Yesterday
we learned that the new bride of our neighbor, a lovely man in his late 50s, was
killed two weeks ago in a car accident. Our neighbor, who was her passenger, remains
hospitalized in critical condition. They had been married less than one year.
When
we occasionally encountered him on our evening walks, he was so happy about his
new marriage, so in love with his wife, that he seemed lit up from the inside.
They were still engaged in the happy work of newlyweds - negotiating space in
their home, having the place painted, deciding where to put the piano. As far
as I know, he hasn't even regained consciousness after the accident. I don't know
if he realizes she's dead, or if he's going to fight his way back from traumatic
head injuries only to find out he's lost his wife.
After some neighbors
told us the news, my husband and I ambled home, in shock. "It just goes to
show, you've got to enjoy every minute," observed my Moon-in-Taurus spouse,
"because you don't know what's going to happen next."
And I agree
with that. Bad news (especially when it happens to someone else) makes us appreciate
what we've got. But untimely death is the ultimate Bad Thing, the grim joke
that raises profound questions about life itself. It's best not to rush past the
mourning and depression that naturally follow death; they are instructive. They
are moments when we examine our commitment to being alive; can it survive
the certainty of death?
Most modern astrologers like to look on the bright
side of things. We look for helpful ways to frame even the most difficult human
traits and experiences. For instance, when we talk about today's New Moon in
Scorpio, we'll talk about opportunities for empowerment, personal responsibility,
and letting go of negative patterns. Nothing wrong with that; these are legitimate
interpretations of the archetypes involved.
But sometimes, life serves
up something that comes with personal pain and psychic harm that can be hard to
frame positively. When Saturn entered Libra on October 29, it immediately
entered orb of a square with Pluto (exact Nov. 15 at 6:42 am PST), marking
a moment when personal and collective myths of control, power, and wise authority
figures come into a collision with cold reality. The horrifying Fort Hood massacre
was a grim reminder of what can happen when people reach their breaking point,
and of the powerlessness of their victims. The tragic death of my neighbor, sitting
at a traffic signal when a fellow motorist rammed into the back of her vehicle
at 50 mph, is another story of powerlessness.
Underlying such stories is
the chilling image of people who woke up thinking it was going to be a great day,
never realizing they had seen their last sunset. At least for a moment, something
like that makes you think about how you got up this morning expecting things
to go a certain way; will the rest of the day bring some awful event that makes
all your little plans look silly and naive?
It's not just events that can
make us feel this way. I've known - and I'll bet you've known - people who are
sort of death's minions as well. People who treat you like a joke, who are deeply
cynical, who grimace wryly at your efforts to express yourself or better your
world through education, political action, creative endeavors. The snide, know-it-all
cousin; the sarcastic co-worker. Their arch comments and cold criticisms can sap
the joy out of anything. There is nothing in them of the vulnerability that endears
us to our fellow travelers, no cracks in the armor through which a well-sung song
can pierce their hearts. They live behind one-way mirrors, spying on us going
through the motions of life while remaining invisible themselves.
They may
never lay a hand on us, but what they do our spirits feels like murder. As sure
as terrible news of a neighbor's untimely death, they stop your heart from wanting
to shine.
Each year the Sun's transit through Scorpio, the sign of
mysteries, of power (and powerlessness), and of death, reminds us that every human
story has the same ending. No matter what we try to do or become, death seems
to have the last laugh. The cynics seem to have it right: in the face of such
grim reality, why should we bother to hope, to love, to care, or to sing?
There's
an answer - or at least a clue -in the annual Leonids meteor showers that
pepper the sky with light for one night each November, while the Sun is in Scorpio.
This year's shower (Nov 16, 11:00 pm EST - Nov. 17, 4:00 a.m. EST), in the dark
of tonight's Scorpio New Moon, is expected to be spectacular, featuring up to
500 shooting stars per hour, according
to NASA. The meteors take their name from the constellation Leo, the part
of the sky from which they appear to stream. Leo and its ruler, the Sun, symbolize
life force, our reason for being here, and the part of each of us that engages
passionately in life. It's Leo that symbolizes the human urge to create art
and children, to outwit death by leaving behind bits of our immortal selves. Even
in Scorpio's dark season, this urge manifests itself in an awesome light show.
Today, my Scorpio New Moon altar is crowded with mementos of death. Glowing
candles nestle among pomegranates, fake bones and skulls, dried blood-red roses,
and photos of loved ones who've moved on. My favorite muerto stands with
her hands on her hips, chest puffed out proudly as if she's ready to let loose
with a song. A picture of my neighbor's wife, lovely and peaceful on her wedding
day, is there too. And something tells me that even if she'd known she and her
husband would have less than a year together, she'd have been just as joyous on
that day. When we love another person, we have the sense of creating something
deathless.
We're reminded at the Scorpio New Moon how easily accidents,
illness, and murderers can take our bodies, at any moment. Eventually, the body
will die - there's no controlling that. But remember, too, that life isn't
a body. Life doesn't disappear just because it takes a form we no longer recognize.
Life is like Leonid sparks of comet dust, streaking across the sky, illuminating
eternity even in the season of death.
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