“At the moment of supreme tension, there will leap into flight an unswerving arrow, a shaft that is inflexible and free.” – Albert Camus
“A perfect square configuration…represents a tight linking of two kinds of consciousness-building processes…which produce four 90 degree aspects…and leads to a very thorough and exhaustive type of clearing-up activity.” –Dane Rudhyar
Plato said the soul is a circle. But how do squares and circles come together? Imagine the difficulty of fitting a square peg into a round hole. Right?
The notion is annoying, but if you talk to most anyone (yourself included) I think you’ll agree that the concept — the blending of a circle and a square — is apt, especially now. Everyone is registering the twists and turns, the psychic torsion of the decade’s most significant astrological happening: The Grand Cardinal Cross of 2014.
But what is it? What does it portend? How long does it ‘last’? And how can you ride this particular tiger?
We’ll get into all of that in this essay.
I’ve loved the anticipatory build-up to the Grand Cardinal Cross (GCC) and how the term has actually entered the Zeitgeist. Everyone is talking about it, even the incredulous.
Essentially, this is an astronomical event that astrologers have claimed for themselves because it is a significant pivot point that resolves in 2015, with the final square between Uranus and Pluto.
Too, the term is elegant and beautiful. It’s also charged with an air of mystery and, for those so inclined, an Armageddon-taint (a misguided notion, but then consider the applicants.) Read more
I must have looked at 2 million photographs of the recent “Blood Moon” eclipse that took place during the Libra Full Moon the other night. I forget which night, but it was recently. I think two days ago, maybe three. (What year is this?)
Vashon had been clear all day, before the eclipse, and then the goddesses got moody and cloud cover slowly moved in from the east. By 10pm there was nothing but complete overcast; mist and a slow spitting drizzle.
But I was still rewarded because today I discovered this gorgeous time-lapse of the Blood Moon taken by photographer Nick Franchi.
He has made prints available from his website and I would recommend that you pick one up. Think how wonderful it will look in your home, a constant homage to lunar light (the reflected light from Sun) intermixed with a color we associate with being alive, vital and human.
(And no, I wasn’t going to say Mars — though of course guess where Mars was on the night of the Blood Moon? In Libra).
Human beings don’t observe each other enough. When you observe other people you’re observing directly the precise mystery of what life is.
It’s human nature to be both attracted to people and also shy and unsettled by people. We consider someone psychologically healthy who can navigate between the two poles.
It’s true that there are other ways to access a sense of wonder in life, say, through nature, art, spiritual devotion or simply staring at the night sky (if you live in a place where you can actually observe a night sky).
But there’s nothing like another human being to amplify the questions that should be primary in each of our lives: Who am I? Who are we? Where did we come from? Where are we going?
If these questions are not a priority in your life I can guarantee that you’re living a half life. And that’s a shame.
The wonder and awe and beauty and majesty of the human being, the very mystery of how we have a self-reflecting consciousness and our own unique window into reality — a window that phenomenologists call first-person givenness — is why in places like India when people meet each other they put their hands together and bow to the person across from them. That gesture acknowledges the indefinable mystery that is the other individual’s being, his or her divinity. Read more
“About five years ago I saw a mockingbird make a straight vertical descent from the roof gutter of a four-story building. It was an act as careless and spontaneous as the curl of a stem or the kindling of a star.
The mockingbird took a single step into the air and dropped. His wings were still folded against his sides as though he were singing from a limb and not falling, accelerating thirty-two feet per second, through empty air.
Just a breath before he would have been dashed to the ground, he unfurled his wings with exact, deliberate care, revealing the broad bars of white, spread his elegant, white-banded tail, and so floated onto the grass.
I had just rounded a corner when his insouciant step caught my eye; there was no one else in sight. The fact of his free fall was like the old philosophical conundrum about the tree that falls in the forest. The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there.”
Annie Dillard | Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
Gorgeous bird photography by TinyFishy