This used to be a blog dedicated to one of my interests, dream interpretation. I have decided to expand it to include thoughts about pretty much Everything.

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

heavy heart

Just noticed an interesting sensation. I can literally feel the heaviness of my heart. It's like a big sopping water balloon heaving around in my chest. Weird.

Make it stop, someone make it stop.

Trying to make it stop is like trying to get to drain the water from the ocean. The suffering is endless, accumulated from hundreds of lifetimes, that I get to process now, but with no point. I measure my days by how many times I cry.  Good days are 1-2 times; most days are 4-5. I'm like a blade in a turbine of a hydroelectric dam, spinning round and round, the water will never stop running, will never give me any rest, and I will never see the fruits of my labor.

So tired of trying to find solutions to these fucking problems. I think I solve a problem, and it comes back in another form.  All these feelings are so familiar. None of my cleverness, insightfulness, resourcefulness, sensitivity, or maturity have been able to keep them away. I escape them in one situation only to find them in the next, ambushing me after building up my hopes, in a cruel game of cat and mouse.  I have fought with every weapon I know to use, used up every last source of strength.  I don't even want to try anymore.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017


Let's say you're a healthy woman in every way, as far as you can tell, but you can't seem to have a baby. You've had 10 miscarriages and 3 stillbirths (carried fully to term, but the baby was dead when born) in the past 17 years of trying. You've been doing everything right, according to doctors, but the fetuses keep dying.  Wouldn't you naturally feel discouraged about the idea of getting pregnant again? You'd consider other options. (Adoption is completely out of the question for this woman for lots of reasons.)

Ten miscarriages. We're not talking about 2-3 miscarriages. Ten. I'm not just picking that number randomly to make it a nice even number. I counted. 
Three stillbirths.  Do you know how traumatic even one is? How hard it is on the body?

Hope is a cruel joke in circumstances like these.  If you found out you were pregnant ONCE AGAIN, that old familiar spark of hope would be quickly drowned out with a dry, bitter despair. It didn't work any other time, why would this time be different? Clearly something is wrong, and nobody can fix it.  Hope makes things worse.  Better not to hope than to have hope make you keep trying and exposing yourself to trauma.  Trauma has serious consequences on one's health. So does lack of hope, but not as much effect as trauma does.

Your bullshit happy phrases and cliches trying to get her to hope again are making it worse. You don't know what you're talking about. You aren't her. You haven't walked this path. You are an idiot. Shut up.

This woman's only choices are:
  1. To stupidly keep trying... Time of death estimate: a few years, from the pain and/or complications of the efforts. Suffering level: high.
  2. To commit suicide... Time of death estimate: soon. Suffering level: moderate.
  3. To struggle through a path that does not involve having her basic need/deep desire for offspring met, but which she compensates around in various unsatisfactory ways. Time of death estimate: 2-3 more decades. Suffering level: moderate.
Best choice is #3. Any reasonable person in the circumstances would say so.

Sunday, February 12, 2017


I can't forgive until you see.
Else forgiveness would be unipolar and insular.
Awareness births acceptance, which births healing, which ripples across reality in waves.
But when the dream rules all the senses, awareness cannot happen.
Sleepwalking, you injured me, and even when I screamed you heard only the music of your mind.
I can't be yours until you are your own.
Not ruled by shadows, ghosts, or fragments of unprocessed lower natures, but by Self-- awake in love, power, and wisdom.
The wound seeks the hand that created it, or similar hands, in an effort to mend the timeline and  the continuum of meaning, with armies of thoughts like white blood cells, reaching backward across dimensions and forward through mirrors and around through telephone lines.
Forgiveness is a miracle that weaves legions of elements into a dense cocoon, from which, if we are lucky, new life emerges. 
The flap of the butterfly's wing doesn't change everything; it testifies to the change that has already happened
...which is the same thing...
It is the simplest thing in the universe, only possible because the most difficult has been labored through.

Friday, January 27, 2017

feverish rant

I'm sick and alone and feel like ranting. Brain is not functioning well right now, due to a fever, so I'll probably regret this when I'm more lucid.

