World Shadow Horoscope, November 10th, 2020

November 10th, messes of efficiency, comfort, service and nostalgia clutter our homes of body and soul. In the kitchens and offices of “to do,” foam runs along the tabletops and espresso stains linger, packet upon packet upon crumb dictating the hodgepodge of our inner/outer environs. The neurotic switch to alignment and conformity swerves us to the other extreme as the filing cabinets catalogue what needs most doing, the dichotomy of organization and mess, helpfulness and nuisance, cannibalizing itself.

In reality we’re all in quaint cottages with popup storybook lights, sat on by a smiling turtle-lord. The house lights flicker on and off, a reminder of our clinging to cozy memory and warm gatherings. The switches and household appliances say they need down-time, though—we’re using a lot of energy and need some time today in the dark, in hibernation. What we’re longing to apply can’t be done by force, but by sometimes turning the lights out and allowing the regeneration of the inner oven.

World Shadow Horoscope, November 9th, 2020

November 9th- who will roam solitary? Who will glide together, bound? Who will be connected in a moody orb, and who will violently cut off, separate, shaking off togetherness into their own construct of liberation? Can each of these paths constitute ways of sliding down the butterfly’s wing onto a worked-out path of heart-pumpingly related autonomy? The ‘one’ and the ‘two’ project themselves over and over today, in the guise of vain politicians looking in the mirror and lovers peering over each other in lust and repulsion, and sick hermits, too, booking it away to the woods.

When the two butterflies entwine their flights on a barren, vast trail, they present two lifelines to humanity: one takes the form of lit bull’s horns arching up to the sky, attached to a dreamcatcher; the other our toddler selves gazing at the nocturnal bottom of a steep cliff. The horns move up and toward the “we all,” the cliff yanks us down to sort out the complexity of the I and the We. Either route, today, can be a road to what is most vast, as long as we accept the moods that exponentially replicate themselves along the way.

World Shadow Horoscope (in the first person), November 4th, 2020

Yesterday, I was perplexed. Riddled by personal anxieties and distractions about health & symptoms on one level, and concerns about the nail-biting election on another level, I wanted to find a way to be present to the public within my means. I had imagined going live, posting an “ask me anything” in my Story, or providing some words of solace in the feeds. I could hardly manage to type or write anything, save for a response to a cousin’s question about our grandmother: who would she have voted for in 1952—Ike or Stevenson? My response to this question, the one text I managed to send, a lifeline to an ancestor, reconciling the American past with the American present and the interdependence of the two. The need to call upon those who have come before and to examine who they were & are: if those ancestors were bigoted, for instance, have those prejudices dissolved now on the other side? And, having transitioned over, are they now reaching across and providing counsel in a way that reflects the innermost essence of their genius, trying to catalyze our ability to communicate our own geniuses in this monumental moment?

Petrified, somaticizing symptoms, brewing garlic tea, skeptical of the fish that had been sitting in the fridge for a few days, wearing tense smiles with an intention to nurture my loved ones, wondering if I was hearing ringing in my ears that signaled a pounding fever (I’m fine), or simply too much noise from refreshing the election results on my phone, I scribbled out a shadow horoscope— more of a prayer, that came through an inner guide. And so, I begin the process of being here for you all by telling the tale of what was shown to me, and will leave this post at that:

An old giant with a blistery, hunched back calling themselves Grampy (or maybe Grammy?) asked to enter from out in the cold. He proudly proclaimed how cranky he was, saying he’d been through it all, and that the bumps & scars on his back were proof. In this visitation, I saw myself, birds-eye view, as in a dream, and my demeanor was as a child at a table waiting to hear it all from the Elder, being soothed & nourished by experience, finding pockets or holes to jump into within the stories behind that aged, dirty beard, seeking breathable respite from the fog of undesired outcomes. The giant swept his hand across the table, knocking the mead-filled copper cups down, cranky as hell. “The people should get some rest,” he said. “Anger won’t do them good tonight. Save energy for when it’s needed soon.”

He stood and revealed a huddle of scorpions in a strainer, saying, “I’m showing you my elixir for election nights.” He boiled the scorpions into a hot cocktail and we both drank up.

