If your
world looks quite different than it did a couple of weeks
ago, join the crowd. The November 1 New Moon in Scorpio,
almost exactly square Saturn and opposed Mars, ignited
a series of explosions around the world. Some of these were
political bombshells. The month got off to a particularly
bad start for the Bush administration, with the indictment
of a senior staff member, the announcement of a controversial
Supreme Court nomination, and news that the president's approval
rating had reached an all-time low. Trouble followed Bush
to Argentina, where demonstrations and riots erupted around
the Summit of the Americas. And in France, simmering civil
unrest turned into wide-scale rioting and fires. It seems
everywhere you turn, things have been blowing up.
There
were explosions in my home, as well - of less universal importance,
of course, but fairly disconcerting for us. Our cat, Spike,
fell ill with a mysterious malady. My husband's unhappiness
with his job reached critical mass and he tendered his resignation.
My hometown was hit by a devastating tornado. And I received
news that my last surviving aunt - coincidentally, a Scorpio
- is fading after a long battle with heart and liver disease.
Can a
plague of locusts be far behind?
I felt
terrific on October 31. But within a week of the New Moon,
I was curled up on the couch in the fetal position. The
volatile cocktail of the Scorpio New Moon and Saturn in Leo
had left me feeling like a tender pea crushed in a vice grip
of fear, worry, and guilt. Fear that my beloved pet would
be lost. Worry that my husband and I would face financial
ruin. Fear of saying goodbye to my dear relative and guilt
that I haven't been as attentive to her as I should have been.
It all seemed terribly bleak.
Saturn
is a harsh taskmaster and gave a particularly cruel edge to
the recent New Moon. But November is almost always a tough
month. Each year, the sun's journey through Scorpio plunges
us into deep self-examination. Where are we broken and
weak? Scorpio is prepared to tell us, insisting that we face
ourselves in all our wretchedness - to take the kind of "fearless
moral inventory" that's part of the twelve-step creed
- so that we may rebuild ourselves up, stronger than ever,
from the scorched earth. The Scorpio season doesn't lend itself
easily to light entertainment and simple pleasures; they offer
little that might further our quest for self-improvement.
Add Saturn to the mix, and this month the negativity threatens
to overwhelm us. It sounds like a good moment to be reminded
that perpetual dissatisfaction is no way to live.
Enter
the Full Moon in Taurus, Scorpio's opposite sign. Where
Scorpio can be dissatisfied and driven, Taurus is content,
patient. While Scorpio searches within for the path to transformation,
Taurus keeps his head pointed down to the earth, tasting the
sweet grass in the meadow. "Life is to be enjoyed,"
Taurus reminds us, like a good, well-adjusted friend. "Why
do you always want to be something else, somewhere else, someone
else? Why not enjoy what you have? Look at this meadow here,
it's gorgeous!"
Coincidentally,
Mars - the ancient ruler of Scorpio - is currently moving
retrograde through Taurus, and won't turn direct until December
9. I've read many fine descriptions of this transit, none
of them particularly upbeat; it's a difficult one to spin
in a positive direction. Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and Neptune
are locked in a tense configuration in fixed, intractable
signs. It seems whichever way we turn we meet resistance,
and the impulse is to dig in our heels and then charge, full
speed, at the brick wall in our path. But with Mars moving
backwards, the forceful approach is not working. The harder
we push forward, the more resistance we encounter, and the
angrier and more frustrated we become. So why not follow
the Tao of Taurus, the cow standing in the pasture, mooing
contentedly? Why not just let things be for awhile?
As the Full Moon approaches, Spike has recovered completely
from his illness, and it's a joy just to watch him as he merrily
chases his toys around the house. I've pledged to stop worrying
about the money situation, to be grateful for what we have
and to trust that all will be well. As for my aunt, well,
there is no reprieve there. We're losing her, and there's
not a thing that can be done about it. There's no saving her,
and there's no going back in time to be a better niece. The
best I can do is write a letter - she's too tired to talk
on the phone - to remind her that I love her, in my own failed
and inadequate way.
My friend
Dana
says that during this tense Mars retrograde period, with
ferocious planets squaring off in intractable positions,
she's been advising her clients to take up knitting or something
and just ride it out. While I'm not sure we'll see our politicians
wielding needles and yarn anytime soon, it sounds like excellent
advice for human-scale problems like mine. I don't know how
to knit, but fortunately I have a fertile imagination. So
this Full Moon, I'll sit by the fireplace and imagine I'm
knitting… not lengths of yarn, but strands of leftover
pain, loss, and frustration. I'll knit them into something
useful - say, a warm and wooly sweater, and cloak myself in
its comforting scratchiness. Then I'll empty my head of all
destructive thoughts, and - Taurus-like - pour a cup of tea,
scratch the cat behind the ears, and hum a little tune while
the fire burns.
