Astrology, Personal Stories: Alternatives to Armageddon

November 19, 2023

Note: Wow. Wrote this on November 17, and forgot to post it . . . Still relevant, so I will now.  And BTW: just yesterday, a friend of mine did the same thing: almost, but not quite, blew it: similar circumstances, similar knee jerk reaction, and so on.

My chart. See Mars, on left, at 2°41 Sagittarius, opposite Uranus at 1°35 Gemini.

If you recall, I’ve been beset by a Saturn transit, squaring two natal planets, Mars and Uranus. (Saturn rules teeth, among other things; see the three tooth drama, posts 11/14-11/16).

 

Notice Mars, on left, at 2°41 Sagittarius, opposite Uranus at 1°35 Gemini.

(If you check the ephemeris, it’s obvious that transit Uranus is also nearing my Taurus Moon, but that’s another story. In all, this natal aspect pattern — which, in total, includes Mars/Uranus/Saturn, with Moon nearby, trined and sextiled by Neptune/Midheaven and Pluto — will be activated, and in this case, pummeled, for years to come. Then add in the upcoming Pluto opposition to itself (for the first and only time, since Pluto’s cycle is 248 years) during the same years, and I know I’m either going to die in earnest or die to my present self. Not surprising, since I’m in my 9th decade!)

And now, transit Mars, Laura Bruno reminds me, is about to enter Sagittarius, and thereby conjunct my natal Mars and oppose natal Uranus. That’s on November 24. Okay, I’ve got a few days to figure out how to position myself for the no doubt increased eruptive effects of my original natal Mars/Uranus opposition presently squared by transit Saturn!

Hmm . . . shall I stop driving a car, at least for the time being?

Because, four days ago, in my car, I underwent a Saturn/Mars/Uranus drama that lasted only a split second, and almost, but not quite, killed me.

I was driving home, through my Green Acres neighborhood, slowing to a stop at each intersection, and looking both ways prior to crossing. BUT: at one of these intersections, I did not see a car coming; no, it must have been hurtling towards me. In other words, I looked both ways, but in this case, not far enough. For as I started to cross I heard a loud long horn, and blinked to see  a car pass my car within a fraction of an inch. In fact, I’d say this was one of those times when time and space morph to allow what needs to happen without tragic result.

Of course I was chastened, and vowed to look much further down the road, especially at this intersection.

Then day before yesterday, I narrowly averted another intense, eruptive drama, this one psychological/emotional, rather than physical.

I have been emailing the Green Acres Permaculture gmail group, re: having T-Day dinner here for any strays who don’t have family to dine with. (This is in lieu of what had been my habit, to go out with my son Colin Cudmore for dinner that day. Now that he’s “otherwise engaged,” my habits had to change too.) I have had some responses to my quest, both definitely yes and unfortunately no, but wondered about one person who I knew wouldn’t have anywhere to go otherwise. So I texted him personally. Are you going to join us? And received a long paragraph in return talking about how he will never attend another Thanksgiving Day dinner as long as indigenous people are still being massacred.

Wow! Oh, that’s right! That IS the origin story of this particular holiday. And in fact, I remember blogging about it years ago. But what I want to articulate here, is how, once again, I narrowly averted what could have been a horrific clash between me and this person.

Because my immediate reaction was: “Oh so you think you’re better, more morally, politically correct, than everyone else, huh?” His response had felt like a big blow to my ego. Which went into instant reactive mode, humming with desire to lash out, tell him off, and so on.

Instead, I sat there, noticing my inner state, my need to tell him off, to go tit for tat, because that’s how I was interpreting his paragraph. And as I kept sitting there, I moved into what it must like to be him, and realized that yes, he was suffering from the horrific massacres that are going on now, and was totally reminded of what the colonists did to the indigenous peoples here: signing treaties that they never meant to keep, introducing diseases, killing off buffalo herds, making them undergo forced marches, finally corralling them onto the poorest, most arid lands and sending off their kids to be indoctrinated.

Yuck. For a minute, I dwelled in that sorry tale too.

But then, another, larger part of me just texted back: “Hey, can we just celebrate, thankful that we have each other?”

Didn’t hear back by text. But then, a few hours later, he appeared, looking bright and friendly. I asked again, and this time with an addition: “Hey, how about coming, and we’ll do some kind of ceremony acknowledging the origins of Thanksgiving, apologizing for that travesty, while actually being thankful to get together? Despite the horrors the whole world is once again going through?”

He immediately agreed, saying, “What’s important is that we focus locally, right here at home, to bring in another reality entirely.”

