exaggerating.

I feel sometimes like the ones who walked away from Omelas. Except that I can't walk away, not with Jeff's kids. It's not even like our jobs prevent us — anywhere-with-internet work-from-home stuff would be so very liberating.... but in the end, they just prove frustratingly unreliable, an excuse for Emily and others to assume that our schedules are infinitely flexible. (And thank the gods we don't have the kids this weekend, since my check being so long delayed means we barely have enough money between the two of us to feed ourselves. Like we live extravagantly or something, with our oatmeal breakfasts and our puny salads twice a day.)

I am so very bitter and frustrated sometimes. I feel helpless and overwhelmed, when I get emails from MoveOn.org and other places about protests and petitions. There will be protests on Saturday in solidarity with the union workers in Wisconsin, and my first reaction was: I wish we could go, but we have the kids. When I mentioned it to Jeff and he reminded me that this is our first weekend off without the kids in more than three months, my next thought was: so we could go.... until he asked, "Is that really how you want to spend our only weekend off?" Just the thought of it made me tired. We still haven't been able to officially celebrate Valentine's Day because of these check delays and our schedule being jammed so full it hurts. But not to go... feels so selfish, like I am weak and small and, just like everyone else, so busy running the rat race that I have no energy left to resist. I didn't want to be that kind of person. When did I become that kind of person? The other day, a woman came door-to-door asking for donations to a Clean Water initiative to help raise funds to prevent hydrofracking in the area. We tried to explain that we barely had two pennies to rub together between us, but I think she must hear that all the time, or at least enough to be only very politely disappointed. I got her information and went to their website after she'd gone to send them an email offering my time as a volunteer if they needed anything, since I have (just barely) more time than money available to donate these days. I haven't heard back from them. Part of me feels relieved.

This is not fun, or freeing. There are days when I just want to slip back into my lonely life, where at least there was quiet, and stillness, and in that kind of solitude even loneliness and grief could be beautiful. Now, half the time I feel like I'm just running around trying to keep up with the millions of demands — and sometimes, Jeff feels like a leaky bucket, so willing to always give and give to even the most unreasonable expectations, that I'm in a kind of quicksand watching the energy I invest in him slip away into half-finished projects and a million ideas that never get off the ground. And I read something today by Thalia Took, in her blog about her OCD father and the junk he made their home in, and how she had learned the "demand resistance" response to always say NO! first whenever anyone asked because she learned it from him, and from the unreasonable, unhealthy, unfair expectations he always put on her and her sister. I learned that from my mother. I had to learn to scream NO! at the top of my lungs in the face of insanity and cruelty, or I wouldn't have made it whole into adulthood. And I've spent a lot of time learning the art of yes! and the deep roots of generosity... but sometimes, I wonder if Jeff, whose mother is so supportive and accepting and Zen that she's barely there sometimes, never learned that no can be necessary. Intellectually, maybe, but not really. Sometimes I still don't know if his agreements with me are real or if he's just so good at being agreeable. And I can spar with him in debate and talk about different topics, because he'll play devil's advocate even for the devils, even for people he doesn't agree with. Which is why he's interesting, and why he challenges me. It's like being in love with everyone who ever disagreed with me. But.. sometimes, I think I need him to agree with me on important stuff, and say no! when it really matters.

This is something I'm going to have to talk to him about. And also probably having to do with my Saturn Return work, now that I think about it. It's no surprise that I have authority issues, but I think I've been successfully grappling with those issues for years now. So maybe this is the curve ball of a Saturn Return: when I ask myself the journaling questions Jeff wrote up for me, when I ask myself what restrictions and limitations I resent and that keep me from feeling free: my answer is not others' authority, it's others' childishness and neediness (and that's true for the kids themselves, too). Since I've chosen not to have kids of my own, I hadn't anticipated facing that particular yoga. If I'd had a choice in the matter, I would have stopped at a healthy, sustainable number (but that feels like wishing Josh and Fiona out of existence...). And now I'm almost laughing at myself and remembering the mini-crisis I had the other day when reading about Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged and realizing I couldn't just dismiss it as complete gibberish. There are some very harmful, sad little ideas in it (like how intelligent people are so very rare and special and they're never wrong about their wonderful little inventions and they never make mistakes) — but there are things like integrity, creativity, self-reliance, things that I really go for. And more than that, the feeling of fatigue and resentment that made Rand first muse, "What if all of us 'creative minds' went on strike?" I know that feeling! I get it, I really do. I think Rand was selfish and childish to write a fantasy world in which an elite class of "thinkers" could hold the world hostage... but I know the feeling, of being so tired and frustrated and wondering why anyone else isn't stepping up to the plate to take care of all this shit, why I feel like I always have to do everything. Except I'm not stupid. I know everyone feels that way much of the time these days. People talk about apathy and nihilism, but I really don't think that's what's wrong with this country. What's wrong is that everyone is so fucking tired. And we're tired because of the way we live in this country. And we can't seem to change the way we live because we're all too fucking tired.

