Last night, having finished working within the Astral Temple, I just sat, looking around me. No sooner did the thought cross my mind “This is such a large space for one person alone,” I wasn’t. Crossing the space in front of me, walking from the north to the west was a woman. She didn’t talk; she didn’t even look at me. But there was a sense of “see, you aren’t alone.” Not in the paranoid “you are being watched” sense, neither was it a warm a cuddly sensation. It was just a statement of fact. I was so surprised to see anyone else that I didn’t think to ask her who she was, until she left. I have some ideas, but (after the fact, of course) I feel that it should have occurred to me to simply ask.
Just working on getting used to using my voice again (figuratively, not literally) and learning how to speak directly, but gently. I have been busy, and there will be updates, and photos, soon, I hope.
I never really concerned myself too much with Mercury retrogrades, they happen frequently, and being both Gemini Sun and Rising signs, I figured that I was pretty familiar with chaotic communication. Not to say that I took no precautions at all, bills got mailed in plenty of time to deal with post office snafus, and I always made sure my cell phone battery was fully charged. Otherwise, no big deal. Not at all like the Mars Rx of last Autumn/Winter, which found me checking the ephemera so that I could spend any future Mars Rx’s in bed, with the blankets pulled over my head.
I wasn’t expecting anything different from the Merc Rx this time around. Big mistake. Is it because I’ve become more attuned to such things, or is it (as I suspect) that the retrograde period landed like a boulder on the birthday week of 50% of my household (with me being one of those making up the 50%)? There weren’t many technical problems, although one was particularly painful, the invisible death of a phone (meaning that there was a display, so it didn’t look dead, even though it was), which meant that I didn’t get a message about particularly desired delivery on the day the item was desired. Which meant, of course, no delivery. A typical Merc Rx sort of thing.
No, it wasn’t so much the technical stuff as the crossed messages themselves. Things assumed to be understood that should have been talked out in great detail. Other conversations that were better left unspoken. Much running and driving around (at astronomical gas prices…) because plans were incorrectly laid.
My New Moon intentions, created and stated June 3, did not come to pass, (in fact, I “achieved” the exact opposite) how much of that could be because I didn’t bother taking the Rx into account? Today, Mercury is stationery, at least for those of us on planet Earth. I find myself holding my breath, wondering “how long is it going to take me, to put things right?” And, “is this going to be a three times a year thing, from now on, or only when it lands on my birthday?”
One of the more well known bits of medieval Jewish magic is, when faced with a persons untimely impending death, to change that persons name. The idea is to confuse the Angel of Death (and I am not going into the issues of belief and ineffability and destiny), so that the Angel can't find the dying person. It also allows that person a new life, and with the ability to choose a name, to choose one that fits the life the person wishes to live.
I have also seen such an action advocated for much less dire issues than death, when the discussion of numerology comes up.
Other than various crowned heads of Europe, has anyone ever heard of a person choosing a new birthday? (Alright certain founders of religions have been given new birthdays, too.) If you have heard of such a thing, how was it done? Why was it done? Was the goal achieved?
Other than that, just not feeling chatty, these days.
(I’ve been thinking about this since my last trip to Florida, and with a recent thread on one of the myriad discussion groups that I am part of, I finally have the impetus to put it in words.)
Some time ago, long enough ago that I was not yet comfortable referring to myself as a woman (as opposed to girl), but was already mother to a child, I had a conversation with my Grandmother. I was complaining about how difficult it was to be the oldest child of “Saint Irene.” (for those of you coming late to the story, my mother died, after a long illness, before her 40th birthday.) My Grandmother retorted “Your mother was no saint!” And then, proceeded to tell me how wonderful was my mother was. Although this was of no help to me at the time (and in fact, made me feel worse), I let my Grandmother talk, after all, my mother was her oldest child, and even in the mood I was in, I knew that little could compare to the pain of watching your child struggle and die, and know all the time that there is nothing you can do for her.
Over the years, at family gatherings, occasionally the subject of my mother would come up. And you will have to forgive me, if I sometimes wondered why the church hadn’t started the beatification process, yet. (the first saints were Jewish, weren’t they?)
Last month, I attended a family funeral. This was for someone on my Father’s side of the family. My mother has been dead for nearly 25 years, my father has remarried. Four people came up to me to tell me how they missed my mother, and the great affect she had had on them, how wonderful she was, how smart, how kind, how beautiful. What I want to know now is:
DID ANYONE TELL HER ANY OF THIS WHEN SHE LIVING?
I am only human, and can only try to learn from the mistakes of others. But I am going to try much harder to let the people with whom I come in contact, that I appreciate them, and why. To any of you who are reading this, Thank you, for sparing some of your time to read my musings. For those of you whom I have more direct contact, I can (and will try to be) more specific.
My apparel is different. At home, in this plane, my robe is dark grey, full sleeved, and fully enveloping. In the temple, I am wearing white, and it is more akin to a Doric chiton. Now, why should that be?
Lately, the water in the goblet was cold enough that the goblet was sweating on the outside. When I lift the goblet, there is an obvious water ring on the silk altar covering. This bothers my hearthwitchy soul. Next time, I will make sure that the goblet has a saucer-silk can get discolored and stained by water.
I can see more in this kind of working. While the Archangels are not contained within the Temple, I can see them-or at least some parts of them. In "outer" work, the best I can manage is to sense the characteristics of the elements in the four quarters (hot/wet, hot/dry, cold/wet, cold/dry).
Why do I get the sense that Michael is amused by me or by what I am doing?
And, finally, grounding afterwards. When I start my daily ritual, I very often see layers of my aura expand. Lately, it feels as if I am grounding in layers, too. I will feel "ok, grounded and centered," then, "whoa! Ok, now grounded." "Whoops, now, I am." There can be as much as 20 minutes between each one of these landings, and I feel perfectly centered and grounded until the earth drops out from under my feet. And, yes, I am eating afterwards.
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