As I said, I just underwent another near miss, another Mars/Uranus luckily reconfigured by disciplined Saturn, which helped me to stop, and witness what I was wanting to say, the outburst my snarky self was eager to express. Instead, the two of us created a third, and larger reality, that combines the other two.

So. When Mars starts to pummel this ongoing Saturn/Mars/Uranus configuration, maybe I should just stay home and shut up? No, I don’t think so. This is an even more profound opportunity to consciously model a personal alternative to armageddon, here inside my own all-too-human being; here, inside this neighborhood, this town, this state, this region, this country, this world.

 

On the Meme Narrative Trail, Again . . .

November 18, 2023

On walk with puppy Shadow this morning, I was noticing that I just don’t want to try to figure out what’s happening in the larger world anymore. Can only barely stomach “the news,” even from alternative sources, knowing that “things are (apparently) getting worse and worse and worse.” And as for wringing my hands and clenching my teeth (though I can no longer clench, thanks to  three back molars gone . . . see posts November 14, 15, 16), I’m reminded of what my late, patient, and always wise husband Jeff Joel would say to me: “But Ann, what can you do about it?” Meaning there’s nothing you can do about it, so why spend so much time kvetching?

Well Jeff, I can do something about it. And that’s to stay centered and grounded, right here, on this living, conscious land, with these animals and housemates and neighbors and townspeople, learning how to “grow community from the ground up.” YES. A multi-year, perhaps even multigenerational project, given that the mycelial web of life (extended families residing in the world’s villages) has been, is still being, bombed to smithereens.

Yes, stay right here, right now. Hyper-local. Regenerate the world into what I, and millions upon millions of others, long to live in.

But of course, I can’t stay away completely from what’s going on out there. “The news,” after all, is what I call my “root addiction.” (It’s the only one left, now that both cigarettes and weed are gone). And this one’s a doozer! I’ve been at it since I was five years old . . .

So, sometimes, in my daily internet peregrinations, I wander into intriguing memes, which I collect on my desktop, and then, when I’ve got enough, weave into some kind of a narrative. Not that I’m “connecting the dots” in the only way they can or should be connected, because, as we are beginning to realize — even those among us (like me) who wish we could stay dogmatic and certain that whatever threads we’ve come across or weave ourselves are “THE TRUTH,” — nope! Reality is fickle, flickers in and out; reality is multidimensional and many-hued; in short, everything, absolutely everything, from the teensy to the galactic, is connected. In myriad ways. Reality shimmers and shudders all of a piece: otherwise known, by Buddhists, as “co-dependent arising.”

So here’s today’s made-up meme narrative of themes currently on the mind of this one who is waking up to our silly, deluded “rulers” nasty plans.

 

Let’s start with our damn cell phones, shall we? (Amazing fact: Jeff’s dad Amos invented the cell phone!)

On our morning walks, Shadow and I are accustomed to pass by IU students walking to and from class, 90% of whom are clutching their cell phones, and a majority of these have it on. Each is entranced by a tiny screen while robotically stumbling or marching through an unusually beautiful campus, undergoing continuous seasonal change, its insects, plants, trees, squirrels, birds, all sorts of critters, all having a great time humming and harmonizing in their own mysterious languages.

And you know? It really is the case that, as he? or she? comes toward me, I often cannot tell whether that student is male or female, at least not until I scrutinize closely. Which always makes me wonder. Is it only woke/gender propaganda that has set these young ones on such weird gender-bending paths? Or might hormones in our food, water, air, and so on also contribute. And oh hey, and how about the 72 vaccines now on the CDC schedule for children? Might this massive injection array also be confusing, even transmogrifying, their minds, bodies, souls?

And then there’s another major propaganda op university indoctrination centers have instituted. Scary. Just today, Shadow and I shuddered as we walked by the new and imposing, gigantic Hamilton Lugar Center for Global and International Studies on the IU campus.

I and fellow “truthers” like to think that a certain human being will “save us” from the gathering hell-on-earth storm. Which means, of course, that those who “oppose us” think the opposite. Divide and conquer.

And of course, the recent and ongoing disgorgement of all the muck in the collective unconscious, including, more and more now, pedophilia, child and organ trafficking, child sacrifice, satanic ritual abuse (supposedly happening especially in tunnels world wide, including under Ukraine and Israel); naming names, more and more, of politicians, actors, business people, on and on, a majority of whom are susceptible to bribes and blackmail, yep . . .

Well no wonder. Did you ever notice this symbolism?