The Astrology of Me, New Year Edition

More insight from the stars about the coming year. Jeff says during 2011, Jupiter and Uranus move into my 6th House (Jupiter and Uranus do funky things for everyone this coming year, bringing intense energies with their conjunction, but which house they appear in will depend on each person's individual natal chart). What does this mean? Jeff explains:

Jupiter is kingship, power, will; Uranus is trickster, surprise, sudden collapse, anti-heirarchy.  The two together are like a trickster-king.  So imagine this trickster-king moving into your life in the realm of health, work, daily routine, etc. It could manifest in many different ways.

For Jeff, Jupiter and Uranus will be doing their star-studded dance in his 3rd house, "which is communications and mental activity. It might be a super-big project at work, some new relationship I [Jeff] have to navigate, or something."



He also sent me a link to a fascinating article, in which the author, Dana Gerhardt, discusses the effects of the 6th house in more detail. She writes:

The 6th refers to daily time and how we spend it. Here most of us defer to the cultural norm—which is to do time mechanically. We fill it with productive activity: We work. Most of us have no choice. This could indeed be the “bad fortune” the ancients were talking about! However, most of us would admit that working is not entirely bad. There is something in us that likes a regular structure in our days. Studies have shown that the most depressed individuals are not the ones who have nine-to-five jobs, but the ones who don't—the unemployed, the infirm, the retired—those who have nowhere to go and nothing to do. The ancients said that action-oriented Mars “joys” in this house. Our 6th house likes to be in motion.

Gerhardt goes on to explore how we can cope with and compensate for the heightened energies of the 6th house:

Merriman was suggesting that to balance the 6th, we should look to its opposing house, the 12th. This is the house belonging to the invisible world. It is Neptune’s territory. To keep Mercury’s efficiency in proper measure, we can evoke more Neptune—imagination, spirituality, the unconsciousness of dream. Just as our dreams carry images from our days, we might allow our days to remember images from our dreams.

Jung teaches there are two roots to psychological disease: the gods we forget to honor and the gods we overdo. Too much of Mercury’s “doing” without Neptune’s “floating in the empty spaces” makes "stress" a common 6th house syndrome. When Neptune is forgotten, this uninvited and quietly vengeful guest lies in wait, to throw us under his spell. Driving the freeway home, we suffer brief comas, waking up just minutes before the off-ramp arrives. We forget why we opened the refrigerator or entered the bedroom. Our bodies working like efficient machines, we go numb to the day. When we lose touch with our present, we fall prey to addictions. It's dishonored Neptune who puts the drink, the cigarette, the remote control in our hands.

She continues:

What I discovered was that most people move through the day in the style of their Ascendant. I’ve got Virgo rising, which means I adore planning, making schedules and lists. "An hour for Tibetan prayers, another for reading, then onto my work," I’ll tell myself. But then there are phone calls, emails to answer, the electrician who doesn’t come when he said he would. Aquarius is on my 6th house cusp. Aquarius more accurately describes the unpredictable rhythms that I meet. Despite my best intentions, my Virgo plans usually break down. If the chart describes one’s daily rhythm, its formula goes more like this: The Ascendant shows how you want the day to happen. The 6th describes how it actually does.

My Ascendant is in Libra, and my 6th house edge is in Aries. When I asked Jeff what this might mean for me, he explained that, "This means you want a measured day, balanced energies and all; but what you get is a day full of passion and energy that may sometimes careen out of control." That does sound like me. When I asked him about balancing my 6th house with my 12th, he continued:

You have a Libra 12th, with the Moon in it.  This means that your emotions often come from somewhere you can't identify - they arise and disappear rather mysteriously - but they're not random; they're direct connections with Spirit, which knows more about what's going on than you do.

He says that I tend to follow Gerhardt's advice quite well already. I may begin the day with a plan, but I hold it loosely and if emotionally I feel "called" to some other work, I usually follow that leading and go. Still, this has become an increasing struggle for me lately, and in some ways it's refreshing to have this interpretation of astrological events serving as both an affirmation of the patterns I've been perceiving, and a reminder about how best to handle these greater currents sweeping through my life.



How long can I expect this to go on? Jeff tells me:

Right now they're slowly approaching Aries. They're still in Pisces, but they're close to your 6th house and almost conjunct, so - yes, you should already be feeling the effects.

It's something rather long-term. Jupiter will be in your 6th house for about a year, and Uranus for several years. There will probably be a lot of the energy this year, especially in the spring, and then as Jupiter moves on past Uranus things will settle down.

