It’s true that once broken something will never be as it originally was, but does that fact spell doom?  Do we sweep the fragments into the trash and discard them? What happens when we pick up the pieces and mindfully set about creating a mosaic that is not what it originally was manufactured as, but may be more beautiful in the end.

If I hadn’t been broken, would it have been better?  Would I have been able to access my empathy for others as easily?  Would I have it any other way?  I can’t say I would, now that enough time has past and I feel the grout setting up around my tesserae.  I really like the look of my mosaic, even the dark jagged pieces and the crumbly bits.  I like how I’m adding to it too.  It’s harder to do that with a perfect, preformed plate.  Add to it I mean.  It’s already been formed and has it’s purpose.  There is a certain rigidity to it.

Maybe you’ve noticed, but there quite the focus right now on people questioning, finding themselves, people exploring the meaning of things and talking about them using these social media forums.

This might be because of some heavy astrological transits that have been building and playing out for years.  These transits are Cardinal in modality, movers and shakers, catalysts.  The generational planets, where the cardinal signs stay for years, are Pluto and Uranus.  Gods of destruction/transformation and rebellion/awakening/unpredictability/perversity respectively.  They are doing their upheaving cardinal dance, fully armed against each other in a square aspect and have been joined by Mars and Jupiter, for a time, to complete a Grand Cross.  Four corners, ready to go, no escape.  Relationships are at the highlight of this Grand Cross, with a Libra mars running forward and then backward while Jupiter lobs it’s expansive energy bombs at the other three corners.   Even Venus, goddess of attraction and relationships, joined in the foray to waltz through a veritable destruction and restoration of personal relationships this winter with Mars as her special dance partner.  If nothing else, then these past couple months have been eye opening for people and perhaps a bit restless feeling.

That first part was two years ago.  When I saved this draft and never posted.  The Grand Cross has moved on.  The last members involved, Pluto and Uranus, are slowly separating.  These are two of the slowest movers who constantly go into retrograde and waltzing back to each other.  In their wake we see a heightened pitch of discord around the world.  The rise of horrible atrocities committed by terrorist groups preying on the weakened emotional and mental states of young people who have experienced upheaval and violence most of their lives.  An juxtaposition and backlash for true civil rights enforcement.  Civil rights that include all people.  Violence.  Discontent.  Whistle blowing.  People railing against broken systems and dragging subverted mentalities of oppression and inequality to the surface.  We are reaching a fever pitch and WWIII may be on the horizon as a result.  Why?  Because no one is really left who remembers the atrocities of the first two.  Because humans in general seem to be very forgetful and therefore generally bad at remembering history.  Maybe it will be a quiet conquering of the corporations world wide and we will sink into some Orwellian type of brave new world.  Maybe it will be a rough patch and we will make it through by the skin of our teeth.  Who knows.  It is not an exciting time, though, it is stressful.  People are struggling to live everywhere.  In all this you see great amounts of generosity and kindness done by individuals as well.  Almost like a rebellious act against so much hate and chaos.  We can hold onto that.  We can carry that part through, no matter what else happens.  Eventually that will win.

The dawn this morning was incredible. In a clear, cold stillness the infinite diamond patterned, indigo inked expanse began to melt against a jagged gradient of rising turquoise over the Cascadian east exalted in a glassy reflection from still waters, until suddenly and silently the universe transformed wholly into luminescing navy blue, drowning out all star light except for Venus, who was still shining bright against the golden approach of the solar onslaught, as I exited reality in exchange for the manufactured existence that was the catalyst and facilitator for my experience of this night-to-day transmutation.

My head hits the pillow and all of a sudden I remember being five and running across the field next door to feed my good friend the horse.  He was dark dark brown, close to black.  I don’t care what I named him.  It was probably Lucky or something like that.

Then there was trying to float through the four foot tall golden grasses to make flattened nests so no one would see your tracks to the secret forts.  Where the power of solar energy struck you for the first time when you stuck your hands down in the red clay of the hole Dad was digging to plant that pine, which eventually grew too tall and obstructed the view, and felt the warmth from the sun! even though the sun was setting.  What?!  Dad never does anything fast.  The sun would be setting before the hole was dug.  How could that ground be still warm and how many worms are there in it?

