Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

I have just finished reading a non-fiction book: The Psychology of Spirituality by Baha'i author and psychiatrist and lecturer H. B. Danesh (http://www.amazon.com/Psychology-Spirituality-H-B-Danesh/dp/1895456053/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1199044724&sr=8-1) that was a little dense, though interesting and well-written nonetheless.

One of the things he talked about a lot was how humankind was beginning to enter the age of maturity after going through a rebellious, individualist and self-centred stage. When I say interesting, I mean from the point of view that so many writers from different camps are, today, talking about a new paradigm shift that's very close to coming to pass.

The New Age community is abuzz with the energy and conciousness changes that are apparently affecting earth and humankind, and the potential for a new, enhanced, creative and loving existence for all beings. Scientists, environmentalists and economists are predicting a dramatic shift in world infrastructure - the breakdown of an unsustainable model of living the world over and a possible return to an earlier, agricultural society. And now, I stumble on this psychiatrist talking about our spiritual maturity to come.

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things." 1 Corinthians 13:11

If we are truly on the verge of new understanding, a new walk with God, with fellow human beings and with all of creation - as I believe more and more that we are - why am I so scared?

Well, I'm scared because the 'shift' can mean anything. Change is in the air, and I'm terrified. Will there be dire world poverty and woe as economies on a mass-scale collapse? Will there be wars over scant resources and pandemics and crippling waves of immigration?

These are certainly some of the scourges of climate change predicted by scientists today.

Will there be pole shift in 2012 and wipe most of us out?

And if any or all of this comes to pass, will that truly prompt a spiritual breakthrough?

I dream of a world where problems are dealt with in true cooperation. I dream of a world where everything is powered by clean, renewable energy; where natural spaces are protected and revered; where war is unheard of - as is any kind of violence; where children are always wanted and brought up in the midst of a loving, wise community in which young and old are both respected and represented.

I dream of a time where the planet will be blessed by the commonplace awareness on the part of all living beings of the interconnectedness of everything.

I dream of a world that is motivated and run by love. And yes, I know that, right now, such a place can only exist in my imagination. But that's what keeps me going to reach beyond my fear of the unknown, deprivation, pain, sorrow and death.

"Après moi, le déluge" or "After me, let the floods come" is a quote attributed to the French King Louis XV who preferred, in his reign, not to tackle the serious problems he saw affecting the monarchy, allowing them to proliferate and fall on the lap of his successor.

World government-wise, this is where we seem to be at right now - and how I wish the US elections were done with and that we didn't have a year to go.

But this is where we're at. Waiting. And on almost the eve of the New Year, I know that change and the unknown are very, very ordinary, common things. Change is the one constant and the best way to embrace it is with hope, faith and love.

I guess the Christian take on things filters through whenever I least expect it...

The Danesh book was lent to me by my former teacher; I returned it today to him on the occasion of a gathering he and his wife were holding at their village home to mark the Baha'i feast day of Sharaf.

After a tasty lunch, we set off for a walk in the countryside along a path that followed the river. Along the way, we were each asked to reflect on a quote from the Baha'i writings. Mine was as follows:

"The gift of God to this enlightened age is the knowledge of the oneness of mankind and of the fundamental oneness of religion. Wars shall cease between nations, and by the will of God the Most Great Peace shall come; the world will be seen as a new world, and all men will live as brothers."

As we continued on our way, we came to a place where there were dignified olive trees, laden with fruit. And I gazed at their beauty, and the heavy, ripe olives, ready to be picked and pressed to oil, and the richness of the mud and water and stones and rocks around me. And I marvelled at how the natural world somehow manages to keep its purity, despite the indiscriminate garbage dumping and pollution that abounds. I guess some places are still sacred.

This is all rather strange and new in terms of outlook. I never used to be such a green freak before. I was always respectful of nature, but didn't think about it as intensely as I do now. I guess the thought that it might be ruined beyond all measure - and to wake up to how much we are dependent on the natural world to sustain us - has changed my view on things entirely.

Actually, my life has never before been so focused on survival, death and resurrection as it is now. The death of a beloved biology teacher when I was in my early twenties took years to get over, but the drastic life-or-death scenario that I believe the world is confronting today is something altogether different.

But then, I'm also older. My parents are older. My life has no particular shape or direction and, for the first time, I realise I have no real claim on the future - only an expectation.

For so many, that is a fact of life they live each day.

How many in Bangladesh or Indonesia or Africa or Pakistan or Afghanistan or Iraq or Kurdistan or Gaza really feel like they have a future?

Their best hope is for tomorrow. Not ten or twenty years. Just tomorrow. Or, perhaps, just getting to the end of the day.

I have never lived that way, and have no idea whether I could. I suppose if I had no other choice...

Sometimes I wish I could switch off my brain. Mercury in Aquarius, Virgo-rising, Moon within five degrees of the Sixth house and Cancer Saturn squaring Pluto and Venus do little to curb my ability to dream up horrors.

Tomorrow is the last day of 2007.

May the new year bring us understanding, peace, goodwill, wisdom, compassion and cooperation. Our future depends on it as never before.

Polar Cities and Green Blog to Watch

Lovers of all things green and those of you, who, like me, live everyday with a twisted knot of dread at the thought of our future, given the climate crisis, should check out a very interesting posting on 'Polar Cities' by blogger Dan Bloom.

Bloom presents and elaborates on the idea proposed by Dr. James Lovelock (he of 'Gaia hypothesis' fame) that those of us who survive the fierce global warming yet to come may well opt to live in Arctic communities - hence, 'polar cities'.

