by Amanda Moreno

Happy Solstice, everyone. Feels good to have a layer of cardinal energy back at the forefront, even if sometimes the thought of Cancer as cardinal puzzles me a bit. Or perhaps it was that incredible Sagittarius Full Moon. Whatever the case, energy seems to be moving again — at least for me personally, at least in the past three days.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

The mutability of the last few weeks (or has it been months?) has had me feeling so swimmy that I’ve taken to answering the questions, “How are you doing,” or “How are you feeling,” with “I can’t remember.”

I was, however, amazed to discover a long-forgotten list of things I wanted to accomplish this year, written at the winter solstice, and amazed that I could actually check a few of the items off.

There has been some productivity and meaningful goal-accomplishing, even if I can’t quite find a way to cure what feels like a now-perpetual state of being untethered in time. Maybe it’s a phenomenon that is exacerbated by the fact I have been self-employed for four months now, and so the normal workweek structure has lost its meaning. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something to those woo-tastic claims of dimensional shift I often see floating around the internet. Is that just the New Age equivalent of the End of Days? Seems likely.

What a lovely metaphor the idea of “dimensional shift” can be, though. I mean, who actually knows what that would feel like? Is there even an agreed upon notion of what dimensions are? Perhaps there would be a measure of surreality — I know I experience that one a lot when I let my gaze shift out of the bubble I live in to other parts of the world.

For example, it is reported that for the first time ever, the number of refugees and displaced people rose above 60 million in 2015. I cannot even grasp what that means. Can you imagine? Or perhaps that’s too detached. Can you empathize? What would it be like to experience that level of displacement, especially with so many other people?

Dimensional shift perhaps shows up at the personal level as well. My dreams have been amped up for a while now, but one in particular a few nights ago really grabbed me. In it, someone I know who is in the spirit world was assisting my spirit animal — the one I work with the most, who was ‘retrieved for me a few years ago’ — through some dark, murky water. The animal was in bad shape, broken and clearly sick. My dearly departed loved one was trying to gingerly help the animal out of the water.

I awoke feeling concerned and a bit shocked. Is my power animal dying? Unwell? Is that a thing? And what causes it?

On the train that day, I did a quick little journey to see if I could check in with my spirit animal. He seemed sick. Quiet. Wasting away. And suddenly sadness hit me, both for whatever he was going through and because I realized how much I love this animal. This ally who has brought so much into my life. I didn’t have the time then to delve deeper, but knew I would need to do a more significant journey once I was back home again.

That day, I recognized many things. That particular spirit animal has a form of medicine I have really needed in the past few years — and that I still feel like I need. That said, I wondered if it was indeed passing out of my life, and whether a new form of medicine would come in or is needed. I felt at once a sense of urgency to do the right thing, whatever that might be, while also knowing that it might be time for that medicine to come out of prominence in my life. More openness to letting go. Again.

At home that night, I made my journey to the lower world, the home of vast landscapes and animal allies. When I finally found him, there was more of an energetic exchange than any kind of concrete, logical knowing what to do.

In typical Amanda fashion, what ended up rising to the surface was intense amounts of love and gratitude for this being’s presence and medicine regardless of what happens next.

I then journeyed to the upper world, to have a chat with my guides. They were able to give some more concrete insight — which I could actually sense clairaudiently, through sound, which is something that is quite rare for me. It was helpful. And it’s apparent that I am once again moving through a major shift — a dimensional shift, if you will.

One other thing that stuck out for me on the journey was a lot of activity coming through that seemed to be… noise, both visual and auditory. Images that I could qualify as negative or bad if I chose to, but that didn’t necessarily feel energetically “bad.” I wondered if it was just a sensitive attunement to the astral realms and all the stuff kicking around there, or stuff that I actually needed to pay attention to.

At some point, I did meet up with my departed loved one, which is a story for another time. There is so much to learn as one progresses in this kind of work, and sometimes I just have to trust my own judgment in the moment. This world — this dimension — and the others are wild and weird.

I don’t honestly know why I’m sharing this with you. Sometimes I think it’s helpful to just put the stories of journeys out there, especially to invite more openness to the process and a “you can do it too! If you want!” attitude. It also seemed a fitting metaphor for this long, rolling paradigm shift we’ve been immersed in for so long now. And perhaps there are other reasons for sharing, which will only become clear as you individually connect with different parts of what’s here.

