No Rest on This Pisces Moon

Gotta wash this nightmare outta my hair:
The world in flames, our planet's last dawn
People gather as witnesses to silently bear
Bloodred ember-studded sky looks so wrong
We can only take baby sips of air
Mars opposing Saturn, civilization gone
Malefics playing Truth or Dare
Our house is on fire, keens humanity's swansong
If other species could speak, they'd say it's not fair
Life can no longer soldier on
And it's too late for us to productively care

On Not Being Able to View the Jupiter-Saturn Conjunction

At least I had legs to carry me down
Two flights of stairs and outside,
Most of the way to the waterfront.
I walked as far as the sidewalk was shoveled,
To the underpass where I could see the garish mural
Of psychedelicized flowers and read the trite affirmations
That still managed to be a comfort to this cynic.
At least I could see a crescent moon on its descent,
Wrapped in downy gathering clouds.
At least I could smell winter in the last dregs of fall,
In home fireplaces, in the kitchen
Of the local old-school Italian restaurant
Open for business, surviving the pandemic.
Tomorrow it will snow again;
Monday it will be overcast.
So most likely, I will miss viewing
This once-in-800-years event,
This Star of Bethlehem.
But I am not downcast—I have already had
My Christmas miracle:
I got out of the city with my sweetie,
Lock stock barrel, the whole kitten caboodle,
To a smaller city with more space
Both inside and out.
I do not pass a single soul on my walk
And feel blessed as I breathe in the cold, clean air,
Noting how some upended chunks of snow
Resemble tiny gravestones in the dusk
And feel graced when I slip on an icy patch
And recover my balance.

Election Day: Civil War II?

THE SECOND COMING

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

--William Butler Yeats (1919)

Dear readers, I plead guilty to the sin of procrastination. Yes, I have been run down, burned-out, too engaged in my paying work and with my drama-filled life, but I still feel obligated to try to make some sense of this crazy-ass election cycle...not so much to predict who will win the U.S. presidency today, or to reiterate what many of you might have already read about Mars being in the last degree of Capricorn on Election Day, and how the Moon will change signs from Aquarius to Pisces. Instead, I want to explore the U.S. natal chart and its progressions, transits, and its next Lunar Return (which happens today, 12:44 p.m. EST).

When I gaze a little ways down the cosmic road, I do not like much of what I see for America.

Over and over again on this site, I discussed the Uranus-Pluto square of 2012-15 and the more recent Saturn-Neptune square of 2015-16. I still believe these ridiculously horrendous aspects, operating on a mass level because they involved the outer planets, were what made this ridiculously horrendous election cycle possible.

What I somehow missed was that transiting Pluto opposed U.S. Sun throughout 2015 (a classic power-tripping aspect that also points to nefarious underground, illicit activity). This opposition was heightened by the fact that U.S. 1st and 7th Houses were involved, lending a highly polarized "you vs. me" flavor. Pluto has been transiting U.S. 1st House since December 2000; it was conjunct U.S. Ascendant on the heels of 9/11, with transiting Saturn opposing it in Gemini, the sign of the twins (or twin towers). It is safe to say that for the past decade and a half, America has been going through a classic Pluto-transiting-1st-House identity crisis.

Pluto does transform -- but not always for the better. Pluto first entered U.S. 2nd House in March of this year and will go back into the 2nd House for good in the first week of January 2017. So right now, we are at the tail end of this particular chapter of U.S. history, of Pluto transiting the 1st House. And in so many ways, America has become unrecognizable...not just in its appearance (downside: obese; upside: increased acceptance of transgendered individuals; downside: crumbling infrastructure and chain-store-ification; upside: more underground/alternative scenes) but in a deep-rooted sense that is not at all visible yet still palpable on a psychic level. Aside from blossoming shamanistic healers, the vibe has been dark, menacing, hostile, morbid, nihilistic. In other words, Plutonian.

