The full-moon-moment will arrive on January 17, 2022, at 23:48 UTC. In North American and U.S. time zones, that translates to: January 17, at 7:48 p.m. Atlantic Standard Time (AST), 6:48 p.m. Eastern Standard Time (EST), 5:48 p.m. Central Standard Time (CST), 4:48 p.m. Mountain Standard Time (MST), 3:48 a.m
With the Full Moon in Cancer at 4:48p MST / 6:48 EST / 23:48 UTC it is suggested to intuitively and without words steep in Your Inner Home. Respect that the Sun opposes the Moon at 4:48p MST so they have both come to the table with a clear view of one another. Also, respect the Silence of the Moon as it also goes Void of Course at 4:48p MST for approx 4 hours to emerge in Leo at 9:03 just after having come out of its Void of Course to go Direct again.
All in all, I suggest to dwell with your Full Moon potential in the brightness of your identity in things you can touch and feel with the Sun for those 4 Void of Course hours. Find something you love to simply keep in mind, internally and externally hold. A totem. A talisman. Then, as the Moon goes Direct, layer in the brightness of Leo identity qualities. As the Moon goes Direct, dial in and magically mix the Moon wave intuitive and deep knowings of your dreams together with the brightness of your Inner Home. Together, then flow them out into your external reality.
Simply live The Moon for the 4 VoC hours. This Full Moon is best to be prepared, and wonderfully pause in that 4-hour Psychic Synapse passage of the Moon’s VoC Silence. May this Silence place you not in holding or holding back. May this Silence be the focused and calmly intense power that is patience. May this Silence be a living meditation countdown to releasing your Moon Blessings into the world from that focused power within. Don’t be patient. Don’t count down. Just be. Find something quiet and enjoyable to do. Knotting. Drawing. Painting. Activities during the 4-hour Void of Course Moon without words would seem to be the most auspicious.
Since the Moon is Full at 4:48p MST at 27-degrees 51-minutes, look at your own Natal Chart for Astro bodies between 24 degrees and 29 degrees. How can you pour these Natal qualities into the Astro Prep of your magical mix?
How can you pour the above qualities and additional ones or fewer that resonate with you into the Astro Prep of your magical mix today? How can you further orchestrate your own momentum by pouring in your timing in respectful synchromesh of each piece’s most natural momentum today?
Big picture notion of all of the above?
Stay with the image today.
Stay with the image. You know what you want to see and feel.
This book, The Cape Doctor by E.J. Levy, is a foundational piece of the enactment of LIVING the Divine Feminine in the world.
The living cadence Moira-internal-resonance of the rhythm of the words is purely from the Creative Wellspring. The feel is proetic, full-on poetic cadences and rhythm in prose. So viscerally easy to experience fully in its pain and love and sorrow and volcanic splendors of beauty. I found the overall story to be a poem of life barely veiled in prose which lives in support of a life-affirming spirituality for any gender. Resonating with innate value, I was touched to the core, the Eros of life itself full-on engaged viscerally in the experience.
The Cape Doctor lives at the level of the power of Rainer Maria Rilke’s The Panther. Important story? No, nope, and certainly not. It’s not important. It’s necessary for health like beauty. Reason indicates here that reasons of importance are unreasonable. Here… Here is a story that is full-on in support of the Creative Principle and personal evolution from the Divine Feminine and its importance in life.
Here, with The Cape Doctor we have a prescient presence in the insight of a life being lived fully, intentionally, and maybe even with more trouble, though that trouble is not wasted as diamonds are made from circumstances rather than from misfortunes.
I felt I was filled by this story directly from the Master Gardener of the Creative Wellspring, just a pure pour into my experiential vessel. This story wonderfully dances with the likes of The Secret Garden with a fluid fluency. Here, with E.J. Levy we have a master writer’s voice and robust story indelible to the psychological experience of life… It’s not that its words do not disappoint. It’s that its story tells life IN its living full-on Both~And rather than either/or.
You know, I’ve had an issue with The Fool in the Tarot being labeled 0 (zero) since I was seven years old. I guess, that 46 years is enough time for an idea to steep and let the cat out of the bag so the dog’s not so alone.
I’ve never seen a wild thing sorry for itself.
~ D.H. Lawrence
I do not think the O in the middle of the top of the card is a zero. I don‘t think it is a number at all or the concept of zero. One, all the other numbers are at the bottom. Certainly, a number 0 at the top could be a telling anomaly, like the head of the ouroboros’ (uroburos) potentiality to bite its tail prior to the tail forming, a “nothing about the caterpillar tells it about the butterfly“ kind of thing, though, I grimace at that with a pretty hefty ‘Nope.’