That’s another part of what came through in the journey — the need to trust. Trust self, trust source, trust the universe that what happens, and what we are being asked to let go of or engage, are what is needed right now. In whatever time and space we find ourselves in.

For now, back to the list of goals. I have six months left to accomplish a lot. I’m not usually that stern with myself when it comes to timelines and concrete goal setting, but… it’s nice to try something different every once in awhile.

Attention anyone with a Cancer Sun, Cancer Moon or Cancer rising: Eric will be recording your birthday reading for the next 12 months — nicknamed The Cancer Illumination Kit — shortly. You can secure the lowest price we offer by pre-ordering now. Not familiar with Eric’s audio or visual readings? You can listen to last year’s reading here, as a gift.

By Amanda Moreno

I’ve been struggling all evening with what to write about in light of another massacre, and then how to write about it seeing as I’m at a loss for words. The thing that keeps popping into my mind is how many times I’ve had to write about shootings and similar massacres in the two years I’ve been writing for Planet Waves. I can’t believe we’re here again, and yet… here we are. I just have to close my eyes and breathe.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

I didn’t really respond emotionally to this shooting until Tuesday — two days after the fact. I talked with a friend about it on Monday and we both remarked on the feeling of surreality and numbness.

Tuesday, however, as I climbed the hill towards my office, which is nestled in Seattle’s ‘gay’ neighborhood, in the home of the oldest LGBTQ mental health agency in the world, I could feel the waves of grief wafting down to greet me.

The shock began to melt into feeling as I met with my boss and later attended a staff meeting that had been called specifically to give the staff a chance to be together while being fed. Never underestimate the power of having someone else take care of things like food in a time of trauma.

I sat there with my coworkers, the majority of whom identify as some brand of queer and many of whom are people of color. It was then that my heart began to break.

One of the things I’ve grappled with in the past is that when these shootings happen, I feel a sense of distance that is somewhat dismaying and yet a blessing at the same time. I usually get a hit of the collective grief, say some prayers and let it all run through, but I fear at some level that I’m being desensitized. That fear of desensitization came home to roost even more this time around, as I felt totally detached. Perhaps it was just shock.

But then, sitting in that space where I could so acutely feel the many layers of emotion swimming all around and through me, amongst the members of a community I’ve been dedicated to working with for eight years, I listened to my coworkers and dear friends open up about their sadness and anger and their fears of being targeted at work or at our upcoming Pride celebrations. I cried as others pointed out their urge to be more fully out and proud and loving.

I realized how much this event has triggered prior experiences of being persecuted, stigmatized and often emotionally and physically assaulted for being different. I realized the complexity of intersectionality and how many layers there are to this event.

I recognized the power and preciousness of the fact that the entire agency is holding space for community members to come in to grieve and process, while at the same time being aware that this space is being held by people going through those same processes. I felt humbled — and I felt my heart breaking in a way that didn’t feel desperate or bottomless. Instead, I felt full of a heart-achingly bittersweet love. I realized that while my heart goes out to the victims in Orlando and their loved ones, my heart is in, and hurting and crying for, my community here in Seattle.

It hit me then — it’s my community this time. As I witnessed and felt other people’s grief, anger and fear I just wanted to be there to let it flow through me and to hold space and be fully present. It was a profound and exhausting heartbreak that was all at once detached and yet consuming.

Then something else hit me — the same thing that always rises to the surface for me in any of our too-frequent collective moments of despair — but much stronger this time. I was overwhelmed with how much I love these people and this community. Finally, words came: I love you all so, so, so, so, so, so much.

I left that office and went to my next job, at a metaphysical shop in the same neighborhood. The emotional landscape there was similarly intense and palpable. Once again, it was marked by the experience of community coming together to process and love — with more hugs this time. The essence inside me remained the same: just love. Love through this with all you are. Keep loving as much as you can.

A friend came in remarking that on Saturday she had just wanted to preach to the world that love is the only way, and that now she understands why she’d had that urge.

So yes, it’s true — this is not the first time I’ve had to address a shooting in this space. But it’s also true that this is not the first time an experience has been distilled down to one essential personal truth. Each event brings home the necessity of unconditional, and sometimes detached, love and my own personal belief that the only antidote and the only way through all of this remains the same: keep loving; love harder, love bigger, love more; just keep loving. When the shock and grief and anger begin to lift, keep dancing. Keep celebrating. Keep finding and creating spaces of radical inclusion that foster our ability to be as authentic as possible.