Check out the original post here: http://greenpieceblog.blogspot.com/2007/12/polar-cities-and-you.html

I also recommend checking out Bloom's 'Green Piece Blog' in general for other great posts on green issues; just click on the link that I will be adding to my eco/climate change list.

Earth Guardian for Future Generations?

"What do you owe someone else’s great-grandchildren?

"How do we apportion responsibility across time for dealing with multigenerational impacts, like the human contribution to climate change, and multigenerational tasks, like transforming how we harvest and use energy?"

As I've mentioned in an earlier post, I tend to read the online edition of The New York Times a fair deal. This evening, outlined on the paper's excellent eco-blog - dot earth, I came across the following inspired proposal for the next US president to appoint a “legal guardian of future generations” to consider the impact of policy choices on citizens yet unborn.

You can read the post here:

http://dotearth.blogs.nytimes.com/2007/12/29/does-the-future-need-a-legal-guardian/index.html?hp

Of Myths and Babies

As a child, when the advent of video tape and watching films in the comfort of one's own home was still relatively new, I remember being fascinated by the fairytale world of George Cukor's The Blue Bird (1976) starring Elizabeth Taylor and Jane Fonda. It was a sort of a fantasy precursor to Jim Henson's wildly popular cult hit Labyrinth (1986) starring David Bowie and a young Jennifer Connelly.

In both movies, young people must travel through magical, often dangerous kingdoms where none of the ordinary rules of life they have learned, apply. Time bends, places shift, ultimate fears are confronted and, at the end of the quest, the treasure 'found' is home, family and our deepest identity.

The plot structure of each is, in other words, a good example of the Hero's Journey - or Myth - that is such a well-learned template for budding screenwriters.

Not a bad astrological analogy that: we journey through the Twelve Houses throughout our lives, but life symbolically begins (and ends) in the Fourth House of roots, identity, home, family and clan.

In Hollywood screenwriting guru John Truby's breakdown of the myth genre, the 'opponents' that the hero or protagonist encounters are often made up of cameo characters - people met along the way who do not necessarily make a reappearance, with or without an ultimate antagonist.

Such a model is, thus, particularly resonant because it has such a powerful correlation with everyone's everyday, real life. It is no wonder that lead characters we are supposed to identify with in films are called the tale's 'heroes'. We are all heroes, living out the journey to home - to our true self, to our destiny. In the myth template, once you've gone through death and been resurrected, you get to return home with an 'elixir' or some special knowledge - and often you recognise 'home' was with you or within you, wherever you went.

Most of us know what such 'deaths' and resurrections mean. In astro-speak they're known as Pluto transits.

Two more movies that followed this myth structure to cinematic (and Box Office) gold are The Wizard of Oz (1939), directed by Victor Fleming and starring Judy Garland and The Neverending Story (1984), directed by Wolfgang Petersen, starring Noah Hathaway.

Personally, myths have always resonated very powerfully with me. When I was a child, I devoured any book on mythology I could get my hands on. The worlds of gods, monsters, dragons, demons, spirits, wise men and women and heroes of every colour were so real - and the liminal, numinous world was even real-er.

And it was so creative.

But I began this post talking about The Blue Bird, mostly because I've been thinking of young people a lot lately. Specifically toddlers and babies. Everyone around me seems to be having kids, and I find myself wondering what it would be like to have little ones to care for, guide and love of my own.

I'm not romanticising parenthood, but I think in our present age we have demonised the thought of having children - as if it were a fate worse than death. The end of one's individuality, time, leisure and freedom to pursue more ambitious, career-oriented ends.

We've also demonised children. They're meant to be out of control, disrespectful, attention-deficient, materially-obsessed, prone to every manner of distraction, temptation and addiction, and even, at times, down-right criminal.

Let me be honest: I have, in the past, entertained such thoughts myself.

But life has brought me to the point where I feel that, in a world described by every media outlet and information source as sick, dysfunctional, depraved and lost, how could we not look to children as a source of love and hope for a better future?

More to the point: who better than children to motivate us to join together across barriers of wealth, culture, religion and geography to unite to heal the Earth, end wars, curb out-of-control economic growth and live in harmony with nature and each other?

I should say, here, that, despite my intense sensitivity to the despair experienced by the human collective, I know in my heart of hearts that the world is not lost. It is still beautiful, and we can all help to heal it.

Children are not born the monsters we seem to have made them. They may come with different health problems, sure, but their characters - as full of their own individual promise as they are - are shaped, nurtured and supported by us who are parents. So, if we don't like what we see, we bear a lot of the responsibility.

Which isn't to say I can speak from experience yet. But I love the idea of one day being a 'loving gardener' to the fresh new 'garden' that is a child. That's not my original thought by the way - it's taken from a course in "Positive Parenting", now in its fourth year of being led in Cyprus by, among others, my former teacher who is a Baha'i.

The course formerly kicks off on January 16th, and I have every intention of attending.

Parenthood is such a great - and joyous! - responsibility that I want to make every effort to know how to do it right. And in my opinion, there's noone better than my ex-teacher to learn from in the area of raising children - he and his wife have raised six of their own.

Grace, Magnanimity Remembered

On a day when I was utterly shaken and dispirited by the assassination of former Pakistan prime minister Benazir Bhutto, and by the further evidence of humankind's violent, self-destructive urges, I wanted to post something to balance out my gloom, something that made me both happy and humbled to read.