And the igloos in winter, and the hot tubing anytime.  Or just watching the valley change with passing clouds, when they weren’t descended upon us in a dense fog.   Or the sky at night where the entire universe was right there.  Right there!  Wherever we are in that stupid spiral of the the milky way.  Every single piece of stardust is there and then down on the valley floor little spots of human made stars on their little modern homesteads, until you get over to the east side Albany cluster with its poop smelling paper mill.  How do you just let go of being on the brink of such an amazing piece of this planet?  So close to civilization but still so far removed.  So safe over the hills, on the edge.  The embodiment of the love and security that only the luckiest of us ever get to experience.  So safe.

Oh my god.  The first time you realize there is a space in time when you see the rain coming and it hasn’t hit you yet because you were faced south at the right moment on the trampoline and you got to inhale and feel it hit you and you just laugh with your friend about it.  Neither one of you can believe it.  Or the time the sun rose right behind a clear east skied Mt. Hood casting a perfect silhouette on the pink and grey valley cloud cover when Mom was driving me into middle school.  Perfect.  We stopped for a bit to marvel at it because it was so extraordinary.  That only happens once in a lifetime.  Guaranteed.  Or just being able to fall asleep on the sun warmed couch in front of the tall tall windows after school.  That happens more than once in a lifetime.  Guaranteed.

I wonder how long the loss of the is place, with all my memories, the place I thought I would get married at and bring my babies to play and revel in, where the dogs never wanted to leave, will come upon me like this.  Just a onslaught of sensory and memory.  Who gets to grow up like that?  With all the world out in front of you, constantly changing but you know what color the mustard field will be in the spring and how it will change in the summer.  The changing hues from the harvest or spring plow.

How do you stop missing something like that?  When the colors and the smells are driven so deeply into your soul?

People change, people die.  All you have left are the memories, which are intangible in themselves.  But the objects that are the foundations for the memories.  They can endure.  The set the stage to play it out on on and return to, grounding down into it and triggering the memories.   Homes, places don’t have to die.  They survive the shortness of the human lifespan and fallible brain cache.  People are driven to pay homage to physical places.  It is part of our nature.  As close as we get to philopatry.  These places endure, after all the time has past we can still reach out and touch these place and are moved by them.  We make architecture important in the sentimentality of our cultural history.   Why would a childhood home like this be any different?   How could something like the Notre Dame Cathedral or Stonehenge or the pyramids be anymore compelling or significant that stepping out onto that pink concrete that Daddy had poured first thing after moving in?  It’s going to be warm or freezing, but you are going to hit it with your bare feet.  Into the sun or wishing you could get swept away into the opaque mist of those low lying clouds or maybe to chase down the orange tabby cat to snuggle.  Lets face it, he’s running to you in the rain or snow knowing he’s wanted inside.  But now he’s gone too.  Maybe just peeking your face out when you get older and less adventurous to inhale that sharp, crisp  scent.  How else would you know the snow is coming?

It keeps you up late at night by times knowing that it’s gone.  It’s just gone.  Like watching the seasons change the valley and the ornamental cherries.  Not the firs really.  Except for the springtime lime green tips, so I guess they did change too.  Or how those cloud patterns moved across the valley farms or the four foot grass next door always got mowed down around September even after we had grown out of trying to create our secret spaces.  The wind on those cloudy nights never stayed either.  This is how you rationalize it.  Like experiencing that impermanence would prepare you for the ultimate loss of your home.  Your heart.  Sometimes it all comes rushing back though.  Everything.  Everything that no camera could ever capture or any words would really ever properly express.  It just comes sweeping up on you from the side when your head hits the pillow, out of nowhere and the tears you thought you were done with after the last time pour down.  You can’t stop that remembering or the longing.  All that working logic goes right out the window so you finally get up and write about it so maybe this will be the last time.

quite like experiencing children grow over the years and student loan forbearance limits.

Just because a person is in control of their Self does not mean they are in control of others.  Just because other people fall in line behind those with self control does not mean they are being controlled, they are merely seeking control, all the time maintaining their free will… just maybe not their recognition of it.  Don’t blame this lack of consciousness on others, finger pointing at those who possess self control.  They can’t help others responding to this strength and wanting to use it like an umbrella.