So, what do I feel from an artist’s perspective? Well, Pamela Coleman-Smith designed the Rider Waite Smith (RWS) Tarot cards. And, I feel the O at the top of The Fool in the RWS is a Day Sky Full Moon. I think that goes a long way to include everything in the card like a whole oak tree in an acorn. The Sun. The Day Sky Full Moon. The elements. The Archetypes all in an unseen place beyond much like the Buddhist Concept of the Disappearing Path indicated by the cliff’s edge right in front of the Fool. Then, all of the unseen things are seen, and the whole oak tree of the deck is in the acorn of The Fool.
How does the O in the top middle of this card image land for you as a Day Sky Full Moon? No need to research this. You won‘t find any attributions as the idea is mine, a personal, Tarot acorn so to speak. My Fool sees the world from the moon, so the earth is what waxes and wanes and is New and is Full through cycles for the Mystereum Fool. How does the O as a Day Sky Full Moon land for you?
Tarot in the Land of Mystereum Fool image (c) 2010 Jordan Hoggard
Death is the Mother of memory, the organic fertilizer that nourishes dreams, ideas, intuitions, imagination.
What message do I have for myself from this experience?
Feel it. Hear it inside. GIve its resonance space to expand until it settles. Now, say it.
Dead-head your pansies in your garden, or pots, or urns, or wherever you have them. It’s a verdant gesture to keep them thriving and vibrant. There’s so much cool color when you do. So much cool color ALL the time. Dead-head the flowers as they start to wilt and drop them to the base of the plant. Death will then be the Master Gardener to nourish. Death, the mother of memory, will fertilize future flowers’ dreams. Dead-head, and that energy can go into the soil, and the energy that was going to that flower will strengthen the remaining full flowers and new growth.
Pansies Are Delicate, Though…
Pansies are delicate, though they are hardy. Pansies in the garden are no weaklings. Pansies are SO not pansies. Trauma works like pansies to a degree…
So many times after an intense experiences passes, I feel there is a tendency to say, Phhuuuuueeewww. Glad that’s over. Run away! Like Monty Python. Run away! Run away!
Is it. Is it over? Is the experience really over? Or, is The End really Just The Next Beginning? Or, is the over simply that we escaped with our life? Or, escaped to be emancipated with more life, more of ourself revealed, now more evidently present?
Maybe, instead of Glad that’s over, somewhere along the line I’ve learned to dwell IN the experience while it was still fresh just afterwards, and then not have to dwell on it as some nebulous unresolved why-dafuq-do-I-get-triggered-that-way by who knows what that reminds me subtly enough that I don’t groc it until too late, for years to come.
Feel into trauma and experience wise in time or just after. Own it. Listen to its message. Allow it to integrate itSelf on its own terms. Continue WITH it as a new asset. Feel your empathy tuned up a notch in so doing. Respect and resonate in powerful witness with the trauma messenger inside. Be grateful to the person who triggered you BEFORE you act out driven by the trauma and not the totality of what you were the moment before. Express, Thank you for digging just there. I need to breathe and feel into that. ANd, if they are a solid friend comfortable in their own skin, they’ll understand, maybe even silently stay with you for the short vigil while you acclimate to the trauma re-surfacing, powerfully and respectfully and grateful listen to it in all its ferocity and candor and quiet subtleties.
Once Your Trauma Has
Once your trauma has re-acclimated to you as well — its birth to peel off from you to protect you and bleed off overload in the system and become a disconnected Part and be buried deep inside may Be the last time it saw you — get re-acquainted, and do so allowing the Part to lead. Don’t poison it with any words or expectations or presumptive putting words in its mouth. Allow it to speak, and do so on its own time rather than yours. The 1st session with a Part may simply be an awareness of one another session. Each encounter is different. It may leave and come back to check in later. Minutes. Days. Years. Simply reserve a place At your table for it when it presents each time.
Amending The Soil
It feels like fingers in black earth while amending the soil in the garden. If, just for a moment, I honor myself enough to be silent and still, not frozen, not in shock, silent and still, when I feel into the intense experience after I have washed up on the shore on the other side after the storm I’ve experienced has broken, I can feel-discern with a fresh clarity of vision in a new perspective framed by the experience before it evaporates. And, it informs me. It gifts me the message of my experience while it’s still fresh, instead of disappearing inside to become a trigger where the trauma is always kept fresh.