From the December 23 online edition of The New York Times, here is Darcey Steinke's poignant remembrance of a kindness that was not originally appreciated when she was, in her own words, "a skinny, eye-rolling 21-year-old with literary pretensions" as an American exchange student in Ireland, but is, today, a source of great gratitude to her:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/23/fashion/23steinke.html

The Sound of One Heart Cracking

Once upon a time, before his mother gave birth to him and he drew his first breath, the fates decreed an ordinary boy would come into the world with a defective heart. A weakness so grave, he would spend his whole life trying to find healing or, at the very least, relief.

So, the boy was born and, in time, grew to realise that he was not like others around him. Whereas they could walk abroad, untouched by stories of wars and ruin, by savagery, injustice, and pain, he, on hearing such things, would feel as if someone had cut his heart to shreds.

Whenever he heard about abandoned, lonely, traumatised children, who wanted parents to love and nurture them, but found only the brutality of strangers - even when they were supposed to be familiar,

Whenever he read of families leaving behind everything they possessed because of bombs and fighting and indiscriminate aggression - the pots and pans and kitchenware, the loved and mended furniture and the small, well-tended garden with the prize lemon tree,

Whenever it came to him that greed and religious zeal had polluted and befouled natural places, maimed and swelled the ranks of lost young people, jailed and tortured protestors and ostracised, rejected and mistreated immigrants - or anyone who was 'different',

And most of all, when it occured to him that many around him felt nothing on knowing about any of these things,

He felt some cruel God had designed him for a lifetime of torment.

Particularly as his own life seemed so blessed and full of good things in comparison to those who stared at him from the photographs, their eyes full of the weary brokenness that comes of knowing they were utterly alone.

He wondered, sometimes, whether life was merely a dream he was trapped in - or that he did not have the wits or will to leave. He wondered whether those whose lives condemned and haunted him were truly just figments of his imagination.

He wondered, in other words, whether the problem lay with him.

Certainly, most were eager to convince him that it did. That he took things too personally. That that was just how the world was and always had been and always would be. That it wasn't normal to let every little thing affect him, to fill his rather defective heart - and soul, too, as it turned out - with that awful feeling of disbelief and nausea and grief. Beyond anything else, grief so deep, so profound, he felt he could plunge into it and never know its limits.

But by and by, he began to think that, perhaps, others' hearts might be defective, too. Unlike his own that felt too much, theirs seemed incapable of feeling at all. Somehow, theirs had been hardened - and their souls, too. They were not haunted by images of suffering. They were not bothered or moved by them. The best of them were content to live as honestly, as decently, as industriously as they could, and to pour efforts (and emotions) only into those areas in which they felt they could make a difference.

This seemed perfectly rational to him. But he could not square the reasoning with his heart's distress - even at those things - and there were many - that he could not change or ease or ameliorate or heal.

To his chagrin, his inability to reconcile his head and heart, to be content in channeling his outrage and empathy into something useful and letting the rest be, began to make him angry with his seemingly stony-hearted co-inhabitants of Earth. Even those close to him, he felt betrayed by.

Why would noone mourn with him the state of the world, he wondered. How was it possible? How could he be so alone in his anguish? How? How?

HOW?

And then he realised that, the more he dwelt on the pain the world caused him, the more his own pain amplified the pain that was not his originally.

The more he raged inside against injustice, and the more anger filled his belly at the corruption and cruelty and cynicism, the more he added to it.

He, himself, was pouring salt on the wounds of a battered Earth, by his very act of identifying with its torment and letting it consume him.

The Earth did not need his anguish, She needed his commitment to work to heal it. She did not need him to judge others and the degree to which they felt as he did or not. She needed him to make peace with his own vulnerability and limitations and move beyond them.

Most of all, She needed him to be happy. And grateful. To step out gently and see, in wonder and humility, how magnificent the natural world was.

To acknowledge that, even in the midst of the darkest, bitterest, most nightmarish sorrow, the Earth was still there - and always would be. Still wise, still patiently waiting for Her children to pierce the fog of their own immaturity and rebellious adolescence, to stop hurting and killing and maiming themselves - and Her, even though She would always heal Herself, despite their staggering arrogance, greed and ignorance at how dependent on the natural bounty of their Mother they were.

He saw - and knew one day he would accept - that his heart needed only joy and a sense of trust to mend itself, to shield it from the seductive call of pain.

He was not being asked to ignore the many sorrows of humanity, nor the Earth's legitimate grievances, but he was being invited to turn them into something sacred. Inside him.

No longer to fuel what was basest and most negative within him, the hurt and pain he had always felt could be turned into grace. Into generosity and a willingness to help in small ways. Into taking chances to help in greater ways, putting aside his own self-doubt and fear and sloth.

A spiritual alchemy was his, if he only chose to honour it. A process as profound and yet as simple as taking delight in a child's laughter or the perfection of its repose.

Is This the Kind of 'One World' We Want?

Lynn Hayes of Astrodynamics (http://astrodynamics.blogspot.com/index.html) has mentioned positively a number of times the movie Zeitgeist, which can be viewed in its entirety here:

http://zeitgeistmovie.com/index.html

The first part is very, very interesting from an anthropological/theological/metaphysical point of view, deconstructing the figure of the historical Jesus to trace the story of the Christian saviour back to the sun god myths of far older, earlier civilisations.

The rest of the movie is concerned with deconstructing the events that shook the present age - namely the 9/11 attacks, leading to a broader analysis of the true (economic) masters of our time.

Watch the movie and decide for yourselves.

Goodbye to All That, or 2012 and the End of Time

I may as well confess that one of the reasons I've made a commitment to keep writing this blog is a profound fear of death.

