URANUS RETURNS, and POW! Get serious, Ann.

May 29, 2026

From the I Ching, Wilhelm version, another copy of which I just purchased, since I don’t know where my old one went. What’s interesting to me is just how far I had strayed from the magical, shamanic, ceremonial (intensely right brain) aspect of my practice (When husband Jeff was alive, we used to do Ceremony, at each New Moon).

So I sat down yesterday, lit a candle, meditated for a bit, and then tossed the coins.

Oops!

Could there be a more Uranian announcement?

Read this hexagram through and you’ll know why this reading ignited a deeper process within myself regarding my Uranus Return.

Deeper in the sense that I simply must deal with two opposing value systems (of course! what’s new?) flowing through me internally: they simply must be reconciled within me as I go forward.

One is the whole business of “intergenerational wealth” (which I saw somewhere, is a “Jewish” tradition, as I discovered recently also, that I am “Jewish”!) All three of the homes in Green Acres Village were purchased, starting 23 years ago, with intergenerational wealth, one each from my deceased husband, father, and mother, in that order. That’s how I chose to use what was gifted to me. To create something both real and inspirational in the material world.

Not that I knew what I was doing. This was definitely a situation that permaculturists have now formally recognized as “Emergent Design.” Little by little, one decision leading to the next, the incipient vision gradually materializing.

BTW: according to (definitely  doomer) Kathryn Austin Fitts, what she calls “Mr. Global,” or, “the committee that runs the world,” is “intergenerational wealth!” I just saw her talking about this, in a tiny clip taken from a much longer podcast.

So why would I happen to see this clip now, now during my Uranus Return, when the two value systems happen also to be glaringly apparent, very much up for conscious review?

You guessed it. The other value system is community-oriented. How to preserve Green Acres Village in the event of my death?

My much preferred alternative is for each of the three homes to be sold to a person or people who are as deeply invested in this “tiny paradise” as I am. Have already sold the third house, to Elisha, a long-time Community Dinner participant who, when she bought it, completely transformed our common garden into a real showcase. I mean we’ve got an eight-pound cabbage this spring, already! This was a total surprise. I had no idea she was so incredibly talented and experienced. Not just with the land, but with friends and neighbors who are now working with us in the garden.

This hexagram reminded me of what’s going on now, at a deeper level. For it’s true, I must set things in order, to guarantee, as far as possible, that my death will not disrupt the evolution of Green Acres Village and its homeopathic effect on this neighborhood and beyond. Does this mean I have to set up some kind of a land trust? I sure hope not. Why? Because I’ve learned that “Intergenerational wealth” is still somewhat of an issue in my family. Don’t want to go against that value system either! Which is why I would much rather be assured that two individuals in our community would want to step up to the plate in the event of my sudden death. (Sell both homes for a bit less than market value, like I did with the first one.)

After all, what is more worthwhile than our Green Acres Village motto?

GROWING COMMUNITY FROM THE GROUND UP.

And who would be more of a fool than one who dies without having even made that further evolution possible?

 

As URANUS RETURNS, I’m “Coming Back Home”

May 27, 2026

I remember when I drove east on a winding road through the countryside from Terra Haute to Bloomington, and the strangest feeling enveloped me. I felt like I was “coming home.” This feeling was utterly new to me. In my 60 years, I had simply never encountered such a feeling, living instead, as a bird on a tree, liable to fly off at any moment.

Similarly, when Coming Back Home in terms of the first and only (unless I live twice as long as now: joke?) Uranus Return, while nearing my 84th birthday: the road has felt and still feels winding; I never know what’s just around the next corner; and the corners are not just 90° turns, they are infinitesimal, magical, subtle. A one degree difference makes all the difference! Have you noticed? Truly, we are spiraling, rather than merely cycling.

Okay, now here’s what I want to speak of today. My Coming Back Home series that I composed and published in the local newspaper when I again lived in my home town of Twin Falls, Idaho, back in 1976. The series was read by all sorts of people, and very much either appreciated or denigrated. Finally, after the 7th one the publisher took me to lunch to say that there were simply too many important people in town who did NOT appreciate the series, and that he would have to stop it, now.

Here’s the ebook I composed of this series.

Coming Back Home

 

Two years later, I found myself leaving another publication, one that I had started myself, and then, of course, as is my way, grew restless.

Here’s the piece I wrote in OpenSpace, about my life’s journey back then.

 

EYES ARE LIGHT SENSITIVE

 

I wrote that essay as the final column for the newspaper, and then, when it was not published, shelved it for two years.

It begins:

Plato tells the story of a people who lived in a cave. All day long these people sit, backs to the door, staring at reflections on the wall. These reflections — dancing shadow and light — the people take to be real, the real world, the facts.

Ever so often one of these people stares at the wall for too long. He grows hypnotized: the wall disappears, his orientation dissolves; he is left lost, lost and confused. 

Usually, the strange one returns to his normal state of staring in time. Nobody notices. Nobody gets embarrassed . . .

I was talking about myself. . .

Another excerpt:

We come into this world, says Plato, trailing clouds of glory, knowing all and everything. Yet we leave it knowing only “the facts,” mere shadows. Why. How does this happen.

Thus the story of the cave.

Here’s the drawing that accompanied this article:

Wow. I just this morning realize that this drawing includes me! (taken from a photo that I remember well). I have no memory of who did the drawing . . .

A bit more from that old essay, which even now, I find utterly remarkable. So amazing, to have lived one’s life consciously, learning, learning, learning, both from experience, and how to express linguistically. So very grateful.

And if the path from the shadows to the door is full of pitfalls, then the path ahead is infinitely steeper, longer: the distance form earth to the sun.

Our seeker has turned, his body now faces the door. Slowly, surely, and of its own accord, that body moves through the door and into the light. A living body seeks to warm itself. This is only natural. But eyes were not made to turn to the sun. Eyes are light-sensitive; too much sun can blind. These blind ones are our burnt-out cases.

In order to turn to the sun, and not go blind, our seeker must look obliquely, as if only in passing. There is no direct path to the truth. This seeker is mortal. Mortals have bodies. Human bodies have eyes. Eyes are light-sensitive.

Our seeker has seen the light.

And the light has made him changed. And he is full of light now, compassionate.

He returns to his homeland, the cave. But his fellows do not recognize him. They stare as he walks by. 

And he looks at them, and sees their stares, and feels strange. He is a stranger, and this is a strange land, his homeland, a land he no longer feels at home in.