Or maybe I'm just cranky and dealing with post-moon headaches and my "day off" today I spent mostly drafting an essay on "Pagan pacifism" which is going to end up far too long and unwieldy to be much good anywhere, and is probably going to take a huge amount of research and, damn it, writing is hard and I've gotten lazy. I like being able to just spout off ideology, I like "talking points." They're quick, ready-made. Writing takes so much out of me. On my "day off" I spent all morning working and got only three or four decent paragraphs out, with the rest of the article looming in front of me like a monster ready to guilt trip me and gobble up every spare minute of my free time. So instead, I write rambling, whiney diary posts. And do tarot card readings. (And rethink all those stupid reasons that I stopped writing poetry.)


Break.

So just as I was about to move on to my tarot reading, Jeff finished what he was working on and we sat down to have what turned out to be quite a long talk, mostly about all of this. I tried to talk to him about the drained feeling and the "demand resistance" story and how it related to my mother, and comparing it to his experiences. This led into a conversation about Saturn Return, and me expanding a bit on what I wrote above, on grappling with childishness and immaturity as kind of nontraditional conceptions of authority and restriction.

As we talked, several things began to fall into place that I want to just note here quickly. First: the idea of confronting childishness seems, the more I talk about it, like a very obvious aspect of my Saturn Return work. Reflecting on my meditation the other night in my ritual for Manannan, I mentioned to him about the many images that seemed to stem directly from kids' movies like "The Little Mermaid" and "Finding Nemo." I'd assumed at the time that this was just a kind of "bad connection" that was dredging up all my mental stereotypes of underwater scenes, but this issue of childishness puts that in a new light. It also relates back to my last "conversation" with Brigid during my personal Imbolc meditation, when she appeared to me as a playful young girl running in bare feet through the grass and counseling me to "lighten up" a bit. I was more receptive to that message, at that time, as being so obviously good and sage advice — but I'm not sure I've been all that good in following it. Instead, I've continued to fight against childishness (or perceived childishness) in others by increasing the pressure on myself to be responsible and adult about things, to buckle down to the discipline of being mature and reliable. If Saturn Return is going to be about confronting and integrating figures of authority in my life, and the "figures of authority" that I am struggling with are (or seem to me to be) characterized by childishness, neediness and immaturity... then it makes sense that I may have to do some work on nurturing and encouraging my own "inner child."

These are just thoughts. But having talked things over with Jeff, I'm already feeling more relaxed and optimistic about it. (Also, he made me a little teacup of chocolate sweet almond milk! Mmm, nutty!)

Diary Tarot Card:
<- Nine of Wands, Strength (VIII) -> Three of Cups

The Nine of Wands poises ever-vigilant, straining against the uncertainties of the coming future, toughened and hardened by past conflict. Perhaps too suspicious, too ready to perceive a threat, too on edge to relax and find respite — yet in the past, such vigilance has served well, cautioning against indulgence and lassitude and allowing the instinct to self-preservation enough reign to do its necessary work. The figure sits astride his lion, a hand resting retraining and reassuring on its curled horns and armored head. Still, when does vigilance turn to paranoia and pugnaciousness? When does strength become blinded by the urge to armor and arm ourselves against uncertainty and adversity?

Strength rests her hand lightly on the brow and jaw of the lion where she stands, a lion unencumbered by armor and yet seemingly more powerful, mightier and freer than his subdued counterpart in the Nine of Wands. She is the gentle guardian of strength, draped in white, vulnerable in her half-nakedness, who can open and close the lion's great muzzle with the lightest touch — the lion of the subconscious and animal soul, whose power is sleek and fierce. He is not subdued and reigned in, yet neither is he destructive and dangerous in his wildness; she listens to the dark rumblings in the lion's heavy throat, a purr or a warning, as she listens to the promptings of her own animal soul, knowing when to heed the sound and when not quiet its noise. With courage and gentleness, Strength does not need to fear her animal, and so does not need to subdue it either.

The Three of Cups dances in joyful celebration of community and togetherness, a moment of happiness and playful camaraderie. Though full of energy and enthusiasm, there is in this card none of the tension or fire of the previous two, but instead the active flow of exchange and communion, sharing the pleasure of laughter and good company. While each of the other cards face outwards, looking either into the past with wariness and hard-earned memory, or into the future with quiet will and receptive strength, the Three of Cups circles merrily around itself, caught up in the moment.

The overall message of these cards seems to be that through excessive vigilance and worry about the uncertainties and potential threats of the future (perhaps arising from past hurts), we turn our backs on our truer, more powerful inner strength — the Great Secret at the heart of this spread. By accepting that inner strength and appreciating its proper role, as gentle but courageous guardian of our animal souls, we open ourselves to opportunities for true connection and community — a cause for celebration and joy — for we can trust ourselves to playfulness and exchange without worry that such engagement will spin out of control and cause damage or harm.