I'm not quite as unhinged as when Tennyson undertook the mammoth 17-year task of writing In Memoriam A. H. H to come to grips with the passing of a very dear friend of his - and to keep from going mad from grief - but the sheer, animal fear on the bad days, and the duller-but-still-persistent existential malaise at the thought of annihilation, has fallen like a shockingly effective sound blanket - heh, couldn't resist the filmmaker allusion - on the buzz and hum that was my former drive for living.

It's rather hard to live well and to feel strong enough to tap whatever wit, passion or courage for adventure and growth one has if one is busy struggling, every day, with the idea that time is running out.

And it seems to be running out very quickly. And I go back and forth on this doom-laden stance, sometimes retreating to a more hopeful position, other times swinging back to preparing for the end.

But how did all this begin? Well, some months ago, I had finally signed up for a correspondence course on Astrology. The problem is, the course is offered by a mystery school whose founder and supporters are, as I write this, preparing for a cataclysmic disaster the like of which will render 90 percent of life on the planet dead. To wit: they're preparing for pole shift - as in the shifting of the earth's axis, not to be confused with a shift of the planet's magnetic poles - and are warning those who visit the site and are open to the thought of the end of life as we know it, to resettle in latitudes greater than 65 degrees North.

Effectively, that means within the present Arctic circle.

As I have understood it, this planetary event is meant to occur on December 21, 2012, at the end of the Mayan long count or 'calendar', after which 'life' will continue, but only those evolved enough to survive the energy shift - which is apparently the true cause of the pole shift - and who, presumably, have relocated to the Arctic circle in time - will be around to experience it. The rest of sentient life will physically perish and be reincarnated into other worlds of a lower energy vibration - suited to their level of spiritual evolution.

In this scenario, what I fear most is dying of fear or somehow surviving to find people closest to me dead and a new stone age beginning.

Now, there are other sites in the New Age blogosphere that argue the labours of 'lightworkers' of every kind from around the world has 'ameliorated' the prophesied changes to the lesser (though still deadly to many) natural disasters we are currently dealing with, and that the earth's changes are a mirror of the true transition - the heightening in spiritual consciousness - that all of life - including humankind - is experiencing.

Some also argue that the material world is not what we think it is, but a common dream/illusion we are choosing to participate in.

Still others believe we are living in the 'end times' apparently foretold in the sacred writings of several religions and faith traditions, not least those of indigenous peoples, the Bible, and those who claim to be in touch with the earth's spiritual masters - the mysterious Heirarchy.

This camp believes that, on December 21, 2012, those who are evolved enough to endure living in the fifth dimension - or, at any rate, on some sort of multidimensional plane where linear time no longer exists - will be taken up to other levels of existence, some versions have the process aided by far more evolved aliens in spacecraft (the New Age version of the Biblical 'rapture') - while the rest of humanity will undergo the dreaded Tribulation mentioned in the Bible's Book of Revelations - which apparently entails physical phenomena such as land masses disappearing (eg. much of Southern California and New York) extreme volcanicity, earthquakes and ultra-powerful winds. Meanwhile, the moon will disappear temporarily and all will be pitch darkness.

After the end of these terrors - which in some versions last about a week, but the timing is sketchy - those fortunate few who 'ascended' before the calamity will be returned to rebuild the earth and usher in a new golden age.

Now, ordinarily, a sceptic like myself would have rejoiced at the mention of aliens - not because I don't believe there aren't other inhabited worlds out there - but because my mind just sort of shuts down at such a quasi-comical, Sci-Fi B-movie-plot-sounding scenario.

I might also have taken heart from all the New Age blogs writing about the apparent new generations of spiritually-evolved and highly-gifted kids (the Indigo, Crystal and Rainbow children) being born to assist this incredibly powerful transition to a new Earth and new spiritual plane.

And then there's the fact that several discount the idea of the Mayan long count being an actual numerical calendar - arguing that it was meant to be symbolic, and not actually chronologically linear, not to mention that many such folks also believe the 'true' Mayan count comes to an end on October 28, 2011.

However.

Somehow, deep, deep within, I fear our collective annihilation just the same. It could be just that I am supremely sensitive to suppressed Collective fears (actually, I am - no doubt about it) and that we're all experiencing the despair borne of the enormously impulsive, savage, fundamentalist and commercially greedy era of Pluto (bringer of death and transformation) in the sign of Sagittarius (the Higher Mind, religion, Truth with a capital 'T', philosophy, higher learning, restless travelling and reckless optimism).

It could be all of the above and the fact that I have desperate-for-security Saturn in Cancer, which has also recently been rattled by the transit of Mars in Cancer (currently retrograde and heading back into Gemini) opposing Pluto at the end of Sadge and about to enter Capricorn towards the end of January 2008 AND the fact that my growing interest in Baha'i has led me to learn of Abdu'l-Baha's prediction of a calamity such as "to make the limbs of men quake" that must be endured before a new age of unity and peace can begin.

At any rate, even if we're not going to be wiped out by pole shift in 2012, as of now, we're sure as hell plunged up to the neck in crisis with the mounting danger of climate change and the potential collapse of civilisation as we know it, given the increasing demand on shrinking resources. Can we all work together to stop the grim countdown that the eco-crisis seems to portend?

I don't know.

What I do know is that I have to find a way of breaking through the sheer paralysis from fear when I contemplate famines, droughts, heightened earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis, floods, hurricanes, savage wars over life-sustaining territory and a million different ways to die - or survive on a planet that could prove hostile in ways unimaginable to someone born and raised in the privileges of the Developed World.