Still Near It, Fresh
Still near it, fresh and wet behind the ears from my birth from The experience, before it’s truly past trauma, still focused by it and immersed in it rather than by me, a bit still hanging toes in the unconscious semi-liminal, it or I may gift myself a message from the experience before I fully step back over the trauma prison of Inner Beyond to here. Psychologists have plenty of titles for this. That’s cool. Creativity is not a diagnosis or a malady or a disorder. The only titles that matter to me are Tarot Reader and Author, Astrology Reader and Author (by Blog), Artist, Poet, Writer, Alchemist, Architect, someone who is Alive. Bold. Courageous. Caring. Empathic without being mushy… unless of course we have our toes in the mud… to grow a Lotus from the mud in joyous and as-if-without-thought-or will sandbox garden.
Fearlessness doesn’t apply here. I have plenty of fears. I simply don’t let anxiety kidnap them and torture and distort them into making me afraid. Guess that helps get off the mountain when those torrentially experiential storms come in rain-singing, Nature’ll kill ya. Keep breathing, and you’re still alive so you’re still a problem. Keep breathing. Nature’ll kill ya. Nature’ll kill ya. And, Nature will make you stronger when you relive yourself of the excess, when you deadhead the pansies in the Soul Garden so they keep thriving more and more strongly towards perennial naturalization each year.
I’d stay in that place as long as it took, not running for dear life to get as far away as possible, certainly not frozen, quite the contrary. Not fight or flight or freeze. Aware. Still. Focused. Patience is not docile or omissive. Patience is concentrated strength.
To In-dwell, To Enact
I in-dwell in the feelingsense home of the space, of the place, of my recent, intense experience. Sometimes 5 seconds. Sometimes an hour. Sometimes decades cycling around through its paces throughout my psyche. No deadline, no expectation. I simply make serendipitous stumbles in meditative momentS moving forward in a powerful and respectful witness of what just occurred. I don’t waste trouble.
And, I do that until I’ve psychic-gold-panned past the experience’s rough geode exterior to see beyond the rawness in the moment to the refined, potent message. I see into to the colorfully kaleidoscopic, living crystal, juicy gemstone, geode interior. And, the message comes as my head begins nodding. Almost without fail. Almost without fail is an acceptable risk to me.
I’ve had historical friends for as long as I can remember. Sometimes they are spectators, sometimes assistants, sometimes colleagues, and sometimes I’m the spectator when I Engage in process towards the message with something like: What would my friend Fred do?; How would my friend Bill B handle this?; What does CG‘s ‘Red Book’ have to offer?
How Do You Keep It?
Who Are Your Historical Friends?
How Can They Help You Today?
How do I keep it? I keep it with an open palm up to the sky where it would nestle in my hand. No closing my hand and holding tight white knuckling to possess it. That suffocates things. Embrace it. Embrace the person or thing as a talisman, a talisman of THEMself on their terms. No need to digress into Psychological Projection or Projective Identity. Those two are the horseshit born of not owning your own stuff.
How do I embrace and meet up with inner, geode messages?
Open handed, reciprocal figure to ground touch, the Both/And touch of the Yin-Yang, the apogee master violin bow single-stroke bindus connecting inhale and exhale, forming breath as prayer. That’s how I embrace and meet up with these inner, geode messages.
Adversity doesn’t build character. It reveals it. ~ James Lane Allen
Be there. Be present. The present is perpetual.
Boundaries that create separation simply induce self-imposed anxiety. Boundaries that establish identity and distinctions can dance and immerse in one another without dissolution. I love swimming. I love swimming immersed with another and their uncut intensities even more. Fun stuff.
Then, if you‘re still alive, keep it.
And, saturation needn’t be drowning in the distress of a situation. Like a high performance, high speed, X-rated radial tire — rated for speeds over 134 mph, it’s on you to take responsibility for how far you take it above that… they’re not concerned about a court case at that level above 200 mph as that’s on you top make sure — you and your tires are filled up to 33 psi for stability, and maybe dropped to 32psi for added grip in the turns in the cold? Yes. Vrooom, shift n corner, baby! Shift n corner TOGETHER!
Message Gifts Kept
From your experiences, what gems of messages have you mined to keep?
They are yours, I respect that, and ask that you do as well. No need to comment them here. Please comment only IFF if and only if you care to and are full-on comfortable to share them. Otherwise, they are yours to tune your Soul’s liquid silence with the resonant chords of you and nurture the healthy boundaries of the Royal Castle Around You forming you as Presence As Architecture, or whatever you decide you do with… (Hey presumption, get the effa outa here and know when to shut dafuq up)
May I suggest that Your Presence Is Architecture, Presence As Architecture. Keep it. Upkeep it. Nourish its powerful limits and boundaries. Fly as high as your roots go deep. Swim as deep And infinitely as your dreams expand within.
How do you dead-head the pansies of trauma to nourish yourself by respectfully integrating them?