Everyone I’ve ever met and known, and everyone they’ve ever met and known, and so on, drank up, filling up with the reserves to regenerate on the deeper levels—staying power, calm, hot ice, and the nutrients to head underground to transform what needs changing at the core.

World Shadow Horoscope, October 30th, 2020

October 30th, as the moon prepares for fullness, a penguin slowly walks our desiring child-selves across a cliff passage, advising us to step slowly. But how can we stroll at a leisurely pace, taking in the scenery hinting at rock & ice, if we’re ill-at-ease? We arrive at a pitch black archway, encasing us in a power center that demands stillness. Sub-zero wind blasts our scalps and cheeks under there; a rush of cold that rewires the inner lights of desire. A nearby voice, perhaps that penguin-companion, or maybe another in that space where beings as we know them become invisible, whispers, “Know how to be uneasy, and know how this can steadily intensify your power. First, your passionate grasping must be refrigerated in order to express itself hereafter in a way that both survives and creates.”

In a different dimension, we’re shoplifting in tuxedos, smashing the glass and then vandalizing, staking claim to the force of possession itself. All the sensations that have mastered us through our cravings, the utter enjoyment of toxins, now clarifies itself when it’s all turned to ice cubes instead of flooding us with wavy inundation. Stay under the cool, silent arches, and let your violent, domineering greed freeze into something that preserves the goodness of others.

Full Moon in Taurus & The Week of 10/26/2020

It’s the kind of week when you fight with your lover and then process it all by chewing on a hunk of sugar cane and gathering dusty portraits of ancestors. It’s a week when shadowy surgeons creep up behind you evaluating how you treat your loved ones, how you approach important subject matter, how you measure up to the values of your own organs of desire. 

We may, in moments, feel back-stabbed by a lack of reciprocity, or by our failure to meet our own standards of making passions visible and relating to others in a loving way. “Why aren’t they serenading me and pouring all their resources forth in a spontaneous burst of love? Why did I just say that cruel, sadistic thing and remind that person how much they owe me? I’d never do that!” But with a full moon on Saturday conjunct Uranus in sensual Taurus, the emotional lessons of the week aren’t only there for a spook factor. They’re rather gearing us toward a revolution of the body’s erotic values. 

Saturday’s full moon announces itself like a mafia messenger, or a quiet assassin walking through a bright door at the end of a dark corridor. This messenger wishes us no harm, but enters the scene to spill the truth about how our values communicate to ourselves and our loved ones, and to what extent we’re honoring our most volatile desires. The front of his pants, which we mistake for a crotch bulge, opens, and a bunch of cash bursts out, falling to the ground. While it’s tempting to interpret this as only the subconscious rolling its eyes about money worries or sexual hangups, the full moon carries subtler messages about shared energy, sex, death, and rejuvenation of resources. If the messenger behind the moon in that alley could speak, it might say, “the money spilling out of my pants is money lost and money found. Your true values communicate unconsciously, sometimes in ways that are surprising to you, and sometimes even in spite of your will. What do you want to show and give?”  

It’s Venus who carries the week into themes of value, worth, sensuality and relationship. Just as this full moon embodies her native sign of Taurus, so too does Venus now dance through her other native sign of Libra. Taurus wants to receive and build upon joy from the earthy reservoir of timeless delights. Libra wants to design classically beautiful structures with an architect’s eye, and facilitate balance in partnership. They find common ground in their valuing of *quality*—which includes opening up to ‘quality time’ with people who bring us joy and whose primary love language consists of spending time together. 

With Uranus’ presence, our experiences of quality this week are both foam-born and fiery. The walk, the gift, the meal, the bath, and the bedroom, bring with them the impatient sky-god, from whom Venus was born in a heroic feat that saved pleasure-bodies from their creator’s impatience. Those daily pleasures also bring the slowly burning, life-sustaining warmth brought to us by Prometheus when he stole fire. That means there are restless, transgressive, cunning, resilient and liberated qualities to this kind of quality time. Equally, that messenger-assassin stepping through a light at the end of the alley spilling cash out of his groin—the meeting of Taurus and Scorpio on Saturday’s full moon—creepily and cryptically encourages us to meet our desirous impulses and each other with patience, underscoring the importance of letting the raging “I wants”  gradually stretch from the inside out, creating an inner heat we can then breathe into our environmental, financial and intimate life. 