At any rate, if this really is a countdown to some catastrophe from which few shall escape with their lives, I pray I may be used to help and heal people and be as creative as I can. I had great hopes for my life, but of late I have had to entertain, more and more, the idea that I am truly insignificant in the grand scheme of things. 'I' have, more and more, ceased to exist. At least the old me, that used to want fame and a successful film career and professional respect.

How can I be important when innocent babies are born to the torment of life in a Darfuri refugee camp or the open air concentration camp that is beseiged Gaza or the ravaged, war-torn Iraq or Afghanistan or a million other places where people live in poverty, anguish, hunger, suffering and despair.

I should rejoice in the knowledge, then, that I am truly insignificant. And yet, there is a part of me that wants to live. To live expressing my highest, most wise, most compassionate, most creative self, for however long or brief that might be. May I choose wisely as time thunders to 2012, and may I be receptive to being used by God in service to others, however it best pleases the Universe.

Funnily enough, having mulled over these thoughts as I took my walk today, Christmas day in the West, once at home, I stumbled on a poem I apparently wrote October 22, 1999, and had completely forgotten about. It's rather rough - a sonnet of all things (Petrarchan for those who care, though it slips up in the sestet to rhyme cdcdcc for some reason...) that I must have intended to return to and refine, but put out of my mind instead. A strange synchronicity, given that it reads:

Stopped Time

There are those words that are far better stored
within the heart than uttered by the tongue.
And if such occult hymns are muted sung
impatient ears must hearken to the bawd,
whose music both offends and pleases, poured
brazen from more wanton lips. For naught, young-
er and less experienced notes softly hang
in unrequited hush, to be ignored.

I may grow lean, grey-pallored, dull of eye,
abbreviate my steps, speak slower yet,
but age, which brings me greater wit, will play
not winter on these pipes. Still green, bereft
of voice, I wither on and on, to be
love’s stoppered vial, in dumb eternity.

If, beyond 2012, I am alive, I will have been reborn, indeed. Become 'immortal' one might say, since, as far I can make out, you can only die once in any given incarnation! Either way, it will be a very interesting countdown to my 37th year - particularly as Pluto inches towards my natal Moon in Capricorn.

A profound death and resurrection awaits.

An Astrological Take on the Beatitudes

I'm not a Wiccan, but I do love the phrase "Blessed be". I've been spending a lot of time of late, trying to dwell on more positive thoughts than the usual cesspool of mental sewage habitually gushing through the old pipes 'up there'. And what could be more positive and more love-filled than to send out blessings?

As someone whose religious heritage is rooted in Christianity, I've always loved the Beatitudes that Jesus offers in the gospel of Matthew, Chapter 5, versus 3 to 10 (taken from the New International Version of the Bible):

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,
for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Beautiful, no? But since it is my nature to be a tad unconventional, I decided I'd have a bash at 'translating' those lovely words into more astrological terms - in a purely creative, free-flowing sort of way. Here's what I came up with:

Blessed are those with a fixed Grand Cross,
for their war against stagnancy will reap much reward.

Blessed are those with Moon-Chiron in Scorpio,
for from the depths of their sorrow they will rise to know joy.

Blessed are those with a packed Sixth and Twelfth,
for they shall attract and be protected by the fire of Spirit.

Blessed are those with Jupiter-South Node quincunx Neptune,
for their labours to tap the Higher Mind will grant them Truth.

Blessed are those with Mars-Jupiter in Libra,
for their generosity will be marked by the Universe forever.

Blessed are those with Venus-Pluto in Virgo
for they will annihilate the lie that anyone is unworthy of Love.

Blessed are they with a Taurus Moon in the Eleventh,
for all shall be willing to break bread at their table.

Blessed are they with a Pisces Uranus in the Twelfth,
for they will revolutionise imprisonment toward a collective Grace.

I must confess that all of this is rather random, and might not make perfect sense. I should also admit that, while I am passionate about Astrology, I am still learning. Hope I'm not completely off the mark!

Meanwhile, it's Christmas Eve for the West, so I send out the peace, love and light of the Christ Child to all.

Natal Saturn and Cutting the Anxious Some Slack

I was thinking, today, that it's so unfair some types are endowed with seemingly endless enthusiasm and self-confidence, while others struggle every day with neuroses, free-floating anxiety, guilt, fear and soul-destroying self-doubt.

What gets my goat even more is that the former usually end up overtly or covertly blaming the latter for perpetuating their own woes. Or, at the very least, end up sounding intensely patronizing when they're genuinely trying to be supportive or encouraging.

"Grow up," or "Deal with it," or "Suck it up," or "Stop being a loser," or "What, you think you're the only one?" or "You're [insert number] years old for chrissake..." or "You're choosing to be unhappy," or "Until you accept [insert person/situation], you're going to feel bad," or even, my personal fave, "Noone can help you, but you".

Before anyone jumps on me for presuming to speak for the less-assertive and self-esteem-possessing, let me be the first to say, right here and now, that I believe experiencing suffering and negativity is a personal choice, and that what happens to us and how we live our lives does depend, much of the time, on our choices and application of will.

But.

I am also of the opinion that, from the point of view of natal Astrology, our birth charts point to inclinations toward positivity or negativity that we come into the world hardwired to manifest in varying degrees. And these take far more application of will, self-discipline and self-knowledge to overcome.

A good indicator of the flavour of anxiety and fear in our lives, as well as the sphere of life it is likely to be most operative in, is the condition and position of Saturn in the birth chart.