Being part of the queer community has been so important in my own efforts to figure out and follow through with my own unique spark of being, in all my outside-the-box ways. It’s also a community that tends to focus on holding space for grief and processing and communication, and I’m so very grateful for that.

I realize not everyone can get on board with the ‘just look for love in it’ mantra, and that some of us need to go through the anger and rage, but for me the only thing that makes sense is to hold space in the name of radical love and compassion. I am not afraid of death. I am not afraid of being targeted. So perhaps the biggest stand I can take is to keep being wildly and unapologetically myself in all of my queer glory, in hopes that through doing just that I help to make space for others to do the same.

Curious about what the epic Uranus-Eris conjunction means for you? Intrigued by the dance of Neptune and Chiron in Pisces? In our exciting new class with Eric Francis, The Astrology of Now, your questions will receive thoughtful and insightful answers — and you’ll have lots of fun in the process. You may sign up here.

By Amanda Moreno

I recently had the opportunity to spend some unexpected time with a man I’ve grown quite platonically fond of. I’ve long lamented the seeming loss of my ability to gain new male friends at this point in my life. When they come in and it seems like there’s a chance for something to grow, I tend to be enthusiastic and excited.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

We met up at happy hour and then spent some time at his house playing music for each other. He tried to convince me why I should like baseball and I enjoyed watching him demonstrate batting techniques knowing that my learning about it was a lost cause but that I’d enjoy observing such a beautiful male form executing different batting styles in slow motion.

Then we decided to go to dinner. Somehow our conversation at dinner took a turn towards the political and derailed. It hugely derailed.

We’re two humans who share many values and left-leaning tendencies, and yet for the second or third time in my life I found myself giving into the mayhem of a full-on political argument. All I know was that he was ranting, and then my disagreement was seen as automatic opting into the opposite viewpoint, and that just pissed me off because in my world there are far more subtleties and gray areas.

I’m quite certain that the American political scene is dominated by football mentality, which is itself dominated by gladiatorial tendencies that did not die in ancient Rome but instead morphed and went somewhat underground, to emerge again in the more ‘civilized’ form of football. But that’s just my take.

We as a populace tend to ignore the fact that although our modern-day gladiators — known as football players — do not seek blood and gore, they are virtually guaranteed head injuries, chronic pain and an automatic gratitude for surgeons and physical therapists who can hopefully attempt to treat and correct the havoc the sport plays on their bodies.

Today we watch people’s bodies get smashed to pieces. But in a civilized manner.

It’s not so much the physical violence I refer to here, however, when I mention football mentality. It’s the black-and-white thinking: it’s your team or my team, and by god my allegiance to my team is supported by a legacy of family members who also cheered for this team, and I am going to die wearing their colors. No matter what.

This mindset is an unfortunate one to have in the political arena where things like critical thinking, which can and should lead to fluid and shifting beliefs and personal truths, is so crucial to constructive law making — and healthy societal shifts.

I realized during the conversation that my anger was stemming from feeling unheard and misunderstood as a statement like “I don’t know if I can vote for Hillary” was immediately translated into “so you’re supporting Trump.” My attempts to evenly discuss my belief that what is needed is full-fledged systemic change was met with cries of “that’s not realistic, you’re too idealistic,” and at this point in time, that argument is the one that I absolutely cannot swallow.

Especially when coupled with the notion that my generation (being the younger one — he’s a whopping 11 years older than me) is too unrealistic. The argument is that we’re not being practical when we cry out for a Bernie Sanders candidacy; or try to engage discussions about real, lasting reform of the system, which are met with accusations of being “too revolutionary.”

I have realized that for me, the real unrealistic course would be to stay on the one we’re on. It’s not realistic to refuse to deal with climate change in aggressive ways — actual science says that even if we were to stop climate change in its tracks (which we won’t), destructive changes like sea level rise are already a foregone conclusion. Our lived environment 40 years from now will be drastically different.

It’s not realistic to think that our current governmental system will or can change in ways that are drastic enough to get us out of the approximately 17,000 ways we are screwing up our ecosystem, our bodies, our communities, our relationships and economic system. Especially if we don’t see major shifts in party platforms, if not the structure of the parties themselves.