Transiting Uranus has also been making plenty of noise in the U.S. chart. As Pluto slips into the U.S. 2nd House, Uranus remains in the angular 4th House and will continue to square U.S. Mercury, as it did in the summer of 2016, till April 2017. Interestingly, Uranus comes within a hair's breadth of squaring U.S. Mercury again at the very beginning of 2018, but turns direct just before the exact aspect. Given the signs and Houses involved (Aries/Cancer, 4th House to 8th), I suspect that we will narrowly avert a disaster of potentially apocalyptic proportions right around New Year's Day 2018. However, we may not be so lucky on that front this coming April. That does not mean I am predicting THE apocalypse when spring comes, but it suggests homegrown terrorism and/or Civil War II. The climate is very ripe for such brutal, intransigent tragedy, the likes of which we have not experienced in America since the 1860s. Even if we all breathe a collective sigh of relief in January 2018, transiting Uranus will have been squaring U.S. Pluto (June and September 2017) and will not finish doing so till April 2018.

So basically, Uranus has been, and will continue, triggering America's natal Mercury-Pluto opposition: one of America's worst aspects. (The other one is the Mars-Neptune square, which will soon be triggered by transiting Saturn in Sagittarius.) Uranus is genius but also insanity; Uranus is a rebel with a cause; Uranus is a lightning bolt that could zap America's collective brain, forcing some of us to wake up while encouraging others of us to succumb to violent paranoia and scratch an itchy trigger finger.

No matter who wins the U.S. election, I see the potential for mass deception, depression, and imprisonment, as transiting Neptune continues to conjunct U.S. progressed Sun in Pisces until spring 2018. (The conjunction began this past spring.) On the upside, I also see some wonderful movies, literature, dance, and other art forms being created and released -- though some of the art could well be banned or suppressed if it lacks the necessary propaganda and "spin." Another positive manifestation of this very strong Pisces conjunction could be increased medical or recreational legalization of marijuana in America. As you are probably aware, the issue of marijuana reform is on the ballot today for nine states. If all the measures pass, that would make almost a quarter of the U.S. population (not a quarter of the actual states) eligible to indulge in recreational pot use.

I see an influx of immigrants with U.S. progressed Moon in Sagittarius entering U.S. 1st House at the dawn of spring 2017, but also a wave of people emigrating due to religious or philosophical differences. More worrisome is the fact that U.S. progressed Moon exactly opposes U.S. Uranus in Gemini just two weeks after Election Day. Emotions will be running high and not at all rationally; at the risk of repeating myself, another read of this opposition is Civil War II. At the very least, some quarters will be experiencing a meltdown or nervous breakdown of epic proportions.

I implore those of you who can vote in the U.S. election to do so. Yes, the upcoming aspects are deeply troubling and downright alarming, no matter which candidate wins; but I am not saying that it does not make a difference who wins...far from it. It is also crucial that the Democratic Party regain the Senate. One cause I have for optimism is that the U.S. Lunar Return features the Sun and Mercury at the Midheaven in Scorpio, and Hillary Clinton is a Scorpio. Capricorn is Rising in the Lunar Return, with Mars close to the Ascendant and U.S. Mercury exactly conjunct the 7th House Cusp. This suggests that women voters will be particularly important, but that some poll centers will be a very unpleasant experience, with or without police presence.

What my study of transiting aspects indicates is that no matter which candidate wins, the hatred, extremism, racism, sexism, greed, and xenophobia that have moved from the lunatic fringe to the alt-right (which I refer to as alt-control-delete, since that better describes their agenda) will not magically vanish in a puff of acrid smoke if Hillary Clinton wins America's next presidency. There are simply too many of them to discount, and not all of them are uneducated and poor, either. It is conceivable that the inconceivable could happen; consider how British voters did not come to their senses earlier this year, resulting in "Brexit." According to Bill Maher, this election is a referendum on decency. I would go even further and say it is a referendum on evil. Unfortunately, as Yeats put it so well nearly 100 years ago, "The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are full of passionate intensity."

It would be pretty swell if those of us who aspire to be our best selves (human beings who, for example, do not grab the best piece of cake and put barbed-wire fence around the rest) dare to be passionately intense, intensely passionate. Now is the time for those of us who are compassionate and curious to stop numbing ourselves out with various panaceas, pharmaceuticals, and passivity. It will hurt, because Uranus and Pluto squares and oppositions don't tickle. Nor would another Civil War tickle. But the alternative is allow ourselves to believe that the rise of the alt-control-delete movement in America is the new normal, to sleepwalk into the 21st-century version of the Third Reich.