More specifically:

Jupiter enters your 6th house on Feb 2nd.  Uranus will enter your 6th house right around the middle of April.  ...  Actually, now that I look at the actual dates, it looks like the influence is probably strongest very soon:  Tuesday of next week!  After that, Jupiter moves very fast and leaves Uranus behind, and by May Jupiter is already on to your 7th house.  So...  as far as Jupiter is concerned, not such a long-term thing.

Uranus will stick around for a few years, but its main effect will just be to make your daily schedule unpredictable.  Uranus in the 6th house can indicate major health issues, but usually only in people who have other major problems (like high stress or whatever).

Meditations on Brigid: Goddess of Transformation

Brigid, Goddess of Transformation,
please reveal an aspect of yourself to me
that I might come to know you better.

Creation: The Hermit (IX): "His star-lantern marks the path..." The Hermit journeys in solitude and seeking, drawn by the guiding star of intimate connection with Spirit, urged on to deepen his personal relationship with the inner worlds of night and Mystery. The journey is one of loneliness and quiet, ever-new, the path that must be walked alone for each individual as they seek the lost melodies of their soul-song. Within solitude is found the spark of inspiration, the flickering flame of the lantern that leads onwards into the dark depths.

Destruction: Five of Wands: Things fall apart, the center cannot hold, and what began in playfulness soon becomes strife, the myriad obstacles and obstructions piling up until they seem overwhelming. We may feel that nothing is stable, nothing stays, all is chaos in a noisy current threatening to carry us away as we struggle against its pull. Our energy and passion run up against the difficulties of medium and matter, the limits of navigating conflicting currents, the challenge of mastering form through skill and intention. Yet still there is playfulness in this conflict, and an awareness that difficulty can transform us as well, that we are shaped by the challenges we face and the obstacles we overcome.

Transformation: Three of Pentacles: An expression of unity and resolution away from the tension and conflict of before, by engaging the physical world of material forms we learn to work with these forms in ways that deepen our involvement in the process of creativity and transformation. The work is only just beginning and already it has changed us. No longer alone, we work in concert with the pool of materials to shape and craft new forms, including new expressions and articulations of ourselves. Through such work, spirit is expressed in and through matter, and we are uplifted by our immersion in and engagement with the physical, natural world that at first seemed to us so full of chaos and conflict.

Goddess of Transformation, you are a Queen of Culture, that ever-changing flux of collective manifestation in the history of humankind. What begins in the solitude of soul-seeking finds its way back into the relationships of the ordinary world through our commitment to that creative spark of inspiration, your star-lantern guiding us on the path, and our willingness to be destroyed and remade through our embrace of the turning currents and churning chaos of your forge.

My praise and gratitude to you, Exalted Brigid, guardian of the solitary, challenger and uniter.

Awen.

Meditations on Brigid: Creatrix, Goddess of Creativity

Brigid, Bright Creatrix,
Goddess of Creativity,
Source of All,
what message do you have for me?

Death: Not creation from nothing, but the creativity of rebirth and renewal is her nature, the cycles of destruction and creation in the wild, passionate dance of grief and joy, sorrow and love, bound together and unfolding in ever-new forms and ways. The creation of transformation, the embrace of fire that both consumes and transforms, the new is a seed within the old, hatched amidst difficulty and, yes, even fear.

The grief of the ancestors in my blood and bones, the land I walk upon, you are the Ancestor of my ancestors, the source in the stars themselves, the ringing clash of metal, hiss of steam in the darkness and star-pierced night of space. Before there was a land, there was fire and water, there was you, the forger of star-stuff, complexity building upon complexity in the furnace at the heart of the countless suns, and the scattering of star-ash across the galaxies. We arise from your burning self-sacrifice and the joy of your passion and song, your voice like harp strings humming and thrumming in tension between life and death, strung between earth and sky, taut in our hearts, our throats, our hand-weavings as we do our work. All creativity is transformation, the willingness to dance as a partner of death, to carve away and reform, re-imagine. The ember of creation is the last remnant of a slow-dying fire, smoldering warmth and with its last light giving the spark to set going a new blaze.

Praise to you, Source and Nothing, Creator and Death alike, embracing the world with a love that sustains and transforms. My gratitude for your presence in my life, Exalted Brigid.

Awen.

DOTR Lesson 2: Sea

It began with a few tenuous notes turning and echoing out across the waters, the keening of the violin striving against its own tension and yearning. I was there, on the same familiar rocky cliff that curved in around a small bay, the dark waters of the ocean stretching out far beneath me. The murmuring wash of waves among the pebbles of the beach below, rocking in rhythm until the music faded again into silence.