You're still stalking me; I can feel it. It's not a physical or a virtual stalking anymore (I hope), but you're still there. You sent your light body to me once when we were together.  At that time I was able to barely catch a glimpse of it, and it scared the crap out of me.  (I "saw" more things during those days, than I have before or since.  Your physical presence had some kind of effect on me… What were you shedding?)  (I'm also fully convinced that your estimation of your abilities exceeded your actual abilities.)  But anyway, I wonder how often you've sent your light body (or tried to) since the breakup, and maybe I just haven't been able to perceive it.  But anyway, even though I can't see it anymore, I still know you're doing it.  Or you're doing something, at least. Whether you're doing it consciously or unconsciously, I don't know, but something's pulling on me.

Dammit, it's annoying.
Do you know what love is?  You must know somewhere deep down, that if you really loved me you would --at very least-- not want me to suffer. Love doesn't hurt its beloved.  How about respect, do you know what respect is?  Have you figured this out in all your wanderings yet? What's your real motivation, here, have you stopped to look at that?  Do you think you're sending out your stalker vibes for my good, have you really managed to convince yourself of that? Or are you, perhaps, still trying to get your mommy fix? 
Or maybe it's revenge? Revenge. How small.  Are you any better than the God of the Old Testament, oh gnostic one?

OK, now that I've gotten that off my chest…

I realized something awhile ago, which I can't believe I missed during those months.  I was so focused on the Libra moon activating my Mars-square-Sun, I missed the simple fact that it is, first, a Libra moon.  Libra moons don't want to get all mushy and intense and deep and passionate.  Tears ruin your make up, darling.  Keep things pleasant and lovely and balanced, that's the way, dear.  

I'm sorry.  I somehow overlooked that.  My insistence on emotional intensity must have made you incredibly uncomfortable.  My Pisces moon ruled by Jupiter in Scorpio likes to feel.  I ache, and weep, and writhe, and grind, and dive, and gasp at the dramatic, spiritual twists and turns of the motivations behind all those emotions. Lovely and balanced? Pssshhhh. Step into my fractal.

There's a reason inconjunct signs are considered quite difficult to merge.  I feel I owe you an apology for that part.  I didn't recogize or nurture that part of you.  My triggered Mars-in-fall was too busy feeling irritated. I don't even fucking wear make up, you sparkly bastard! 

But! Of course, there's definitely a place for peace and loveliness, and Libra moons are gifts to the world.  It's a wonderful skill, to be able to create that space where we can all take a breath and get some perspective.  We need Libra moons. I need Libra moons. I'm sorry I didn't bring this into my consciousness during that time.

Of course, there are so many things that could be said about that time, so many questions to be asked. So. many.  Huge cans of worms.  I can't run everything through astrology; I believe in letting our forebrains rule us.  It was so dysfunctional in so many ways.  It still makes me sad, the potential, though…  But maybe that's just because you're still pulling on me.  Maybe if you'd stop, I'd stop suffering.

I've started watching X-Files. The original series, not the new ones.  They remind me of you, all your conspiracy theories and stuff.  Can you believe I never saw the show? Maybe you forgot I grew up under a rock.  Anyway, a friend said it's a classic show and I'd like it. And I do… but the episodes are so scary, too!  I might have to take a break, because it's getting hard to fall asleep.  I wish I had someone to cuddle with while watching, to absorb the fright.  I wish I had someone who would listen to me as I point out all the plot holes (every show has at least one!), and who could help me sort out truth from fiction and tell me stories about sociopathic bureaucrats in past lives. Who could work with me to imagine alternative storylines that don't have the plot holes, who could reassure me that I'm safe and the aliens aren't going to come get me, who could help balance me back out so i could get some sleep and not be scared. 