The Last in a Long Line of Uranus-Pluto Squares Is Here!

I have written about the Uranus-Pluto square so often for the past three years that I do not know if I have anything much to add for square number seven of seven, exact at 9:50 p.m. EDT. That it occurs during the dark of the moon heightens the feeling that a cycle, indeed an entire era, is drawing to a close. For those of you who have only recently begun reading my site, and for those of you who have been reading my astrobabble for much longer, here is a (hopefully poetic) recap:

ODE TO THE URANUS-PLUTO SQUARE

The same old song's been on since June 2012
It's as sharp as a nail piercing the sole of a shoe
With a soft foot inside
That has no place to hide
Unless you're too big to fail, you do
And Uranus and Pluto keep turning the screw
Brutalities widespread those with hearts can't abide
Corporations are people not on humanity's side
Most of the money's been flowing upstream
A nightmare has curdled the American Dream
The name Isis used to mean an Egyptian goddess
Now it brings to mind an unholy mess
This square has been a prolonged scream
In which many things are as bad as they seem
Yet attempt to recognize what you can bless
That can't be taken away by the IRS
When the dust settles and the smoke clears
We might see better than we have in years
Yet the square's reverb shall linger in our ears
And if we can grieve, there will be tears
Some did not survive the square
Some got through but lost their hair
Some said, "Do I look like I care?"
Some reclaimed their power, others did not dare.

Pisces Post-Full Moon Haikus

Pisces Post-Full Moon Haikus

Snow globe still shaking
With two weeks left of winter--
I'm cold and tired.

I try to recall
Pleasurable sensations
Like my cat's sleek coat--

Like my sweetie's lips
And the warmth of his fingers
And his soft fine hair.

I try to recall
Going out sans bundling;
Hair not shaped by hat.

I try to recall
A week without feeling sick,
Sneezing and coughing.

Spring is almost here
Though it seems nowhere nearby
Buried in the snow.

A Not-So-Fond Fare-Thee-Well to February: Musings on Getting Personal in My Posts, Rembrandt, and Some Poetry if You Read Till the End (or Just Scroll Down)

T. S. Eliot wrote that "April is the cruellest month." Though the poet was on to something there, as two-thirds of that month is ruled by Mars (the god of war) -- and if you suffer from spring allergies to boot, as I do, it's nothing to sneeze at -- I believe the true Waste Land, especially this year, is February. Here is an unfunny joke: "Why is February so short?" "Because if it were any longer, nobody would make it to March."

I already complained about the Siberian Express in my last post, which received so few hits it made me wonder if I should keep weather talk out of my astrologizing. Which further made me ponder my entire philosophy of discussing on this site pretty much everything except what most astro-curious souls trawling the web are searching for: their horoscopes. Writing horoscopes is the one thing I pointedly refuse to do, because I think sun-sign astrology is the equivalent of knowing what country someone is from: it can be helpful in terms of understanding what language that someone speaks (though that actually has more to do with Mercury's placement than the Sun), but it only gives the tip of the iceberg, to use a cliche apropos for this brutally cold month.

So I wind up ranting about various components of my own natal chart and major-league transits (in the case of the born-in-2012, still-very-much-with-us Uranus-Pluto square, so frequently I feel like a recording) and how they seem to tie in to various political, economic, and social injustices. A few years ago, an irate reader put the smackdown on me for getting "too political" in my posts, which pissed me off, but at least someone cared enough to try to pin back my ears. Around the same time, I received from another reader some very encouraging comments that I should write a book about Pluto, since I seemed to know so much about all matters Plutonian.