I hear arguments that Hillary deserves the presidency because she’s female or because she has been playing the game so long that she’s earned the right to be at the top, and my head feels like it’s going to explode — just to save my heart the ache of its seemingly inevitable full breaking. In some ways, for me, to see a woman candidate playing into the drama triangle of our current political system is even more soul numbing.

And then I realized that… the friend I was engaging with was in the same self-defensive place, too. So many of us are trying to work within the constructs we were raised to believe were the best in the world. The dream of the American way of life pervades so much of our global culture at this point in time, and giving up on it? That’s rough heartache right there. There is resistance. There is always resistance to grief. And defeat.

I walked away from my friend, after leaving the restaurant and standing outside my house for 15 minutes, conversation escalating. Part of me wanted to run back and hug him and apologize, but I didn’t. I realized I’d fallen under the spell of polarization myself, despite my whole being trying to call on communication skills and compassion. I was so angry and flustered. I felt so unheard and misunderstood at the same time as an awareness of how bleak the situation can seem crept over me.

I needed space. I woke up the next morning on the day of the Gemini New Moon and tried to reframe the conversation in terms of the ways it might offer me a new perspective.

Sometimes I wonder if revolution is becoming mandatory — or even a given — and I wonder what that means, what it will look like, and if we’re nearing a point where it will have to happen with a lot of discomfort for everyone involved. I’m aware that this meme is floating in the collective, be it consciously or not, and that so many are clinging onto their beliefs and ways of being with a brand of fundamentalism that can perhaps only be seen as a defense mechanism. When belief becomes defense mechanism — think shadow Sagittarius — our field of awareness narrows and we discount the ways our lived experiences tell us something different.

Of course my “we” is heavily colored towards the U.S. residents side of things. But perhaps the application of these ideas goes beyond that, to the wider world in which the American ‘Way of Life’ has become something to be sought after.

My friend and I both spend most of our lives trying to make the world a better place in our own ways. I know we share a level of heartbreak and disenchantment, but also a strong belief in hope and making that hope more active.

As I read Eric’s piece from earlier this week — aptly titled Mutable Grand Cross: Push Has Come to Shove I had to stop and take pause, and it brought me back home to something I struggle with: that although I know paying attention to the political situation is important, it also makes me feel impossibly hopeless and thoroughly impotent, especially as I try to find trustworthy sources. Digging in and trying to be the change and help others do the same is more palpable and centering. Finding the balance between the two can be difficult.

I’ll leave you with a few lines from Eric’s piece, as they deserve to be re-stated and encapsulate some of what I’ve found myself pondering, just as the whole piece deserves to be read:

Right now the world is drowning in good intentions. It’s drowning in people who want to be the best person they can be, which usually means waiting a long time before taking a chance. And the world is being consumed by rage in many forms, but one in particular stands out: a political system that is out of control, driven by a combination of blazingly ignorant and, in other quarters, well-meaning people who would seem to have little in common. I don’t think these are viable options, nor is the seeming standoff.

I suggest you not be distracted by it.

By Amanda Moreno

I’m fresh off of four days at the Northwest Astrological Conference (NORWAC), feeling grateful, inspired, mindblown, soul fed and somewhat delirious thanks to late nights full of chatter and dancing and quite a hearty dose of overstimulation.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

It’s hard not to give in to the overstimulation part. NORWAC is quite the tribal affair, and the sense of community is pretty incredible, even for people like myself who can be quite shy and often awkward.

I’m fully aware that I tend to do better with one-on-one situations, but the temptation to vibe along with everyone into the late hours after long days of lectures and workshops can be compelling. In particular, I am fond of astrologer dance parties. There is something so enchanting to me about dance parties with people who are typically quite comfortable in their difference — they’re not afraid to move however they want to. It’s the perfect synthesis for my Aquarian and Leo parts.

Both the NORWAC community and the astrological community as a whole — be that astrologers or those who are just into astrology — are striking examples of what Richard Tarnas referred to as a heroic community in his keynote lecture (at least my experience of it is). I wholeheartedly agree that what the world needs now are heroic communities: groups of individuals who are connected to a higher vision of the true and the good that fundamentally challenges the framework of mainstream society.

In a world in which the linear-consciousness-oriented self (‘solar’ self) has developed in a way that has annihilated any sense of connection in the universe, we’ve paid a price in the form of disenchantment and extremes of objectification; in turn, that has led to the epic botching up of our biosphere and unprecedented damage to the Earth’s ecological system. As Mr. Tarnas said, we have never before pursued an experiment in which an entire culture can go for centuries as if nothing is sacred — everything can be exploited.