I guess that someone would have to not have addiction problems, first of all, that's a good starting point. I should've checked for that before jumping in. Live and learn.  Oh, and lying is a deal breaker too.
But oops, there go those worms, peeking out of that can…

Even if by some miracle you read this, I'm sure you won't listen to it. Listening was never your strong suit.  Too busy creating your own alternative reality and responding to that instead of the real world.  Was I just a prop on that alternate-reality stage of yours? 
It's SO…
not nice…
when props start having minds of their own and saying things off-script, I'm sure, darling.  Don't you hate it when that happens?  Damned autonomy and shit.  Crazy thing is, you didn't even seem to know you were on a stage; you believed your own delusions. 
Oops, more worms, sorry.

I hope you're OK.  Why I rant now, I don't know, except that I've been feeling you try to pull on me at that invisible, deep level of existence. 
Why do I hope you're OK? Do I care about you? Yes, I care about you, and I didn't want things to turn out the way they did.

I wonder if you'll ever own your part in it.

I want you to be OK. I want everyone to be OK, and I hate being part of someone's not being OK, even if that someone made all the self-destructive choices to get to that state of not being OK.  But I can't and won't take responsibility for your choices. I have to hold that tension of caring for you but not being responsible for you. Hard for someone with such strong Cancer and Pisces. But I think I got this. I just wish I didn't still feel that niggling something down in my bones. Call off the dogs, don't be a jerk, and take responsibility for your own life. I was only reacting to you; own that.

You know, there's a Venus Rx coming up. They tend to affect me, since i have natal Venus Rx. This one will be a doozy, because at the end of the Rx period, Venus will station direct one degree away from my Moon.  Meanwhile, my progressed Mercury is conjunct natal Venus, and progressed Venus is conjunct natal Mercury.  Woot.  I don't know what's going to happen that day, but I've circled the date on my calendar.

Maybe I'll meet someone. Or maybe I'll turn on Skype and you'll be there.  I don't know.  I wouldn't call the cops or anything.  Believe it or not, I haven't found anyone while you were gone. A few dates, nothing even remotely promising.  I'm back to my typical pattern of life being a big zero in the relationships department.

All your elaborate ideas about how I cheated on you were completely fabricated in your own brain.  When I left you, I knew I was stepping back into lonely land, and that's where I've been ever since.  It's the worst feeling in the world, loneliness, but I chose it knowingly, sadly, with dread… because of how you were treating me, and the unacceptable risk you were putting my children into.  Losing you cost me more than just 1300 dollars, you know. There were other losses too, which I won't detail here; a list of losses.  I don't think you appreciate that.  You never bothered to step into my shoes.  But there were a lot of losses, that hurt.  That's how adamant I was, that's how bad I felt the situation was.

Maybe I'm ranting now because the part of me that wants closure wants to know if you ever were able to look into the mirror and see what you did, or if you are still living in an alternative reality in which you were totally right, and I'm a monster.  It would be nice to know if you've ever been able to face that, I guess, to have my sanity and morality vindicated. But I suppose, watching the Xfiles is training my brain to be less needy for closure.  Most of the episodes close with unanswered questions and mysteries that will never be fully solved.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Accepting and loving myself

I strive to love myself, and most days I do. I love my unique blend of abilities to think, to feel, to intuit, to attract, to act, and to control.  
Think. Feel. Intuit. Attract. Act. Control.  
These are all vital functions of the psyche.  I could wish for a little more in the intuition and attraction departments, but mostly, I am grateful. Everyone is unique, and everyone has a place in the world. I like how I was made. If anyone tries to change me, I react with scorn and indignation.  I am grateful for who I am!

I do wish I were better at releasing the right functions at the right time.  Sometimes I Think when I should be Feeling, or Act when I should be Intuiting, and so on.  But... I suppose... Who's in charge of "should"? It's a matter of using the function at the right time that gets a result that makes me happy, ultimately. But I am not very good at judging which is the right one for the situation, nor of controlling which one rises up, when. It's like each function has a mind of its own and rises up when it wants to. It often produces awkward moments, where I feel out of place with the world, unsure of myself and unhappy with the results. But even this awkwardness, if it is what it is, is how I was made, and I should love it. I'm doing me. And I'm trying to love it.  Maybe I will get more skilled in regulating and controlling all of these functions as I grow older and keep trying.