Now, despite the fact that I have nearly 800 followers on Twitter, I mostly feel like a forgotten child on this site...a drop in the bucket of astrology blogs. There are just so many of them out there. Some of them are truly inspired (hello, Donna Cunningham!). It's too daunting to try to "keep up." (Gee, should I try to write about Leonard Nimoy's chart while everyone is still talking about his death? #LiveLongAndProsper, indeed!) It's hard to feel "original" writing about aspects, signs, etc. when it's all been written before, countless times, sometimes brilliantly. It's the kind of feeling I sometimes have as a writer in other genres, that all the stories have already been told, that there are a set number of themes 'n' variations, that all the archetypes have already been explored to the nth degree. Then I snap out of it and write anyway.

Sometimes I wonder why someone with my particular chart would get not just political but personal on this site. Then I think about Rembrandt, one of the greatest artists who ever lived. Like me, he was a Cancer Sun with a Scorpio Moon, and he was known for his endless self-portraits. I wonder if anyone ever said to him, "Hey, Van Rijn, what's up with all the selfies? It's not as if you're pretty enough to be on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or nothin'." I wonder if he was confident enough not to reply at all but instead ask aloud where he'd put that fly-swatter, or if he got embarrassed (and then promptly made a self-portrait of himself blushing) or defensive. I cannot, of course, answer for the master -- that would be beyond presumptuous, and this is not a blue-book midterm essay for an art history class.

But I know how looking at Rembrandt's self-portraits makes me feel. It's as if I'm peering into his private peep show; I see the unmistakable intensity and resolve in his eyes, yet cannot say for sure what color they are due his love of chiaroscuro, the interplay of light and shadow. (Rembrandt would have made one hell of a film noir director.) I doubt he was "just" lazy or self-centered to be his own go-to model; and as much as he showed, he kept plenty about his visage (as a portal to his whole self) a mystery. (In that vein, readers of this blog and of my fiction and poetry may see me as an open book, but I have more than one book, so to speak.) I have no idea how confident Rembrandt truly was in his abilities, but he believed in himself enough to stay in Holland instead of going to Italy, and he wound up immortalizing himself in paint. If getting so personal in his art enabled him know himself better -- in a time when psychotherapy did not yet exist -- so much the better, yet who knows how self-aware Rembrandt really was. He might have painted like a god, but he was, in the end, just human.

Sometimes I like to think that by painting myself on this site as a highly fallible human being filled with various worries, crotchets, and obsessions that go into living as a non-hermit in a town without pity in the early 21st century, I might be helping someone who lives halfway across the world, or down the street, feel less alone in his or her pain...maybe even help more by not posing as a one-way mirror, as some mystical astrology oracle preaching from a place far removed from all the noise and mess of living. There are more astrology blogs out there than ever, and with people buying online chart interpretations for much less money than a face-to-face reading would cost, all I can do is keep on being myself, warts and all. I may never enter the astrology pantheon the way Rembrandt did with his art, but oh well -- at least I have a cute button nose and good teeth.

But this was supposed to be a post about bidding adieu to the coldest damn month in NYC since 1934 (not too coincidentally, the last Uranus-Pluto square era). To that end, I will therefore share with you this poem I wrote on the subway last week. (I am thinking of compiling a collection of poems I wrote while in transit, to be titled When I Get a Seat on the Subway.)

February Lunation

In the darkest part
of the dark of the moon,
the subway whines
a death's-head tune.
My phone then rings
like a drowning loon;
it's HR from LA--
rejection's a goon.

Good riddance
to Aquarius!
My mind's a mess,
my soul can't dance.
In subzero stress
there is no success;
I haven't a chance.

Now the moon is new
though it's still 4 degrees
and I'm still on a train,
cut off at the knees.

Crossing the bridge,
I spot the Statue of Liberty
and pray to her icy greenness
at the mouth of the cold city.

Ode to the Lunar Eclipse

No matter how tired I am tonight
No matter how weary my bones
No matter how heavy in the heart
I will wait up for you
To watch the reddish bronze creep across your pale lunar face
And upon completion, admire your tan as if you'd spent a week in the Caribbean.
It is high time for me to shake off the polar vortex
Time for renewal that charges me up without charging my credit card
Time to thumb my nose at the fearsome Grand Cross that falls on Easter
Time to gaze up at you with matching bloodshot eyes
Time to remember what it takes to make two burning souls lovers
And ace the heavy winter bed covers.