Although there are people who do attempt to control others.  These are people who do not possess self control, and although they seek it, they misunderstand it and therefore misplace it.

We need other people so badly. Ultimately we are the one’s who change ourselves or finally heal ourselves, but it takes other people to show us the way. It can be brief moments in time or it can be a steady support over years. But we need others. We have to learn through their perspectives, their experiences, and their lessons as we experience our own. Never think you can do it all on your own, you need timely and appropriate support. We all do. Don’t be ashamed of it or feel guilty, embrace and accept it. It feels really good in the end.

I don’t like being called a temptress. This isn’t a compliment. It is a way for men to rescind responsibility for their feelings and to impose shame on me for being myself. I am the furthest thing from a temptress, I imagine watching me consciously attempt employ an alluring feminine tactic would be the equivalent of watching someone trip over their shoe laces and fall flat on their face, chipping their tooth in the process. The opposite of tempting. I am just not cool like that.

I am however, pretty much my unbridled authentic self most of the time. I imagine I am way less attractive when I am not being my authentic self, too. I have this sneaking feeling that it’s the strength in my personality that makes dudes feel like they have to play the blame game because they can’t handle it or unconsciously want to control it in someway since they note the lack of control over themselves.

I imagine it doesn’t make sense to them b/c I don’t fit an idealized stereotype of super hot femininity. I won’t be the hottest female in the room, so it might be confusing to most men as to why there is an attraction (the shallowness of our current culture being another topic entirely). And I’m not saying I’m not attractive. I am aware that I did not get beat with an ugly stick and I feel nicely confident in the way I look. I’m just saying I know my place in an objective sense through our shallow cultural lens regarding beauty. How could I not between all the guy friends and the media images and the socialization? I do, however, feel less confident when I get called a temptress or anything similar.

Sorry for the rant. People in general dislike this shit but I was up early and something came around in my wanderings that made me think of this again. I’ve been stuffing it down for a while, and I just feel like it should be said. I can’t be the only woman that feels this way and why should I hold my tongue if this keeps coming back into my mind and ruffling my feathers?

Calling a real woman a temptress is hurtful. It shows a deep misunderstanding and distrust of her true nature. This is sad for both sides b/c real women are amazing and awesome and authentic. Real women aren’t doing anything but thinking of you when they are with you, and if you are lucky then they think of you sometimes when they aren’t with you. The kicker is, if a woman is actually a temptress, you’re not going to be conscious of it because she is a temptress. She is manipulating. That is how manipulation works. She will have you wrapped up in her web and stung with her neurotoxin and you will be senseless, except for maybe a dull ache in your heart where her poison has set in.

If you have been bitten before, don’t put the blame on someone else. Take responsibility for your part in getting caught in that trap. Don’t go blaming me if you are attracted to me and also don’t think I’m flirting with you just because I look you in the eye, talk to you like a human being, and treat you well. You deserve to be treated well b/c you are a human being but this does mean I’m trying to snare you in some way. In fact, don’t do this to any real women. Be mindful of your words, because words are POWERFUL. Words are the greatest power we have. And be kind. And take responsibility for how you feel, being careful of who you tangle with because there are toxic, manipulative people out there and some of them are attractive women. I know and love enough dudes to be clued in that your brains are actually in your noggin and not your peen, no matter how many societal cliches say differently. Saying guys only think with their cock is another way to pass off responsibility and is hurtful to men. Your peens are very nice but they don’t define or control you. Also, take the time to really identify how you feel. This will help with the responsibility part.

…until I decided that my fb wall was just not a place to always put my thoughts.  Sometimes I get sporadic, somewhat well formed thoughts which I have the ability to articulate.  I don’t want to censor these thoughts because I think I’m posting too much stuff that could be misconstrued as preachy on the ol’ fb and blogs are the perfect place to be misconstrued as preachy.  I mostly just want to state my thoughts on things and put them out into the Universe.  I also feel a good sense of anonymity in a blog…well as much anonymity as I desire, which I appreciate.

Since I study astrology, this topic is likely to pop up at times as well.

Oh, I am a Gemini wrapped around a watery Cancer core with a side of Leo, a garnish of Libra, and finished with an Aries glaze.  Delicious.