The function I have been pondering a lot lately is the Thinking function.  It might be my strongest one.  It's my default.  I am very conscientious--I have a very strong sense of "should," and always strive for what is "right."  I have a firm grasp on reality, and a head for logic.  I am critical and skeptical.  I love this about myself. It keeps me honest, open minded, realistic, consistent, and accurate. It sometimes paralyzes me in over-analysis, which can be annoying. And it sometimes leads me to self-judgement and  harshness, which sometimes leaks out onto others as well.  If people only knew-- as judgmental as I can be of others, I'm 100 times more so with myself. 

So, obviously, this trait can be dysfunctional, but it has a lot of strengths, too. I am an excellent editor. I can figure things out. I can create structures and systems that work flawlessly. I can see through bullshit.  I can discuss intellectual ideas.  
To love my strengths is to remove the poison from them, preventing them from becoming weaknesses. Right? So the theory goes; we shall see. Loving myself. It's no small thing.  Because despite how hard I've tried, my life hasn't been what I wanted.

I do hope I can do better than I have in the past to make the most use out of how I was made. Looking back, I think I have wasted a lot of what I was given, even though I always tried so hard. But I can't change that. Only now counts.  I hope I can learn to be as grateful for my past as I am for the present and for my potentials. 

This is why I react so strongly against someone trying to change me, even slightly. Nobody has the right to control me, and nobody has the capability of, or motivation for, scrutinizing my life as I, myself, already do. Nobody could be more serious about improving my life than I already am, and nobody understands the long string of circumstances and choices that brought me to where I am. Nobody knows more deeply than I do, that in each circumstance that arose in my life, I tried my absolute hardest to do what was right. For anyone to presume that they know better, that they can take over my ability to think, is highly insulting.  Maybe I overreact a bit when it happens, I don't know...

I struggle with the fact that I struggle. It's a weird tension between loving what is and working for making things better.  If I love what is, what motivation do I have to notice injustice, dysfunction, imbalance, and suffering, and to use my gifts to alleviate those things? How do I find the resolution between these two things--resting in what is and working towards what should be? 

And then, how can I both love myself and come to terms with the fact that "me-doing-me" sometimes leads to mistakes, pain, suffering, and injustice? When I am harsh with myself, I know that is violence and ingratitude, but maybe me being harsh with myself is also part of who I am. Why would I shut down part of who I am, if I am supposed to love who I am?  How do I resolve this, grow through it, and hold on to love?

Saturday, December 31, 2016

Flashes of grace

"Suddenly it hit me, what these men were doing," my aunt explained. "I stood up, walked out of that room, and told myself that I'd never go back again, and boom, that was it. I never did. It was so easy."

My aunt spent years in a large, well-known cult. She left a few times, but always felt guilty, due to the brainwashing she had gone through, and went back to them. I was talking with her the other day, and she was explaining how she finally was able to break free.  She had spent a couple years of independence from the cult, but felt guilty and contacted the leaders of her particular church again to ask about rejoining. These men told her she had to come in and be interviewed by them, to see if she was worthy and had repented adequately, to be allowed back into the fold.  They interrogated her for over two hours, asking her about every detail of what she had done while she was away from them.  They were especially interested in her sex life, asking for minute details on every move. 

At first, she was ashamed and so desperate for their approval (which they had managed to conflate with the approval of God), she gave them everything they asked for.  But at some point at near the end of the conversation, for reasons mysterious even to her, she suddenly just saw what was going on.  She saw the reality of the spiritual and emotional abuse, and she saw the greed, lust, and authoritarianism of the men who were trying to control her.  Boom.  The revelation hit her with such force, it filled her with the strength to do what she had not been able to do before--leave the church forever.  It was so easy, once she had that revelation.  But she didn't work for it or try to make it happen. Her intent originally was actually to go back to the church.  But suddenly -- boom -- awakening.  Where did this come from?

Let's call it grace.  (Kind of a funny term for this story, since my aunt is an atheist now, and the term "grace" is usually assumed as coming from God. Funny!)