Progressed Moon in Cancer: A Poem

Poised in the 10th house of the public eye
My pearly ambition will strike crabwise--
Indirect, subtle, soft as moonlight.
The world won't know what hit it
Or pinched it
But I will feel in my stomach
What the world needs
Before it does.
I will make it at long last, on my own terms;
I will finally make the kind of home I need;
I will cook more;
And I will probably wear more push-up bras.

Ode to Transiting Saturn Conjunct Natal Moon in Scorpio

They say if it ain't broke, don't fix it
but what if all the gears are jammed?
How do I start rebuilding my psyche
when I am sitting at my own desk
and feel a million miles away from home?

Fever brings clarity,
Kindness feels like charity,
Politeness a formality,
My libido beaten by austerity.

I needed my mother.
I just spoke to her on the phone
and now I feel like one of those lab monkeys
trying to get nurturing from a pile of twisted wire
rigged with electroshocks.

Fever brings clarity,
Kindness feels like charity,
Politeness a formality,
By now I should be used to my unpopularity.

There's a weight pressing down on my soul
that's giving me a major headache.
Getting sick can force one to stop and rest,
but watching DVDs only offer temporary escape;
then all I can do is worry.

Fever brings clarity,
Kindness feels like charity,
Politeness a formality,
On sabbatical's my hilarity.

The child I could've had ten years ago
visited me today while I was shivering on my sofa.
She was lovely, with long brown hair.
She said she forgave me.
She looked almost exactly like me.

Fever brings clarity,
Kindness feels like charity,
Politeness a formality,
Will I create something brilliant for posterity?

Solar Return Poem

Summer rain
may be the most evocative phrase
in the English language
(along with melted chocolate
parted lips,
total eclipse eyes).
Solar Return #42, 8:30 p.m., just after sunset--
how on earth did I get to this point?
I am still just a kid,
though when I was just a kid,
I was old as a prewar building.
Lost on Mercury Retrograde Lane
I come back to myself in the summer rain
and an equally delicious shot of St. Germain
poured into cheap champagne,
sipped in a cool bath
fragrant with "mermaid" bath salts
saved for a special occasion...
I let all tension and regrets spiral down the drain.

On the Edge of the Autumnal Equinox (a poem)

Last sunset of summer
over the Hudson River
from a Tribeca rooftop
through my wineglass --
a birthday party for
the Virgo girlfriend
of a Virgo ex.
It has been over three years
since I have been here.

My best friend brought a date
who is so rude that he leaves
before he drives her
to push him off the roof
for being hostile and uncouth.

I keep thinking I will leave
after one more glass of wine --
it does not happen.
It is a magical glass
that keeps refilling itself.
But what the hell:
the Moon is in Sagittarius,
which encourages excess.

The party's remnants
move from the roof to my ex's apartment
to smoke and drink. A pizza arrives
and I take a slice to absorb all the wine.
Three latecomers show up
just as I am about to leave --
I wind up staying till the party breaks up
because two are astrologers
visiting from the West Coast
and the other one knows her chart
and makes me feel smart.

Just a few blocks from home
I hold the door of a bodega open
to let in a large black cat with a white chin
that I have seen slinking down those aisles
of canned soups, sodas, and six packs.
A guy passing by exclaims how nice that was
of me to do, and asks me what I think
the cat's name is -- it's gotta be
something Arabic, right?
Without missing a beat, I reply "Halal,"
and as the guy laughs, I still can't believe it's nearly fall.

Once in a Blue Moon

This Blue Moon seems so close
Though in reality is so far away --
Dream yourself a little dream
Before you reenter the fray.

Let yourself imagine
Let yourself be magical
Let yourself howl at the Moon
Before you get too logical.

This month was born on a Full Moon
And is set to die on one, too --
The pearly orb will rise at sunset
And doesn't have to be sad, just blue.

Ambivalent Ode to Jupiter in Gemini

Rapidly expanding and rhyming mind

Getting to know a new neighborhood—

Little sister and I playing nicely together

In many ways, my life is good.