The art of the week lies in discerning the difference between manically thrusting our values and desires forward, and internally honoring the generous yearning to give of our life force, letting it cook in the heart’s oven so that it’s mutually enjoyed with just the right crisp. On one level, old taskmaster Saturn urges us to exercise the restraint necessary to craft that inner heat with which we find ourselves and each other through the changes. In another sense, wild card Uranus, the liberator, stands next to the full moon ready to shake us up with sudden change. Can we craft the internal fire of desire carefully, patiently, while also listening to the rhythm that edges us to release into the unexpected? Can we meet the volatility of change with emboldened patience? Can we meet the financial and relational plot twists with the strength of interior heat? Can we meet others’ desires with an open mind?

This won’t necessarily be an easy dynamic to hold, but by stepping through the light and letting others meet us, not blocking their ability to meet halfway by insensitively shoving our own cares into their path, there’s an opportunity for the kind of relationship that opens up many timelines of survival, ecstasy and devoted love.

World Shadow Horoscope, October 28th, 2020

October 28th, the urge to move forward into unconquered places attacks the body. Ironically it’s more like a block or a clench: the squeezing of sphincters, the lip-biting when we can’t peel the hard-boiled eggs fast enough, the muttering, growling curses that bruise our voices. It seems it’s always the desire to ‘go on’ that creates obstructions; clenching tensions that hold us back.

We’re today the geologist and the mummy in the tunnel we must enter, the claustrophobic encasement filled with hundreds of thousands of corpses and goblets—the only way forward into discovering the treasure, no map with an alternate route. A booming voice, an amalgamation of dead, preserved wounds made specially for the souls of pioneers, commands us to strip down. We throw our pants to the ghouls and re-feel the bloody gash we got on our knee when we were seven years old. The chorus of ancestral stings laughs in celebration as we surrender to the flowing blood.

Our double mummy self, the resilient one with humor, knows this is all okay. We laugh along with the banshees in the corpse-tunnel, knowing that wounds can be damn funny when we’re aware that even when the body doesn’t go on, we do. Hearing that mummy voice tell us to wear that skin-pain and soul-pain like decorations, we cartwheel through the charnel ground with pus and golden cups dangling from our laughing body-suits.

World Shadow Horoscope, October 27th, 2020

October 27th, with Venus and Mercury bookending Libra, lovers stand in front of a mirror checking their faces for pimples. Songs of praise of self & other bubble forth in desperation, like beige coverup for hickeys from an old betrayal, and the glottal attack of their affection renders obvious what’s lying dormant. The partners fancy themselves beautifully standing tall with their pet mirrors, in a glass palace surrounded by a beach where they indulge in the salt water whenever they please. But they’re tied together at the waist by rope with whitehead boils on their chins bursting to be popped, and one hears the low growl of nearby Rottweilers.

The undercurrent of passions unvoiced lends a reality check: we are the lovers and the zits themselves, and we’re not surrounded by vacation shores but by now-active volcanoes. Hephaestus, god of fire, reveals himself slowly—first as a baby burnt to ash because he’s been born too many times to creators not caring for his form, then as smoke slithering through the land because “you take the other and the planet for granted,” and finally as a beast made of glowing embers that fit together. He advises us to do the work of unbinding, and to take care of the breakouts coming from festering resentments, and to know that this is not a problem, but part of the natural majesty of a volcano.

World Shadow Horoscope, October 26th, 2020

October 26th, a womb-like structure looms over the ebbs and flows of lonely moods, on the precipice of giving birth. Underneath the primordial womb, many orphans wander about in empty woods, feeling abandoned by their brothers and sisters and those who gave birth to them. We, the orphans, lick our wounds, discovering that taste is the most heightened sense today: we’ve lost our sight, everything gone dark and blurry.