I had a similar experience, but on a much smaller scale.  I bought my first car when I was 16, and it was a beater. There were always things breaking down on it, and my parents were the type to make me pay for my own expenses (which I think is a great lesson and plan to raise my kids the same way). Money was always tight, though.  Eventually i developed a pretty strong anxiety about the car and especially the money around the car.  I had several quite large (for me) car repair expenses pop up over the course of my high school and college years, and they were hard for me to deal with.  I bought books about car repair, to try to assuage my anxiety, so that I could feel like I knew what the mechanics were talking about and that I wouldn't be taken advantage of.

There was one time, I think it was shortly after I graduated college, when I got news of a car repair needed, and I was worried about how I was going to pay for it.  I was driving down the road, worrying, trying not to worry, trying to think, trying to pray, when suddenly out of nowhere--boom-- an incredible peace.  It was like a voice filled my entire body and mind, "Don't worry about the car. It's going to be fine, and you'll always be able to afford it."  It was like a huge weight on my shoulders just dissolved, and I knew everything was going to work out.  The anxiety was completely gone.

Ever since then, I haven't had anxiety around my car issues.  Things come up, and I'm able to handle them.  Not always easily, of course.  Large repairs have still come up to be dealt with.  Decisions have to be made.  Insurance is a convoluted mess.  I have duct tape holding my rear bumper on at the moment.  But I'm just not worried about it.  I'm able to achieve the right balance of spending the cognitive effort required to handle car issues, without falling into anxiety. 

The thing is, I totally can't take credit for this, except that I'm a responsible adult who does adult things like buying insurance and maintaining a car.  I mean the anxiety part.  The release from that was just plopped into my lap out of nowhere.  Boom.  Gone. "Don't worry about the car," and I never did ever again.  I didn't have to try not to worry.  I didn't go through any kinds of rituals to release the worry or cope with it better.  I just didn't worry about it anymore.  It was 100% a gift. From where? Who can say? Grace.

I'm grateful for this.  There have been a few other flashes of grace I've experienced, including a physical healing, and they are amazing when they happen.  I know several other stories of other people experiencing these powerful flashes of grace, and they are inspiring to hear.

But I also find them problematic as well.  Why are they so rare?  Why do we have to struggle with so many things, while others are just handed to us?  Why do some people experience more grace than others?  Is there actually a formula to these flashes, that we all just accidentally used without knowing it... Could we find a way to force them to happen?  What's going on?

If grace were coming from an intelligent consciousness of some kind, that consciousness would have to be an evil one, like an abusive parent or partner.  The vast majority of people who commit emotional abuse are not awful and cruel 100% of the time. It is actually more cruel to be sometimes kind and warm, and other times terrible, because it confuses the victim and takes away more of their power.  If you're horrible all the time, people can predict what's going to happen, and have a measure of control over their lives.  It's much worse to be cruel only some of the time, and make those times random.
A consciousness powerful enough to provide support and relief  for life's problems, but only does it some of the time, is not a good one.  Aaaannnnd, we're getting into theodicy again...

Back to grace.  What's going on?   Is it something related to alternate universes and boundaries on how far alternate realities are allowed to branch out?  Alignment of the stars? A higher self or unconscious deep mind?  Wouldn't it be great to know?

Wednesday, September 21, 2016


I finally unenrolled myself from a couple online mom-forums I've been part of for awhile.  I decided I couldn't take it anymore.  There were many interesting and rewarding conversations along the way, but I think I'm done now.  There are recurring themes that get posted so often that really stress me out, and I'm tired of reading them.

Things like:
  • OMG look at this pee stick. Am I pregnant????  (You'll know for sure in a couple weeks.  Like, it'll be obvious.  You'll have no doubts. Chill the hell out.)
  • Is there a good, part-time work-from-home job I can get that isn't MLM or a scam, and doesn't require me to have a degree? (Nope.)
  • I really want another baby! I'm getting baby fever! (My god. Weren't you just here complaining about how tight money is, like yesterday?  So irresponsible to bring a child into the world if you can't afford to care for it.)
  • Oh golly gosh gee, I accidentally got pregnant, and we can't afford it. How am I going to tell my husband, and what are we going to do? (Um, get an abortion if you don't want to be pregnant. Take control over your life, ffs.)
  • What should we name our baby? (What names do YOU like? Why do you think random strangers on the internet should fucking name your child?)
I don't usually post these responses, because, well, they are considered abrasive.  (I actually like to troll the "name" posts by offering ideas like "name him Bratwurst!  Or I love the name Beelzebub!")  But god, I THINK them, ha ha.  And I'm tired of thinking them and getting mad at people for being dumb, or refusing to take power over their lives, or refusing to think for themselves.  But the one that really makes me furious, and which comes up almost daily is some long, rambling, frustrated narrative that basically boils down to this:

