July 30th, Mercury opposition Jupiter and a loony T-square to Neptune, we histrionically enter the world stage as lovesick dancers with tears made of silver and copper glitter, lipstick smudged from kissing our own selves overwhelmed by romantic projections.
If not for this literally enacted self-love, if not for the touch of lips to own skin, then the boiling passions for phantasms of others—of lovers, of ghosts of future segments of life— would be too unbearable and possess us with rage, lust or righteous indignation. The smudged, danced descent into papers covered in candy hearts is more bearable, as we lament over having written love letters to the whole class and species.
Two flames burn steadily and emit sparks overhead, announcing the present crisis as an opportunity to temper that urge for both merging *and* autonomy with a touch of humility, love of one’s own speculative suffering and oceanic sadness.
The popping embers in the air keep the frenzy at a sufficient distance from our lovesick dance, and we know, rolling in the sugary artifacts of our own longing, that the stage provides the clue into the hearts of the foundations of human support systems we need to preserve.
What’s worth preserving, in this instance, is that which nourishes the innermost vital burning of passionate discovery, emotion and connection.