January 8, 2018
The Moon is in Libra. The Sun is in Capricorn. A big conjunction happens on the ninth. Venus, The Sun and Pluto all meet up at 19 degrees of Capricorn. It’s one of Venus’ many superior conjunctions to the Sun. Her dance through the sky forms a five petaled flower. At this conjunction she transitions from a morning star into an evening star. Add Pluto to this mix and there is a burning of sorts, an alchemy.
Things I’ve Left on the Table
A field guide to butterflies. Since the hurricane there are new ones in colors and patterns I’ve never seen. A business card from a friend I met at the flower shop. Which reminds me of the business I grew and lost. Because even ideas need nurtured, watered, fed, encouraged, by ourselves and others. I’ve never been good at the nurturing arts. A half eaten sandwich, because, eating alone… and I tried to eat my lunch alone. A small pouch of blue beads. Will I ever use them?
Curiosities.
And the bigger things I’ve left. Silence. Truth. Power. A Wolf.
“Be still,” says the Wolf. “Be still so I can eat you.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I am you. And you want to know me.”
The way the fine hair on the edge of his ears moves as he speaks. It’s disconcerting. Yet there is something I trust in his eyes. Something inside me wants to give myself to him. He’s a liar. He’s an illusion. A thief.
“If I eat your hand you will know your hand. If I eat your heart you will know your heart. If I eat your legs you will know them. Your feet – you will know.”
“Is there a process? Do we need a fork and a knife?” I can’t tell if he appreciates my humor. He’s hard to read. “I have a half eaten sandwich here.”
He’s quiet and patient and then he grumbles… “You called me here.”
“Did not,” I quickly respond.
If a Wolf could roll his eyes…
Humor is always my cloaked reluctance.
I don’t know if the table is strong enough to hold both of us, but I shift myself up and sit cross legged in front of him. It’s true how big his eyes are. And those teeth! And his nose is wet and gross. I stop myself from making bad jokes.
“I’ve been stalking you since the last time we met,” his breath is the pungence of old blood and rot.
“I know.”
“You can’t use my power unless I devour you.”
“I know,” and I cry quietly.
He sniffs so close to my face, tracing my essence, my neck, he tastes my hand… the last of my innocence.
It turns out there is a process in the devouring. A blueprint. A structured alchemy. The nature of fractals, math and timing. A place beyond words. A space of pure intelligence.
And here is why Venus dances with Pluto. Why she is ‘under the beams’ in her dressing change. Here is the why and the when of Mercury sitting in meditation under his tree. And here is the purpose of a disseminating moon.
For a moment I am a mere curiosity on the table. For a moment I am not the field guide, but the butterfly, a very old Butterfly, entrained to the maps, the transits of the stars and planets. A Saturnian Blue Butterfly. Shifting and doing the endless joyful work of the pollen, the ceaseless devouring of spring.
I fly in the pattern of Venus’ five petaled flower. Because I can. Because I want to honor her steps.
Fractals and math. Music and resonance. The poet’s dream.
But then the Wolf starts a fire with my bones. I want to ask if I will know ash, but I remember my stillness, my breath. There is no ash. Only a knowing I can’t explain. A knowing that I will become the hunter of. I will be like a wolf listening for its call.
Things that disseminate…
The crows, the way they float and land.
Flocks of blackbirds.
Falling leaves.
The petals after rain, they dry, they drift, they feed.
The Black Kali as she births and eats her young.
A circle of rain.
I can only leave this place in that space between intelligence and words. That door where the shaman walks in and out, “Don’t forget to take your bones,” he says, his drum freshly stretched, his medicine in cryptic sounds and metaphor. A pouch of stones.
I’ve only known myself there and here.
The drum beats.
But my heart – I fed it to the wolf today.
“Yes, I called you here,” I say, resigning myself to his dance.
And now I am the wolf and he is me and I see all my weakness. My shadow. My light. The places where I’ve mis-stepped and retreated. I can see the when and the where. The times I’ve curled into myself.
Silence is the only crime I’ve ever committed against myself.
Never again says the Wolf. Never again says the ‘I’ I’m coming to know in new skin.
I come back through my breath. I open my eyes. I shake off my silence.
My legs feel different. They are mine but not my own. My feet hit the floor in a way I’ve never known. My heart feels lighter.
The birds don’t make a sound – but I feel the music in their wings.
Was it alchemy or the shifting towards this meeting in the sky that brought you here?
Venus, the Sun, Pluto all in alignment? It’s a rare occasion, this day.
Know that you called me here.
Know that you were called here to read this or to simply listen to the music.
Nicole~