To really experience autumn, in our bones, we wait until the Sun moves into Scorpio. This is when the promise of the Fall Equinox blooms: The dimming begins. The dappled daylight of September gives the impression that summer hasn’t quite given up the ghost. October, with the solar ingress into Scorpio, begins to reveal the twilight quietude. Light is fading. Dusk feels braced and melancholic; and we sense the passing of light as the cycle of life opens towards closure. Moving towards winter, for which Emily Dickinson wrote:
There’s a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.
The nimbus of light, from fall to winter, feels heavier. Opening towards closure. A little grief always accompanies a parting. So we prepare to put down what needs to be finished and then, perhaps, begin to settle, to hibernate on a dream.
And what wonders dreaming can offer. Autumn is the perfect prelude to delve into the radical conjunction between Jupiter and Uranus in Pisces and receive what’s hovering on the threshold of imagination. If Scorpio signals death and regeneration — a natural ‘adjustment’ in the flow, Pisces symbolizes: ‘The End’. The last two words of an old Hollywood movie. The close of a fairy tale. A discontinuous leap in a dream’s narrative. The Sun and three planets are moving through Scorpio — catharsis and cleansing. While the planets of faith and freedom are retrograding back through Pisces, a sign that is actually a threshold between all that’s gone before and all that is yet to come.
Move to your inner Jupiter and Uranus and align with the living spirit, those impulses within the universe that goad evolution and inspiration. You can’t sit still because your bursting with — well, something. And who cares if you don’t know specifically what that is. Just feel the movement towards your tipping point. We can envision the future by rummaging around the treasure trove of our past. Pisces is an annex of costumes to try on.
Gurdjieff taught the importance of taking on and playing roles in life. He knew it was the new set of experiences and impressions that was key. The role was a means to the new influx of force, or what he called psychic ‘food’. Because we’re all playing within a limited set of roles, it’s important, periodically, to expand and surprise ourselves. To contradict our comfort zones.
What does it feel like to be a reserved truckdriver or a powerful woman working her way up the corporate ladder? Or take on the role of a hermit who meditates three hours a day and lives on rice cakes. Shy and withdrawn by nature? Force yourself into a revealing ensemble and hit your local pub or nightclub. Play the role of a sexy femme fatale or shuck and jive hustler. This is the Piscean realm of theater, drama and make-believe. Jupiter just had to retro back into the closet because he wasn’t through trying on different costumes, and if you study Jupiter’s mythology you see that donning different roles and costumes was one of his favorite pasttimes. Once he gets the right fit, the right guise, Uranus steps in and ‘wows’ the entire production with crazy-making visions for the future. Big fun!
Combined, Jupiter and Uranus point to a koan that’s hidden deep within our ancestral ocean. Their retrograde motion indicates that we’ve overlooked some crucial element, insight or calling; necessary components to foster a dynamic vision, prophetic insight or even a new dreamscape. What we discover in Pisces’ oceanic realm can be activated when both planets progress back into Aries next year. As the mist evaporates we’ll find ourselves in possession of an old heirloom that’s actually a brand new key. What will it open?
The lunation chart for this Full Moon has an entire hemisphere of the sky crowed full, with only the South Node left dangling, opposite the bowl, in Cancer. It’s like the baby left at the doorstep of the orphanage. Who will mother this child? Filled-in hemispheres represent a lack of objectivity, no sense of relationship, nor perspective — only half of the story is seen or told. You can feel this in our political atmosphere — people everywhere are lost in a solipsistic bubble of blather, banter and banality. No dialogue. Just screaming and yelling from each individual’s (or tribe’s) treehouse. Talk about babies.
What does the South Node in Cancer portend? The difficulty in maturing, growing up. We can’t keep depending on the collective’s erstwhile mother or father figures (The Motherland or Korporate Amerika) to take care of us anymore. Government’s exhausted. The tit sucked dry. Banks are haywire, hogging all the money for themselves. Meanwhile, the Treasury is running out of ink. And there aren’t enough social services to deal with a bed bug plague (a perfect symbol for South Node in Cancer). This message is made emphatic by Pluto’s close proximity to the North Node in Capricorn. The way through involves tracking your death wish. Follow your instincts about what you have to kill off — and be merciless.
Chop, snap or burn. And then get on with the dreaming.