In our Saturnian world of order and ego-protecting boundaries, we pooh-pooh (and are deeply threatened by) Neptune's vague and profoundly irrational terrors - all very Twelfth House stuff and, consequently, dismissed in the harsh light of day and conveniently locked up in our astrological house of ghosts.

To my endless chagrin, the Cosmic Taskmaster when I was born was in its detriment in Cancer. Cancer Saturns bode ill for early family life and amplify the desperate hunger for material (and emotional) security. In my Eleventh House of friends, hopes and wishes, it marks an unease in social gatherings or groups, an awkwardness with companions of my own age, and a paranoia about being able to provide for myself or, conversely, a horror of dependency.

The Greater Malefic in my birth chart is also retrograde, which, as Lynn Hayes of Astrodynamics (http://astrodynamics.blogspot.com/index.html) accurately points out, "shows a strong tendency towards self-criticism and low self-esteem."

In addition, Saturn contacts my birth Venus in Aries and Pluto in Libra in a rather trying T-square, and is quincunx vague and illusory Neptune in Sagittarius.

Add to that an ultra-receptive Sun-Jupiter conjunction in Pisces, and Sun-Neptune square and it might be fair to say that it doesn't take much to send me teetering to the edge of the collective abyss.

Lucky for me, my Capricorn moon usually kicks me in the arse and gets me into gear to plod onward, despite the ever-present desire not to get out of bed in the morning, soundly admonishing me for being such a self-pitying mound of jelly at times. It's a masochistic M.O. but, so far, it's one of the few things that forces me to fight the blackness when it comes and not simply succumb to despair.

To be fair, though, having come this far at the grand old age of almost-33, I accept and acknowledge that there really is a personal power in everyone to take control of their lives - even when everything else seems in chaos. Whatever the length of our lifespan and the limitations of our material circumstances, we can choose to face fears, however irrational, and accept the possibility of pain and vulnerability and uncertainty, not to mention responsibility for our happiness and peace of mind.

Perhaps it ultimately does come down to a triumph of the will, if one may disassociate the notion from Nazi documentarian Leni Riefenstahl's film of the same name.

And my Mars-Pluto and Sun-Saturn trines can only help on that score.

Sea Levels Rising due to Global Warming? Get Thee to a Jellyfish House-ery

Just stumbled on the following from the excellent WorldChanging archives...

http://www.worldchanging.com/archives/006457.html

A Jellyfish House. Truly, as depressed as I am about our abuse of the planet and globalization's evils, I am equally amazed at humanity's innovation.

No doubt with the impending ingress of Pluto into Capricorn we're going to see a radical emergence of new physical structures (after the old ones are finally pronounced in need of burying) and not a moment too soon, given those melting ice caps...

Capricorn as Teacher

It really was a Capricornian sort of day, even though I had completely forgotten we'd run out of Sadge.

I had few expectations when I got up, other than a vague plan to get some exercise. Since my last job ended mid-November (note how my anxious, self-worth-associated-with-labour Virgo Ascendant and Cap moon specify how recently I became unemployed) I've had a lot of time to think and, frankly, it's been rather bad for my mental health.

Consequently, my usual penchant to be physically active whenever possible has been rather non-existent. You'd have thought the promise of endorphins would have made me keen to hop on the family's walking machine, but part of my battle with anxiety has been connected with the climate crisis, possible looming catastrophe and how much electricity we consume. So, I've been loath to use anything that has to be plugged into a power outlet.

But today, exercise was definitely on the schedule. It was the only thing on the schedule - other than blogging - so, by God, it was going to happen.

A perfect Capricorn day for it, it was, too. Cold and dry weather, the house freezing and a sort of reserved, unemotional series of exchanges among the fam. Also, a surprisingly more measured conversation between my younger brother (home for the holidays from London) and myself than we've had in years. Even the date seemed appropriate, 22 is a powerful irreduceable number - the master builder - and most fitting with the Saturn-ruled sign's energy.

I excused myself after lunch to head off on a "short walk". My plan was mostly to head to a nearby gym that I'd spotted, to see if it had membership rates I was prepared to pay and what the equipment looked like. Of course it was closed - though the nearby bike shop was open, so I enjoyed looking at the wares and scoping out possible cycles to buy.

Again, my environmental anxiety has meant driving anywhere in our public-transport-almost-non-existent city is accompanied by deep concern at the amount of exhaust fumes I help pour into the atmosphere when I'm behind the wheel - even though I do love driving. Hence, thoughts of bike purchases. Also, it would be nice to cycle again as a way of keeping fit - though doing so in Nicosia is pretty much taking your life into your hands, given that most drivers consider cyclists an irritating inconvenience and there are no bikepaths to speak of.

No impulse-buyer I, my stringent Capricorn moon left the shop with information on price ranges, models, and useful accessories like helmets and locks. I'll be back, hopefully - once I've weighed up the benefits of owning a bike over the inconvenience of not having a great space to keep it in our building - and the 200 CYP I'd need to fork out for it when I'm not earning.

Then the walk began in earnest, and boy, with the exhaust fumes from the vehicles roaring past me and the patchy pavements that were often taken over by parked cars, it wasn't easy. Most of the time I felt queasy from the CO I was inhaling.

Still, I did pass by some unexpected little undeveloped plots of land with olive trees rising out of the clover. And I stopped to give thanks for nature's resilience. Even in our blindness and greed in expending earth's resources without giving it a second thought, plants and animals around us somehow survive. Not all do, of course. Many die - and too many become tragically extinct.