Above me, the stars began to slip out into the night, one by one, as though disrobing from the dark veils of the night sky. One by one, they turned and shot a gasp of brilliance blazing out in a spiny halo of light around them, then pulled back again, glistening and humming with a silent energy. I lifted my head to ask them for their wisdom. It seemed as though one beckoned to me, glimmering more brightly than the rest. The vertigo of a wild night sky thrown open from horizon to horizon swept over me as my gravity seemed to shift — and then before me, solid as stone it seemed, a staircase spiraled upwards into the starscape. Step by step I climbed, my feet steady, my eyes on the scattered specks of light. Each step fell thick and heavy as though on stone draped over with the deep, plush fabric of night and darkness and stillness. As I reached the final stair, the star before me stepped close as a woman, dark and brilliant with features that seemed to shift as she turned, as though I gazed into her eyes from across countless light years. She smiled, and lifted her hand to caress my cheek and temple.

Then all at once, her other hand was at my throat, grasping my jaw firmly. With one quick motion she wrenched my face away, palm hard against my forehead, and I felt my spine snap as my body crumpled beneath her hard, cold fingers.

My body tumbled as it fell from the sky, loose and undone. I felt almost relaxed, my body buffeted and slowed by the wind, as though some tension in me had snapped and let me drop. I fell like a limp dead thing, which is what I was, and when I hit the ocean's surface, it gave way with almost as little resistance as the air, opening its dark mouth in a crater-like wave that closed over me again as I sank down beneath the waters.

Down and down I sank, making no attempt to swim or even draw a breath. My body became as heavy and dark as the oceans themselves, and creatures glided past me in the dark glistening a wet gold, slipping in and out of sight almost like stars. It seemed to me that all this time, I could see the stars shining above me, above the surface of the water, though only dimly — so dim that perhaps it was no more than a memory. My body lay on the rough bottom of the sea for a long while, its limbs swayed only by the slow, sluggish motions of the currents. I do not remember making the decision to move again — and maybe it was only the ocean itself that gradually pushed and pulled and turned me towards the shore — but eventually I found myself on hands and knees, stumbling and crawling up the pebbled beach, waves dragging at me as I gasped and sought for a hold.

Exhausted, I could not go far, but sat just above the highest reach of the waves where they ran themselves out between the wet, rounded stones. I sat for a while, catching my breath as it returned and letting the ocean water drip from me until I found I was quite dry, though chilled beneath the night sky once more. Then down the beach came the white hound, old companion of this place, bounding with joyful greeting towards me. I flung my arms around her in an embrace and buried my face and hands in her warm, dog-scented fur. Life, with that warmth and panting breath and bounding joy, began to return to me and I felt happy and grateful to have found her again after so long an absence.

Yet, in the midst of our joyous reunion, she stopped — and a low growl began to build in her throat. At first, I thought she was growling at me, and a moment of panic at another betrayal swept through me. But then I realized she was looking past me, towards a figure that loomed up out of the dark some ways down the beach. I turned and ventured closer — the dark figure outlined against the sky seemed huge and thin, featureless as worn stone, and I soon realized it was not a person, but a statue: a thin, lank, faceless man standing on a dais, like an oscar carved from rock and weathered by the sea and wind. I turned to reassure the white hound by my side, who glanced up at me with a look of that showed a clear dislike for the figure — then the dog squatted and pissed on the dais and trotted off up the beach again as though her sentiments had been made clear. I followed her back to where we had been, and sat down once more on the pebbly shore, the dog curled up on my left while my hand ran over her long, white fur in gentle strokes.

Then there was the dark star goddess beside me again, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, feet bare against the wet rocks, the hem of her deep blue robes clinging with damp to the stone. I was not afraid, but comforted as she drew my head down to rest on her shoulder and she stroked my cheek again just as I stroked the dog's warm fur. Though she did not say a word to me, I came to understand the killing blow she'd dealt me was not a violence or punishment, but her gift to me: a change in perspective that sent me plummeting into the depths. Too many are striving towards the stars, climbing those steep ladders and struggling with all their might towards the heights to catch a glimpse of something marvelous.

She turned a little so that we could look one another in the eye. Sitting there on the beach, she was barely taller than I was, her face shifting in and out of shadow, her eyes shining, her hair seeming sometimes wet and dark as to be almost black in long, flowing locks, and sometimes like a liquid fire, deep amber and auburn, strands curling and licking along the pale, perfect skin of her face and shoulders like tongues of flame. Leaning forward, she pressed her little lips against my forehead in a lingering kiss. I felt the warmth of that kiss seep into the depths of me, blossoming and opening outwards from within. The sky above me seemed expansive and infinite in the darkness. The ocean spread like a black, rippling plain of reflected starlight so vast and great and deep that it stole all breath from my body. The stone and earth below me shuddered with solidity and power, hard and warm and heavy like a great weight on which I walked like some delicate, fragile thing. The three realms loomed in majesty, surrounding me in glory where I sat stunned in awe on the threshold, that liminal space where land and sea meet sky. I was so utterly small — and yet, a witness to this greatness, I held all this in the intimacy of my own body, concentrated and unfurling through the three realms, the elements of my being a microcosm of this larger world.

