by April Elliott Kent
A few years before I met my husband, I asked a psychic whether I would ever have children; she answered simply, “Souls are waiting.” I’m not sure why I even asked; I had never wanted to have children. I suppose I had a fantasy of what marriage should look like, and that included children – even if that wasn’t what I truly wanted. My fantasy was that I would someday be happily married to someone who would inspire me to want that pretty picture for myself.
In the end, the wisest, truest part of me fell in love with someone who shared my feelings about parenthood and not someone who I hoped would magically transform me into someone I wasn’t intended to become. I didn’t doubt that “souls were waiting”, but I also knew that I just wasn’t the right vehicle. Besides, I had faith that any souls feisty enough to have ever wanted to be children of mine would surely be resourceful enough to find another ride.
The Sun’s Sabian Symbol at this Full Moon is, “Cherub-like, a human soul whispers into every receptive ear, seeking to manifest.” Perhaps we’re all here because we had a great yearning to be – although we may have had to whisper in a number of ears before we found the right one at the right time. (Born with the Sun at this degree, I did more than whisper. I slipped in under the cover of a cold winter’s night, conceived to reluctant parents after what my mother called “a happy, drunken Christmas party.”)
Creative ideas work the same way, I think: When the time comes, you can’t stop them. More than once, I’ve written an article and soon discovered that a colleague has just written about the same idea. Each of us had been enthralled by some canny spirit, desperate to get its message across and unwilling to take a chance on just one capricious human to be its conduit. After all, one writer might not spark to the idea; another might take a crack at it but not be quite the right person to tell the story; and still another may just decide not to write an article at all.
Even if you are the right person to manifest a creative notion, you can’t honor every one that comes your way – at least, not all at once. It’s feast or famine with creative ideas, usually, and few of us do well by any of our irons when we have too many in the fire. At some point we have to choose just one or two and give them all of our energy. The rest we capture in a journal or document on some hopeful “to do” list to be revisited at some future, fallow time.
I hope you’ve been keeping such a list since early last year, when eclipses moved into Leo (the sign of creative inspiration) and Aquarius (ruler of broadcasting media and audiences). Perhaps your creative cup has runneth over, and more cherubs than usual have been pestering you, whispering story pitches into your ear, offering ideas for paintings, songs, activism, or gift ideas for your spouse’s next birthday. Eclipse energy is intense, and all that whispering can drive you crazy. And the high-pitched Uranian/Aquarian pressure of blogging and Tweeting and social networking that places the creative process constantly on display, may have left you feeling like you never want to pick up a pen or a paintbrush or a guitar again.
This Full Moon marks the concluding Leo/Aquarius eclipse until 2016-2018, the spiritual punctuation mark at the end of a long sentence. This lunar eclipse is the answer to a question we asked in February 2008, when the first eclipse in these signs fell just a few degrees away from this one, at 17.44 Aquarius (Sabian Symbol: “A man being unmasked at a masquerade.”): What have we become, and what is it that we, collectively, have come here to create?
After two years of play, it’s finally time to get serious – to put on the blinders and devote ourselves in single-minded pursuit of a specific goal. The chart for the Full Moon shows difficulties – mainly, a potentially frustrating and combustible t-square involving Mars, Saturn, and Uranus; this won’t be an easy birth. But even with an eclipse in the mix, the Sun and Moon are balanced harmoniously with tranquil aspects to Mars.
Here, then, is one final chance to bring the promise of the last nineteen months to fruition. Hopefully you’ve spent this time well, gradually unmasking yourself and connecting with people and ideas that reflect your authentic self. You’ve learned to listen to the muses and have started tuning in to ways in which you can begin to create the world you want, using the raw materials of the world as it is.
But what if you’ve stubbornly held on to your mask? What if you’ve failed to see past the illusion of what you think you should want, instead of recognizing what will make you feel truly alive? It’s not too late to redeem the promise of this eclipse cycle, and it’s important to do so. Otherwise – without a clear sense of self – you will be hobbled as you move forward to the work of the next eclipse cycle, in Cancer and Capricorn. That’s a cycle that asks us to pull up stakes and move ahead to the next stage of life – to act upon what we’ve discovered about ourselves, and to build the home and career environments that will nurture us and make use of our special gifts. To convert our true souls into societal and vocational currency, and to invest that currency into a future we can believe in.
A Full Moon is always a time of reflection. At this Full Moon eclipse in particular, it’s time to face yourself. Find a body of water, a mirror, or a crystal ball, and reflect. You don’t have to admit your flaws or weaknesses out loud to anyone else, but you have to at least be willing to stand naked before yourself. Who are you, and what makes you feel alive? You know the answer, even if you’ve spent nearly two years strenuously avoiding the question.
The Sabian Symbol for this Full Moon is “A train enters a tunnel.” Right now, there is something that wants to be born through you, some spirit of creativity that is yours alone to harness and manifest. You are the right person at exactly the right moment in time. Like an idea entering the mind or a baby entering the birth canal, it is time for you to become a train entering a tunnel – without distractions, and with no other options, to move forward along a single track. The light you see in the distance, at the end of the tunnel, is life.
© 2009 April Elliott Kent
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