On the flip side, though, I find

that I am overthinking more than I should

My evil twin is stormy weather

Whose tantrums recall toddlerhood.

I daydream during the daily grind;

Simple facts are misunderstood;

I am rudderless as a single feather

Floating above a darkened wood.

_____________________________________________ Jupiter is in Gemini between June 11, 2012, and June 26, 2013.

Ode to Full Moon in Taurus (one day late)

Do you dare admit to your heart's desire?
The things that set all of you on fire?

Can you face up to what you truly want?
Or do you stop yourself by claiming you don't?

What do you see when you gaze into a mirror?
Does your reflection laugh or cry you a river?

Can you be rich without any money?
Can you be sweet without any honey?

Can you be hot without having a lover?
Can you have power without running someone over?

Do you feel most alive when on the edge,
Perched on a metaphorical ledge?

Will you turn into a werewolf on this Full Moon?
Or sip someone's blood with a silver spoon?

Do you feel pulled apart and wanting it all?
Do you wish you could be an iconic idol?

Are you developing X-ray vision?
Or the intensity of nuclear fission?

Can you answer any of these questions in all honesty?
If so, feel free to report back to me.

Notes on Thumbing My Nose at the Sun-Pluto Oppostion

The Sun-Uranus square this past Sunday morning brought me a a head cold (which was gone by Monday morning) and a huge case of stage fright, the result of my having raised the performance bar via memorization of four poems. Odd that since I perform regularly and have strongly aspected Mercury, Saturn, and Moon in my natal chart, I had never before recited my poetry in front of an audience "by heart." Anyhow, I was ready, although I was three-quarters convinced that I was going to choke.

At around 5 p.m. on Monday, still at work but beginning to wind down and plan to apply some sultry eye makeup in the office restroom, I got a rather distressing phone call from the videograper whom I'd booked to capture my virgin "by heart" featured performance: "I'm here early, T.C., but you should know that the place is locked, no sign of life inside, no one is responding to my knocks."

The venue (whose name I will not mention here because bad press is better than no press), a cafe in the EV/Noho that was like a time capsule of late '60s memorabilia, had been undergoing renovations this month, but I had been assured by the reading series' curators that we would still have use of the space -- worst-case scenario being the basement instead of the main room. Then I heard the renovations were supposed to be complete by the 24th.

Renovation is ruled both by Uranus and Pluto, and this renovation in particular sounded more Plutonian: excavation instead of knocking down walls and suchlike. Neither of the curators who had my phone number had called that day to inform me the show had been canceled, and there were no show's-off emails, either. I assured the videographer that most likely, someone would show up by 6 p.m., as the show was to start at 6:30.

My stage fright morphed into anger when I saw for myself that as of 6 p.m., the venue was still locked. The reading series' curators were sitting outside along with some other early birds for the evening. Phone calls were made. Messages were left. Knocks on the door brought forth no answer. In addition to excavation, Pluto rules locks, lockouts, and subterfuge, and with the opposition from the Sun, there was obviously gross miscommunication.

However, despite the Sun-Pluto opposition (with the Sun in my sign), the Moon in Taurus, approaching a trine to my natal Pluto and Ascendant in Virgo and a conjunction to my progressed Moon, salvaged the evening. The videographer had every right to take off, but he waited long enough for the tide to turn, which happened around 6:45. A woman living upstairs eventually let us in, after receiving a phone call from someone associated with the venue, and after one of the curators assumed liability in case anyone got electrocuted or died of cat-piss inhalation.

I learned that night that this show was number 13 in the series, which had begun on a monthly basis just over a year ago. Not surprisingly, 13 is a Pluto number (anyone who doubts that can check out the 13th card in the tarot's major arcana: Death). Fortunately, 13 is my lucky number (as I was born on the 13th).

Everyone performed amazingly well given the weird circumstances, plus the fact that turnout was relatively low (especially compared to last month's show). My darling read a new poem that was both sweet and sexy. And not only did I not choke during my performance, it may have been my best one so far. Because there were fewer people in attendance, and fewer open-mikers, I went on pretty much on schedule. Two of my awesome girl friends, who rarely if ever miss a show I am featured in, showed up and we all went out afterward for a delicious dinner.