I suppose the current mutable grand cross, and the longer-term Saturn-Neptune square, could facilitate the transformation of consciousness that is necessary to correct our hyper-association with the linear mind. Lynn Bell treated the conference to two mutable-cross-centered lectures, both of which emphasized the necessity of wandering and the strengths and challenges of the mutable cross.

One of the many revelatory ah-ha moments I had during the conference came when Ms. Bell pointed out that throughout Saturn/Neptune transits, the little “never could happens” and “that just sounds impossibles” tend to come into form, for better or worse.

For me, this insight hit heavier on the negative side. I’ve noticed the feeling of surreality amping up, particularly as I recognize that Donald Trump has somehow become a candidate for the presidency. I keep thinking it’s impossible for him to win, and yet…it’s as if there are no longer any impossibilities. What a fertile field that recognition creates; further motivation to be very aware of the collective capacity to manifest fear-based dreams into reality.

The level of academic rigor that comes through at this conference is pretty astounding, as is a more recent opening to diversity — of people, cultures, astrological schools, sexuality and ways of knowing. As I attempt to process and synthesize everything that happened, I’m reminded of one of the major points of Alan Oken’s opening keynote lecture: that the evolution of the soul and energetic alignment take place through the process of synthesis.

This idea runs counter to my own belief, at least at the surface, which is that evolution occurs through the emotional body. But I love coming across ideas that make me question and contemplate and shift. Which is, perhaps, one of the thrusts of the mutable grand cross.

I think he was speaking more of the problem of polarization and the ‘sin’ of the illusion of separateness — and that part of what we have to attempt right now is to move from polarized individuality to synthesized individuation. It’s an idea that I write about here so often: that the most powerful thing we can do is to get in touch with our own soul’s calling and choose to actualize that, to evolve our patterns and our karma. And I suppose evolution might just be another one of those complicated processes. Go figure!

Other snippets I learned that might somehow speak to your heart or synthesizing mind include:

● Darkness is a quality of light; when we’re aligned with our soul we can move through that darkness without fear (and astrology is a great tool for those navigations)

● Astrology communicates energetic alignment into a structured system, therefore making it uniquely valuable to a culture trying to find its way back into meaning

● There are people looking at where privilege lives in the astrological community and in astrological processes, and the ways it communicates that privilege — and that I want to be part of that movement

● The myth of Hercules and the Nemean Lyon is an incredible allegory for Leo, and we all have narcissistic structures within us that deserve to be met with compassion, and which can be understood through the Cancer/Leo/Virgo progression and development of personality

● One of the things our civilization is coming to realize/remember is that the Sun has to set — when solar consciousness encompasses everything, blocking out the luminosity of the night, there is bound to be a fall

● The astrological community needs to enact both solar and lunar roles — serving as a nourishing community to itself while remaining aware of the shadow potentials of being cult-like, uncritical, uniform, dogmatic — and that it needs to be a matrix of individuation that builds bridges to outside communities; because we do, after all, have an understanding of a uniquely powerful tool that provides a cosmological container for personal and collective change

● Part of the magic of the Pisces/Virgo axis is that it reminds us that part of the purpose of the divine is to veil the truth so it can be discovered

● Dane Rudhyar viewed the nodal axes as parabolas of planetary motion that were more important than planetary placement, because it symbolizes planetary motion — where the planet came from and where it is going

● I’d love to learn about Esoteric Astrology but most people advise me not to

● Experiential understanding of my own chart is far more impactful than having someone tell me what something means — and there are a plethora of people in this community (myself included) who are engaging with experiential practices in astrology for ourselves and our clients

● Taking a tour through the zodiac with different, non Greco-Roman, non-male-centric myths is an obvious step for me, but absolutely groundbreaking for others

There was so much to learn. So much to be shared. But really, in light of the idea of nurturing heroic communities, which Planet Waves most certainly qualifies as in and of itself, what I want to leave you with is a slew of questions that came out of Lynn Bell’s lecture entitled “The Saturn Neptune Cycle: Honey and Ashes.”