But if we open our eyes just a little along our familiar haunts, the natural world that is the realm of earthy Capricorn is hardier than we believe. And that filled me with gratitude, today.

I thanked the olive trees for gracing my path and picked up some of the garbage that was lying about.

Eventually, I ended up at an English-language bookstore (one of the few in Nicosia, in the predominantly Greek-speaking Republic of Cyprus) and headed for the New Age section. A rare treat - usually I can't get there during the store's normal hours of operation. But this being the countdown to Christmas, it was open far longer than usual.

In a bookstore, it doesn't take long for me to experience 'flow'. This particular afternoon, I became eventually engrossed in Kyriacos C. Markides' The Magus of Strovolos: The Extraordinary World of a Spiritual Healer (check it out here: http://www.amazon.com/Magus-Strovolos-Extraordinary-Spiritual-Healer/dp/0140190341/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1198356005&sr=1-1 ), recounting the wisdom and extraordinary life of the mystic and healer Spyros Sathi - the eponymous 'magus'.

Given his earthy humour, as well as his seeming mastery over matter, Capricorn seemed a good fit as the dominant sign in Sathi's birthchart, though I doubt I'll ever know for sure. Meanwhile, my own ache to understand universal and spiritual principles had me eagerly devouring chapters, seated in the middle of aisle traffic quite happily, with the vague hope that I wasn't proving to be too much of an inconvenience registering somewhere at the back of my head.

Eventually, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and looked up to see my old teacher from secondary school amusedly peering down at me. Interestingly enough, he actually is a Capricorn and one of the most spiritual people I know. I have been learning from him since I was 12 years old, and since I moved back to Cyprus last year, I have spent much time with him - most recently in a Baha'i study group that he leads.

He had actually met the Magus, before the latter's death in the '90s, but had not been drawn to the metaphysical teaching Sathi offered beyond a certain point. My teacher, as a Baha'i, has always seemed more suited to the devotional path than the occult. Whereas I am torn between the two, trying to boost my knowledge/experience of both these days.

My teacher was picking out Christmas presents for his children and grandchildren - mostly books, since he has dedicated his life to education. As a child I had thought him the perfect parent, but realised as he delicately considered what reading material he should buy for his eldest child, that the very virtues that had always led me to admire him might have been a little rigorous or difficult to live up to - or live with - for some of his kids.

That's Capricorn for you. So often, in defiance of the bad Astro press they receive, Caps are surprisingly sensitive and savvy about others' feelings, despite the drive to find practical application to anything abstract, the reservation, the distrust of the emotional. There's far more subtlety to the Seagoat than we often are led to believe. The strict, exacting parent whose approval can be so hard to win transforms into the wise, playful teacher - or even spiritual master - if time and our own maturity allow us to change our perception.

Not that I even need to mention it, but Liz Greene says it all far, far better in her classic text, Saturn: A New Look at an Old Devil ( http://www.amazon.com/Saturn-New-Look-Old-Devil/dp/0877283060/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1198360126&sr=8-1 )

On Strictures of Daily Life in Gaza

I do read the New York Times (http://www.nytimes.com/) most days, despite its oftentimes milquetoast reportage.

Here is a good bit of multimedia from the Times about the struggle for Palestinians to live in a Gaza Strip that has been squeezed and squeezed and squeezed by the West's and Israel's blockade, following the Hamas victory in the 2006 parliamentary elections, and Hamas' takeover of the Strip from Fatah in June of 2007.

http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2007/11/18/weekinreview/20771118_GAZA_FEATURE.html#

First Impressions and the Twelfth House

Last night, I went to a party of a female Sadge friend who lives not too far from my house in Nicosia. The gathering itself was actually very cool re. logistics: lots of great music, an incredible spread of good food (unusual for booze-heavy parties) and mucho alcohol.

Thing is, though, I spent the early bit of it trying to suss out who I knew and could, therefore, mosey over to - so as to avoid the dreaded sad-and-lonely-bastard-in-the-middle-nursing-a-drink syndrome. It's not the talking to people I mind, it's the subtle art of slipping into what always look like very-self-sufficient groups of folks chatting amongst each other. Seemingly stating by their body language that: "Go find someone else to talk to, mate, this circle is CLOSED". Or words to that effect.

Basically, my natal Saturn in Cancer doesn't really like being out of its comfort zone socially. Good thing my Mercury and Mars in Aquarius drive me on to social interaction anyway. Because once you're in a group, you can sort of hang there indefinitely, nursing your drink and adding a witty (or crass) comment to the conversation to keep things flowing for hours. In fact, you're golden - as long as you don't need a refill. Sometimes, especially if the drinks table's nearby, you can hop over, top yourself up, and take up your previous slot. Other times, the group sort of morphs or disperses and either someone else is filling your place or everyone's moved on to different parts of the room.

Anyway, on this occasion, I happened to turn up at the birthday girl's house after a two-and-a-half-hour lesson with my FISU meditation teacher (FISU = the Foundation for International Spiritual Unfoldment: http://www.fisu.org/en/), so I was sort of still a little tired. Pretty intense stuff. And just as I was trying to figure out which floor her apartment was on, I spotted a svelte-looking chap in tight trendy trousers, a chic royal blue sweater over a stylish pink shirt. And his cranium was shaved and shiny, his features elegantly gaunt, and he was sporting a pair of ultra-snazzy glasses balanced on his rather sharp nose.

I know these types very well. They are usually the sort who are tremendously self-confident, physically energetic, bold, outrageous, ultra popular and, not surprisingly, often rather arrogant.
I also know my own propensity for prejudice.