But wait—it’s not that simple. We’ve lost sight and gained vision. Flashes of in-sight offer us choices between an addiction to licking the blood of the blows we’ve been dealt or standing in power and service. Within the loneliness, there is a sudden urge to give birth, a feeling of pregnancy, the glimpse of our own wombs expanding and contracting. To what and whom are we giving birth?

A new vision of a nearby tree, which we couldn’t see completely when we possessed conventional eyesight, gives us a clue: the tree makes us forget the thought that we’re blind and remember the aliveness of everything, in one moment standing in exquisite stillness and in the next, hugging all the beings around it, appearing in motion as a green dragon. “The reason I can be still and then hug is because my abilities to touch life are unlimited,” it says. It gives birth effortlessly. “The key is that I’m allowed to stand my ground, being utterly unique in my place, in stillness and then in motion, for the sake of embracing the love of all living forms.”

Following the tree, we can see how feeling as blind orphans was a shock into an awareness of how illusory is the human notion of separateness. On the other side of this illusion is giving birth to a whole world of stillness and embrace, embracing stillness and being still in a long embrace.

World Shadow Horoscope, October 25th, 2020

October 25th, undertows swallow our words and our emotions feel tucked away with their justifications inside of swimsuits lost in the deep, thrashing ocean waves. We feel swallowed by forces that could consume even the most seasoned sailor, and yet, we also suspect that there’s an insight to be seen or gained from all the violence of being taken by elemental powers.

In this conviction, we identify both with the shredded sea salt swimsuit and an upstanding innovative human—a humanoid, in fact, standing up with nervous energy, hyperventilating in a space suit. “The insight must be delivered to all the realms of our life!” we cry, as priestesses carrying skin cream try to tend to our bodies despite our layering of space armor. The awkward, unfitting puzzle pieces continue to thrash and insist on their notions of the essential messages of the day being delivered to the other in ways they’re not equipped to receive.

When in all that armor, behind the ocean, we see large spiders hanging from trees. The spiders show us there are two skies: one blasting with sunshine, the other of nighttime stars. The arachnids demonstrate how whatever insight is to be gained from the day, the brain will be the last to know. Suspended in the night sky, they trace the image of a giant urn, which they then climb up and break open, letting purple light expand everywhere. When the spiders shatter the urn’s foundations, millions of dice fall to the ground. “Don’t try to form; let it happen,” the spiders instruct. “Realize there are many forms of ‘letting it happen’ happening.” May we respectfully tread soil and sea, following the cubes of nocturnal, playful chance.

World Shadow Horoscope, October 24th, 2020

October 24th, the world wakes up jeering, laughing and frolicking in sunlight before it occurs to everyone that they’re celebrating in a cacophony of different languages. Many tongues are uttered cheerfully, but without being understood—the day is incomprehensible with yearning for communication. Lovers and beloveds stand together in an embrace, but below them they’re dimly aware of a giant tunnel blurring their atmosphere, darkening their devotion, rendering it out-of-focus. The whacky syllables and awkward spasms, today’s utterances of the love act, are pulled down and submerged in this smoky, obscured cave of uncertainty.

Here is where the adventure lies: the laughing, orgasmic celebration just before the whoosh into the cavern of that which is beyond knowledge. The fall happens with the lovers still whispering in ancient idioms longing to understand each other. In the ‘large mansion on the ranch’ version of the story, one partner has just learned a new language the other cannot even hear, and the one’s new awareness impacts the course of their entire lives to come. It’s the other’s challenge to emerge through and from the blurry cloud of ignorance.

When a white dragon’s head appears in the sky and unravels its tongue as a ladder in front of our eyes, the slope of its salivary glands reveals to us an archive of every language in hieroglyphics. “Here be the portals to understanding every idiom,” it says.

“Climb up the ladder, and when you get to my uvula, there’s a bell that wakes up the whole world,” it says. “Today, each person needs to see the value of every language without getting distracted by them. Pay attention to the bell of my uvula that will wake the world up anew. Know that the fall the beloved took into that dark cave, away from their lover, was but the first noble attempt at this awakening—you don’t need to fall down my throat this time.”