These questions might be of use to you for this weekend’s Gemini New Moon. If you’re so inclined, or need some help simplifying, maybe you can make the questions more specific by focusing on the area of your chart the New Moon falls within. And all of these questions could be asked at the personal and collective levels:

What are you dreaming now?
What are you being asked to let go of now?
What is the dream you’re being asked to let go of?
What in your own life is no longer moving you forward that you always thought would see you through?
What dreams are you mourning?
What is being invited to emerge from within you?
What is the fuel for that emergence?

Feel free to post your responses or additional questions in the comments.

Curious about what the epic Uranus-Eris conjunction means for you? Intrigued by the dance of Neptune and Chiron in Pisces? In our exciting new class with Eric Francis, The Astrology of Now, your questions will receive thoughtful and insightful answers — and you’ll have lots of fun in the process. You may sign up here.

By Amanda Moreno

So it would appear to be mutable grand cross season — although I’m not entirely certain about that. It’s all kind of foggy. The increased mutability underscores a feeling that I’m constantly trudging through, or on the verge of, an identity crisis of some kind.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

Part of that might also have something to do with me learning all about Libra through Uranus and Eris opposing my natal Pluto in Libra as well as a whole cohort of Librans I appear to have called in to my life right now. Libra shadows, both the dark and the golden, abound.

I’m using the term “identity crisis” lightly and somewhat whimsically at the moment. I apply that same whimsicality to the sentiment I’ve been uttering a lot lately, which is that sometimes Libra just feels like a lie to me. It’s an energy that seems so externally motivated, and while I’m all for making and keeping the peace, diplomacy and harmony, the stronger Scorpio parts of me just want to shriek, “But what’s REALLY going on?! Underneath the surface?! Who are you really? Who am I really?”

As for those last two questions, I wonder if we can ever really know. There is so much mystery to this dance we’re partaking in on the Earth. Being able to be present with our lives as the mystery unfolds seems worthy work. Letting the pieces fall into place and giving ourselves a break from trying to figure it all out sometimes. At the same time, it seems as if combining the seeker’s need to know with worthy work and service in the world is utterly vital to our wellbeing as a collective. The combination helps to put the emphasis on the process rather than the outcome, which is rarely ever pre-defined.

Last weekend I attended a Town Hall gathering with Michael Meade in support of his newest book, The Genius Myth. From the website:

The Genius Myth proposes that each person born participates in the genius of life and the world at this time is in great need of an awakening of the genius qualities hidden in each of us. In a rapidly changing world faced with seemingly impossible problems, it becomes important to understand that each person has something to contribute to the solutions.

I was introduced to Mr. Meade’s brand of storytelling and his perspective on the world while I was in graduate school, learning about apocalyptic cycles and quite immersed in what it is to be living during a major paradigm shift, as we are now. Seeing him again felt like a homecoming and a very timely reminder, re-igniting my own genius and reminding me who I am at my core. I appreciate those anchors during times of identity flux.

Something I read very early on in my experiences at Planet Waves spoke to the importance of each person becoming an expert in just one or two things, rather than all of us learning superficially about so many. This was an idea that has stuck with me, and that has helped me in times of feeling overwhelmed or like I should be doing more or learning more. I believe this idea that each of us has an inherent spark of genius that shows us what we’re here to do is similar to that. Both ideas also seem to allow for some fluidity of identity. In fact, Mr. Meade points to the inevitability of identity change as being the mark of a healthy human.

The inspiration I felt at the lecture was very much a double-edged sword. It definitely brought me closer to my own gratitude for being so deeply immersed in the works of such wise, grounded and realistic humans as Mr. Meade for so many years now; and brought me closer to my gratitude for having found my ‘calling’, as well as the ability to strike off on a path that is absolutely meaningful for me.

At the same time, that heartening, inspiring immersion means I’m also diving in once again to the world stage, to the realities of climate change, nuclear proliferation, one refugee crisis after another, ‘climate change fatigue’, the fact that our current president is officially the longest war-time president, and the absolutely surreal shit-show that is our political system.

The resulting emotions can be pretty acutely bittersweet. The joy and exhilaration of being alive at this time is often equal to the heartbreak. Sometimes that tension is incapacitating. But often…it’s the most potent form of fuel.

So much of what’s been stuck mentally and emotionally for the past few months seems to be moving again — all at once. I suppose it was obvious that a Mercury retrograde in already stubborn Taurus could lead to some stuckness, but as always the felt reality of the idea was still somehow shocking. Now the deluge of mutability is definitely making me think a lot more about drugs, alcohol and altered states — alongside a longing to be in one. Even if waking sobriety feels like an altered state as it is. It’s good to be aware of these things, and to monitor how often I’m giving in.