I'm so exhausted.

I'm not mad that women are exhausted!  Far from it.  I'm mad because the vast majority of the time, these women have husbands or boyfriends they are living with.  And when you bring up the question of "why doesn't your partner help out with chores / parenting / home management / stress?" there's always some explanation.  Some of the time these women make excuses for the men, but most of the time they are angry with them but end up saying, "what can I do? He just doesn't get it."

Oh, this pisses me off.  So much.

What can you do?  Woman!  Where is your warrior spirit?  Where is your dignity?  Where is your self esteem?

Listen, it really is as simple as this:

If you are exhausted, and your partner isn't exhausted right along with you, it means he doesn't love you.  (In most cases.  I know-- there are cases where he's deployed or works away from home, or she has some kind of chronic illness, etc.  But the vast majority of the time, he's just choosing not to pull his weight.)  And if he doesn't love you, why the hell are you with him?  

Love has many definitions, but all of them include at least the general desire for the well-being of the beloved.  And exhaustion is the opposite of well-being.  Especially chronic exhaustion.  Exhaustion erodes your mental health, it erodes your physical health, it erodes your ability to connect with who you are and why you are alive.  Exhaustion is not something to take lightly.  If your partner is reporting being exhausted, you should be very concerned!  You should be right next to her asking, "how can I help make this better?  What needs to be done?"  You should be working yourself until you are as exhausted as she is, or finding a way to reduce her load so she isn't exhausted anymore.  That's what it means to love someone.  To care for their fundamental well-being.  If that's not happening, that's not love.  It's possession, or lust, or something else. It's not love.

I really don't understand why the idea that men should share equally in the parenting and household responsibilities is so goddamn controversial.  (I mean, I do, because I was raised religious, but ... if you think about it, it's so fucking illogical!) I don't understand why people make excuses for this behavior or throw their hands up and say they can't do anything to change their man's mind.  How about discussing it thoroughly with him to explain how unfair it is and how exhausted you are, and trying to come up with a plan?  Like, each of you has an equal number of chores you're responsible for.  Or each of you works on chores for an hour per day, and you trade days where you cook dinner.  Or, or... There are plenty of fair arrangements that can be made.  If discussing it doesn't work, your relationship is really screwed... because it means he doesn't listen and doesn't care how you feel.  But you could always try ultimatums, I suppose.  Or, since he's acting like a child, treat him like one and don't give him dinner if he doesn't do his goddamn chores.  And if none of that works, you should make a plan... and you should leave him.  I know it's complicated to leave, and I'm not making light of that, but that's really what you should do, woman.

I'm a single mom, and yes, being single sucks in many ways.  The loneliness sucks, the lack of support sucks, the vulnerability sucks.  But at the end of the day, I have my dignity, my self-respect, and my integrity. Quantitatively it might seem better to "settle" and have at least some support with life stuff than to have none.  But qualitatively, it's better not to settle.  I need to be able to look myself in the mirror and say that I stood up for myself and refused to be made a doormat.  If I'm exhausted, and I am often, at least I don't have added to my already heavy burden, the rage of looking over at a "partner" who is sitting there NOT exhausted, and feeling how unjust it is.

This opinion seems to be controversial, for some reason, judging from how people react when I post things like this. It just seems logical to me. So I'm not going to raise my blood pressure any more by exposing myself to these posts on a regular basis. I'll go on living my awesome, exciting life, mom-forum-free.  Let me know if you want my opinion.