Anyway, bald-pate guy and I introduced each other, then sort of raced up the stairs, eventually found Sadge friend's apartment, whereupon bald-pate guy, without a second's hesitation, banged on the door to announce our presence quite happily.

We both walked in, upon which libations and welcomes were proferred by the hostess herself.

But I knew that, from the corner of my eye, I was watching bald-pate guy from that time on till he left - surprisingly early on - because, to my shame, I realised I was playing the age-old game of disliking someone I knew nothing about because he embodied things I either disliked about myself (the propensity to be loud and self-aggrandizing - or just plain arrogant) or desired for myself (the exercised physique, self-confidence, extroversion).

And then I remembered my Leo twelfth house, repository of everything I'm not supposed to want to deal with on the conscious level - often very karmic. With the Twelfth house in the sign of Leo, the characteristics of the self-loving, creative, magnetic, at times arrogant and willful Lion are exactly what my Virgo-rising nature, with its kill-joy over-analysis, inclination toward austerity and self-abnegnation and service despises. And secretly longs to possess.

Of course, once I had a bit of a talk with bald-pate guy, he became far less the object of my prejudice. Indeed, turned out to be not as superhuman as I'd imagined. Getting to know 'villain's' 'diminishes them. Well, diminishes the most-often false impression you have of them at any rate.

Thereafter, I ended the evening with a long chat about Astrology with an actual Leo - another svelte but Amazonian woman, who, like most who have little knowledge about Astrology beyond the dreaded sunsign columns, was quite fascinated about the subject.

Actually, come to think of it, I rather like Leos. When they're not in their Lord and Master of the Universe mode, they can actually be warm, friendly, ultra-creative and fun.

Also, the Leo I had my talk with had a Virgo midheaven. So, she could relate with the qualities of perfectionism, nit-picky critique, and detail-oriented analysis-unto-death in her work. Heh.

Deep, warm, dark

Today, I was struck by how much akin in my head my bed is to the depths of the ocean. Yes, yes, or a womb. But I can't remember what being in utero was like (though doubtless there are folks out there who could make me relive the experience). I can, however, remember the feeling of plunging into deep water.

Here followeth a passage from the novel I never finished (mostly because it was Overwrought and Crap):

"Hungry to pierce the green, Sasha took a deep breath. Bent sharply at the waist and slipped easily below. Disappeared. She loved the weightlessness when the up-thrust kept her temporarily suspended, like a lost jewel. There were shafts of light coming from below. From deep below. Radiating upward from an unknown source. Strange that they should come from the depths and not the surface. But then, the surface was easily forgotten.

"She looked at her legs dividing the water beneath her body, slowly. The blue bed could not be seen; therefore, she was suspended. Floating above below. Free. Slowly, she released her store of air, sealing it in a chain of silver bubbles. Spinning away from her. Up. She began to sink and closed her eyes.

"This summer she could hold her breath longer than ever before. She could stay longer."

In this case the hero's female, but you catch my general drift.

Beds cancel you out and liberate you. Especially if the bedroom's dark and the bed comes with a duvet. You can just hop in and let the edge of that feather-filled creature swallow you up. If it's winter and freezing, you can even let the thing close over your head completely.

Breathing gets to be a bit difficult, but who cares? At least your face isn't cold, your eyeballs no longer getting icier and icier behind your closed lids. Quite the contrary, your breathing in your descended state is making everything a little steamy and blissfully warm.

Here there are no obligations or lack thereof. Nothing and noone to tell you you're failing (except your mind - which, unfortunately, is its very own diving bell, but if you're tired enough, you can shut that out, too). And if there are terrors that could bring death, well, I'm even sort of ready for them as well. Earthquake? No problem, the roof will simply cave in on me and kill me. Tsunami from ice cap melting? I'm probably too high up for it to be a problem initially - and I can starve to death quite comfortably in this foetal position. Volcano or fire? I'd probably die quite quickly of asphyxiation just being under the duvet - or I could wrap myself up in my beautiful duvet and simply jump out the window from six floors up (seven if you're calculating in American).

Bed is where I feel I'm safe and protected. Except that, my stroke-ridden grandmother is in her bed 95 percent of the time, and I'm not in her position. And unlike her, my brain isn't damaged enough to absolve me of getting up eventually and taking up responsibility for something.

Dunno if there are beds in the Afterlife. But maybe if you've stayed in them for too long on this earthly level, you don't get any rest wherever you end up next. Hence, no rest for the wicked. And man, that'd suck. I'm banking on heavenly rest after the Boot Camp nightmare that is my mind on the bad days.

So, um, yeah. Beds are nice. Being in them is even nicer.

For Starters...

The thing is, I had to be talked into this.

Talked into this, tricked into this, and then sort of tripped into this. Which is my usual modus operandi when it comes to initiating things.

To elaborate, my girlfriend suggested I start a blog to (a) get into the habit of starting things (NOT my forte) (b) give me something to do while I am living the life of an unemployed bum in Cyprus, and (c) to let me offload some of the hideously circular rants I carry around in my cranium, to spew and vent my angst and fear at The State of The World, and perhaps even to remind myself of certain dreams I had had for myself and my life. Once upon a very long time ago.

Oh yes, and (d) to record occasional moments of genius (and genuflection).

So, if you think you might like the ramblings of a self-obsessed, self-pitying, spellcheck-addicted (that was just thrown in for alliterative effect) saturnine boy scout on a mission to Find His Mission and, hopefully, along the way, bump into God...

.... then REJOICE!

For you have come to the right place.