What Have You Mined, and Kept That You Use to Enact Your Priorities? Does Form Follow Priority? And/Or, Is The Form Simply the Consequence of Your Form-Giver?
I go with the form-giver. Beauty necessarily has some weirdness she’s, some flaws. Otherwise, it’s just pretty. Like quick fixes have shallow roots, pretty is temporary. Beauty endures, as beauty evolves to continually be itself.
You have no responsibility to be who you were even 5 minutes ago. ~ Alan Watts
Adversity doesn’t build character. It reveals it. ~ James Lane Allen (most likely ripped from Aristotle, though I haven’t located the conceptual reference. No matter. Nothing new, yet everything must be original. ~ T.S. Eliot)
Suffering isn’t always required for that if you’re allergic to boredom and challenge yourself. Sometimes, what does not kill us, doesn’t kill us because it loves us very much. And, when you powerfully witness to engage in the Empathic Silence of listening, you may forget your thoughts… the gift in hearing and experiencing another full-boat, full-bore straight out of the box of who they are. I feel one of the biggest tragedies in life is not settling in to nestle in the experience to evaporate the mirage of what or who you think someone is. One of the biggest beauties? Having a clear mind and heart so that every word and feeling between them from another ripples on the glass top lake of your infinite, inner well.
And Yes, adversity may be just like weather coming in, that has arrived. On the mountain. Above treeline. In late October of 1999. On a 14er. 14,263 feet above sea level, and Nature’ll kill ya in a single mis-step no matter your experience level. Being aware of experience, though, means we’re still alive, and that we’ve just had an another experience. And, that we can potentially be made stronger if we don’t react, and instead respond wise in time in the moment, and own it with NO mistakes, just OFLs, Opportunities For Learning… own it, and… can the reasons as they are unreasonable there. You. Are. Already. There. DO you live or die? Do you live or die trying. Do you live by dying trying to be reborn the next morning with your back propped up on the back wheel of an ambulance.
Is guilt simply shame you allowed To digest? Cool. So what? That’s what ablution’s for, to get you back to you. And, shame? Can you slip that shit by side-stepping to literally slip it with wit and humor… with such things when you feel uncomfortable with something like, “:), your words not mine.” And, leave it that, not integrating another trauma to be resolved?
I don’t know about you, though that docket’s full already, and there’s no cutting in line.
If you stop to address every barking dog….(Kinda thing) ~ Winston Churchill
What did I Keep That Day?
What I heard as I came to, came back to consciousness at 5:45a after getting myself off Mt Democrat and Leg leg blown Creature From The Black Lagoon dragging it and myself back to camp at the base at just after 3am. … Hearing my name, I collapsed.
What Did I Hear?
His heart rate has been locked at 51 bpm for the last 2 hours since he’s been here. I don’t know how he did that, though I gather it was to evaporate anxiety to get ‘er done. 51 bpm and 120 over 70 under full life-threatening stress. Oh, here he comes. ‘Hey Brown Eyes. Where Ya Been?’
~ Paramedic whose name would never stick. Thank you Paramedic-Person For keeping me alive by just staying there in front of me as I began to try to make my way back. Your presence gave me a beacon.
When you think there is only darkness, close your two eyes to open the 3rd. When you think there is only darkness, look again. Maybe it’s you that are the light With no need of a mirror. That’s something you can share. It’s a gift to the world.
What Did I Say to the Paramedic?
I heard that. Yes, you are right. I breathed my Heart into Cruise Control. No anxiety or worry. I was sure I was going to die 2,000 vertical feet down the scree field. So, what did I do?I turned around, looked up that infinite sand hill… ‘Yup. I’m going to die. But, (pointing up the incline) I’m going to die going THAT way.‘ Will you epi-pen me or Shake me or something? Now, I can’t get it out of that gear. I love her response. No, I won’t. I’ll give you this cold burger they got for you just in case, and sit here in silence with you as you keep making your way back as slowly as you need. You already shocked your system. Eat. No need to stir the water. You did that up there. It’ll clear. Your heart will thaw into reg. Why do you keep throwing off the blankets? You did that in your sleep, too. I don’t understand. It’s 19 degrees, and you’re in shorts and a T-shirt. I think I cracked a smile which cracked open my lips again to warmly drip blood down my chin On the burger. Yum. My Own Life Sauce. Cold? I don’t feel cold right now. The blankets are too hot. As she blotted my bleeding, she smiled. That tells me again you’re not back yet. Well, YOU are back, just that YOU yourself are not here yet. We sat for an hour. The Silence may have been the best conversation I’ve ever had, right along with the best burger ever.