Long-time readers are familiar with Bodhi, our one-eyed, diabetic, 17-year-old cat. As that brief dossier suggests, she’s been through a lot and has taken us along for the ride.
In May, we nearly lost her to kidney disease, but she bounced back with impressive vigor. Last week, though, we went away for a 36-hour trip to L.A., and came back to a cat that was walking funny and wouldn’t eat. It’s reasonably dire, but she’s recovered from this kind of thing before. So the past few days have been spent trying to figure out whether she wants to rally or whether she wants to go. Right now, she’s sleeping on the floor across the room, and I’m trying to keep an eye on her without getting in her way. And trying not to think too much about what comes next.
It’s Scorpio’s season, when the changing leaves remind us that nothing lives forever and that endings are part of the package, with their own strange beauty. When some beloved creature stands at the door between here and the unknown, we watch, keep company, and try to read the rhythm of their breath, their will, their intention.
My loved ones have almost all died quickly, suddenly—from an accident, a heart attack, a blood clot, surgery. Only my aunt lingered long enough for me to observe the transition from life to afterlife, with its waiting and hard conversations, exhaustion and apparitions. It was my first experience of death as a process, as a land without maps or guidebooks, without a timetable or the comfort of certainty. When we’re sitting with death, Scorpio is the hospice guide who lays a hand on our shoulder and helps us get out of its way so it can do its job. But ruled by Mars, Scorpio is also the surgeon, the paramedic, the good Samaritan who intervenes when survival is possible.
It’s Scorpio’s season, when the changing leaves remind us that nothing lives forever and that endings are part of the package, with their own strange beauty. When some beloved creature stands at the door between here and the unknown, we watch, keep company, and try to read the rhythm of their breath, their will, their intention.
So we’re left trying to understand how to help, what are the right words, and whether we should encourage the fight or the letting go. But following on the heels of Libra, where the powers of rational judgment are refined, Scorpio doesn’t weigh life and death on scales; simply, intuitively, it follows the will of spirit. If we let it, Scorpio will help us get into the right line.
Yesterday, we celebrated the life of a friend who left us one year ago; he, too, made a fast exit. For those of us who knew him and enjoyed our time with him, reorienting in the aftermath has certainly been a process; it’s just that it’s one I’m a lot more familiar with, that long, slow waltz through the first year of milestones, the birthdays and holidays and anniversaries.
Meanwhile, as the Scorpio New Moon approaches, I’m doing a difference dance, the one of waiting and watching, helping where I can. The New Moon chart (Oct. 27, 8:38 pm PDT) points toward Uranus, the god of sudden changes and quick exits; but Mercury is stalling out, ready to reverse direction on Halloween morning, suggesting a reversal of the current situation. And today, the stubborn, heroic little Bodhi shows signs of improvement.
So, I’m waiting to see which way the winds of change will blow. And standing at the door—as all cat owners do—waiting for her to decide whether to go out or stay in.
© 2019 by April Elliott Kent
