The expression “rolling over in his/her grave” was simply made for a Pluto station*. Pluto moved direct a couple of hours ago, and the day feels downright haunted. It’s as though Uranus, as part of their ongoing feud, has upturned some rather large Plutonian boulders, unearthing all the squirming, slimy things that were living underneath.
I’m fearful today. That’s part of the Pluto journey. I don’t intend to rush, whistling, past the graveyard, desperately seeking comfort, redemption, or even wisdom. Instead, I’ve pulled up a low, hard bench in the middle of the cemetery. I’m listening to a cool wind in the trees, rustling the leaves of panic, confusion, grief, and rage. I’m sitting shiva with Pluto.
I could as easily watch a horror movie, or read a ghost story. These are ways of letting the gremlins out to play, projecting our fears onto a blank screen or page where they feel manageable. So are dressing as a goth, devouring vampire books, or having a picnic in a cemetery. Flirting with death at a cool, ironic remove is cathartic, Pluto kabuki theater.
But every now and then, life makes it impossible to keep fear at a safe, rational, sanitary distance. Boulders get overturned, and nastiness is revealed. We find that what’s been long buried is rolling over in a shallow grave, begging for release.
Come sit next to me. We’ll listen carefully; we’ll watch for what comes next.
* A “station” is the period during which a planet shows down before moving retrograde or direct.