The goddess of starlight and transformation leaned away from me, a small, slight figure full of power and primordial energy churning in the dark. This is it, she seemed to say, this is what you are here for. To be the witness to the wild, overwhelming wonder of the world — to be small and simple beneath the sky, to drift light and buoyant upon the sea, to dance fragile and always half-rootless across the land. No other view is better than this one right here, no other view is meant for you. You cannot become big by strife and struggle. You can only participate in the vastness of creation, you can only join in relationship with the greatness of the world, by staying here to attend to your place in it with openness and gratitude. You are not in service to your self alone; you are in the service of greater things than you.

The kiss lingered still, flooding my senses with the slow opening of light and energy and song. I felt as though I were slipping into deeper trance... yet soon I found myself opening my eyes, the meditation over, the mundane room around me and the candle flickering in its holder, amber-rose in the bright sunlight thrown in slanted rays across the coffee table. Still, the energy flowed through me, and the vision remained.

Brigid of Amber, Brigid of the Stars

I frequent a forum called The Cauldron, where I belong to a flamekeeping Cill dedicated to the goddess Brigid. I began flamekeeping with them just before Imbolc of last year. (Mine is the third day in the rotation of twenty, and my shift has fallen more than once on days of special personal significance to me — which others have told me often happens during the first year of flamekeeping for a new Cill member.)

Recently, some wonderful and fascinating discussions have been going on in the Celtic Polytheism SIG, "Hazel and Oak," focusing on Brigid of the Forge as a creatrix/star goddess. The conversation has sparked (no pun intended) the suggestion of designing a group ritual. I want to plunge in and get involved in this work, journaling some of my thoughts and potential liturgical ideas on this blog, so I thought I would just mention this as an introduction for future reference.

I'll add to this later, but for now, here is a response I posted to the forum tonight, regarding the possibility brought up by others (and echoed in my own personal ritual experiences over the summer) of amber being a "stone" sacred to Brigid.

Part of the reason I did the three gifts meditation was to prepare for my trip to Northern Ireland (for a spiritual retreat focused on peace activism and social justice), and I was hoping for some images/icons to "carry with me" to meditate on during my time there. When the shadowy, robed figure outlined against the flames of the sacred fire reached into the heart of the fire and handed to me a droplet of amber, I think I actually laughed out loud in the middle of the ritual.

It suddenly seemed so obvious to me: first and foremost, amber as a "stone" of living fire or fire-in-water, the life-blood of the tree borne of the intermingling of the underground waters drawn up from the roots and the sunlight cascading down from the sky, cupped and drunk by the leaves. The prayer I use during my flamekeeping shifts begins: "Fire and water in the earth of my body, I keep your sacred flame." Amber as the sap or resin of ancient trees seemed like the perfect symbol of this idea.

And then, of course, is the fact that amber is especially well-known for containing the preserved remains of ancient insects, some of which contain the blood/DNA of ancient animals. So in another way, amber represented the "preservation and protection of life" and the continuation of ancient traditions and primordial energies or spirits. The fact that I was going to a retreat in the land of my ancestors that was focused on peace activism seemed to align perfectly with this idea.

I have wondered if anyone else made this connection to amber. While I was on the retreat, just after I'd found the amber sun amulet at the farmer's market, I had a discussion with someone at the retreat who was a former Pagan — he pointed out that amber and jet was a common combination for jewelry (especially among Wiccans, I think, if I'm remembering correctly what he said). But he said that amber was mostly associated with the God rather than the Goddess, being more "active/yang" and masculine. This deflated me a bit and so I kept my musings about any possible Brigid-amber connection to myself. So it's been wonderful for me to see others validating that connection and sharing some of their own thoughts!

And in keeping with the themes of fire-on-water and creation, I suddenly see amazing connections to the very first of the Rosary Poems I wrote back in college (of which, at the time, my advisor said, "Some poems just show up whole and perfect the way they are, like a gift"):

Annunciation

The light shines in the darkness,
and the
darkness has not overcome it. JOHN 1:5

Her yes becomes flesh
in flesh, white-winged fire swept
along sweat as if over the agitation
of waves, sharp spine of sunlight
in a slow serpentine across
the waters of her body —
there is no rushing it, no cascade
into the long cry of rising — only
a breath, a word, and the pouring
in of everything, even God.

More thoughts on all of this when I'm a bit more "together" and coherent.