So take that, Sun-Pluto opposition! Nyah, nyah, nyah!!!

Happy Solar Return to Me

My Solar Return officially happened today at 2:58 a.m., and naturally as a Pluto-in-Virgo Rising native I had to not only see my 39th birthday in (for the second time), but also engage in a bit of ritual. I have a nice little collection of upscale candles, the subtly as opposed to overpoweringly scented kind that come in decorative tins, and I lit the pink magnolia one as I wrote in my journal.

How I wish I could share some choice profundities from that journal entry upon entering my 5th (!) decade in this life, a la F. Scott Fitzgerald in his "The Crack-Up" essay, which he wrote just days before turning the big 4-0. Yet I don't think I was waxing so wise late last night. It was more like I was in unexpected shock that the moment I'd been anticipating for the past 10 years, i.e., entering middle age, was finally happening. I was so reflective and conscious of passing time as a child and younger adult that I never actually felt young; now that I am definitely no longer young, I feel wistful at the same time I have zero nostalgia for it...

...except for isolated incidents, like walking on Lido Beach on the South Shore of Long Island with my grandparents' nearly untrained Lhasha Apso, feeling totally at peace with the world and with myself. Like believing with all my heart as an adolescent that I would grow up to be a SoHo artist and thus get my revenge on all my classmates who treated me like an alien or as if I didn't exist. Like having the energy and persistence to send out my short stories and novel on a regular basis despite the constant rejections because I believed so much in what I was doing...

Compared to most of the people of the world, especially in this worsening Global Recession-slash-Depression, I know how lucky I have it: an aesthetically pleasing roof over my gradually graying head in the so-hip-it-hurts borough of Kings; decent if not excellent health; work (albeit the kind that is erratic and not terribly lucrative, i.e., freelance editing, and all of the CVs I send out for salaried positions fall into a cybervoid); some real friends; a real love; family that no longer features the sort of drama that shredded my nerves on a regular basis; some validation for my creative work (today my audio book has been published on paper-bag-press.com, a very cool manifestation of Moon in Leo in my Solar Return chart's 3rd house, and sextile the SR Ascendant). And this evening I'm going to dine in very good company in an iconic restaurant that is fortuitously taking part in NY Restaurant Week.

Yet there is so much more I could be if only I could harness my willpower the way I used to be able to do. With my progressed Moon in Taurus, I've grown soft. Just as I predicted a year ago, I've gained weight (about 10 lbs., which is like 20 lbs. on a small frame) and creatively speaking, have been reaping more than sowing (the poems in my eBook and audio book are new to readers, but they are old hat to me...I feel like the Beatles must've felt doing "Twist and Shout" in 1965, but without the fame and fortune).

And just as I could not enjoy my youth when I had it, I worry that what I do have will be swept away in next year's Uranus/Pluto square. At least if such loss comes to pass, I will have plenty of company. I can't predict whether the U.S. is going to have a Civil War or a decade or so of uncivil scrounging, but with my progressed Mercury conjunct my natal Pluto/Asc., I doubt I'll be sitting quietly by the sidelines. I suppose that getting assassinated (a Plutonian activity) would do wonders for my career, since having a shady reputation (also Plutonian) hasn't done the job.

Interestingly, I learned last night that Julius "Et tu, Brute?" Caesar was born on July 13, not July 12 as is commonly thought. Apparently his birthday was celebrated a day early so as to avoid conflict with an ancient Roman festival, the Ludi Apollinares (the games that celebrated the Sun god, Apollo). You'd think that Julius, who basically made the Roman Empire, could've moved the festival to suit his schedule, but maybe he didn't want to press his luck. (Or maybe he just liked festivals. I wonder if he'd have enjoyed the one I went to over July 4 weekend? I can just see him cannonballing into the swimming pool wearing an LED-light-enhanced toga....)

Anyway, this bit of knowledge I just acquired gives me even more of a reason (as if sharing a birthday with Harrison Ford, Cheech Marin, and Cameron Crowe weren't enough) to refuse to rest on my laurels.