So I’ve decided, amidst my sometimes over-dramatic and sometimes entirely authentic proclamations of identity crisis, to try and channel the sudden fluidity of emotional energy into poetry, which is for me a form of cathartic release, and one I have not visited in some time. I want to write love songs to my body and listen to its responses — to what it has to say, and to what it’s still holding onto — as an ode to incorporating the lessons of these earthy Mercury retrogrades.

I think it could also help to uncover more of what’s going to be arising as Mars re-enters Scorpio this weekend. That re-examination of desires in terms of whether they’re in alignment with what the spark in my soul — my genius — is striving towards seems like good identity crisis medicine.

That pursuit might or might not be one I’ll share here. But I will leave you with a poem I came across on the interwebs the other day. It speaks quite deftly to whatever it is I’m trying to articulate and experience in my own life these days, and hopefully in some of yours as well:

the hard season
will
split you through.
do not worry.
you will bleed water.
do not worry.
this is grief.
your face will fall out and down your skin
and
there will be scorching.
but do not worry.
keep speaking the years from their hiding places.
keep coughing up smoke from all the deaths you
have died.
keep the rage tender.
because the soft season will come.
it will come.
loud.
ready.
gulping.
both hands in your chest.
up all night.
up all of the nights.
to drink all damage into love.

∼ by nayyirah waheed

Visit the garden of delights that is the Planet Waves Boutique, and find the top-quality reading, class or membership that you need, or that special gift for a loved one.

By Amanda Moreno

Sometimes I wish I could predict when my more introverted phases would occur. After fighting the script for a while, I’m quite aware that the side of me that needs alone time to recharge is quite real, but that sometimes it’s more real than others.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

After a few weeks spent assisting at some pretty intense trainings, my reserves are almost entirely depleted and decompression has been a stunted process due to some traveling I’ve done just after the trainings ended.

Although I’m immensely grateful to get to do the work I do, all I want to do is be alone in my own energy for a while, maybe get a massage or four, and not hold space for anyone else’s process — I have no idea where I am in my own.

A question that’s been floating through my mind lately is: who heals the healer? I suppose you could substitute other people for ‘healer’ here — who nurtures the mother? Who holds space for the therapist? Who holds up the leader when the leader feels weak or exhausted?

I should be honest here. I have somewhat of a stubborn resistance to using the term ‘healer’ to describe myself. There are many reasons. I can be distrustful when I hear the term flung around, and have similar suspicions when someone not in an indigenous culture calls themself a shaman. I don’t quite trust that humility will win out over hubris. Perhaps that’s my own shadow coming out.

The biggest reason, however, is not so much a denial of who I am or what I do — which is to say that I do in fact facilitate healing processes — but instead probably has to do with the fact that I very much believe in the importance of people learning how to heal themselves. Not in a vacuum and not without the help and support of friends, family, community and those in the healing professions who can guide and advise; yet primarily through their own direct efforts. I will probably never use the term ‘healer’ on my website or in practice because I don’t want to give people an opening to hand me all of their power.

Our culture is very much based on the teachings and quite insidious philosophies of several salvation-based religions. More specifically speaking, the major religions of the world in one way or another teach that life in these human bodies is suffering, and that we need something outside of ourselves to save us — or that only when we die will we attain a state of non-suffering.

Some religions financially capitalize on these beliefs. Some teach us to transcend, which often just looks to me like spiritual bypassing, especially when taken out of the religion’s original cultural context and placed into a culture like ours, where headlines and taglines reign supreme. Some teach us that buying something — be it a new yoga mat, TV or pharmaceutical — will be the insta-fix to what ails us.

I’m also increasingly aware of the ways codependency is romanticized in our relationship models. I just read an article based on one woman’s experiences that hit pretty close to home. She was talking to her younger self — the self who would listen to her lovers’ woes, help them to dissect their psychological complexes, and allow herself to be used as a developmental tool for them without receiving much in return. Codependency can occur when we base our sense of self-worth on the identity we are given by another. In this case, it would be the identity of savior or martyr.

At this point in my life, I have moved to the other end of the spectrum romantically speaking. When a man walks in who starts using me as a counselor right off the bat, I get cranky and the thoughts that go through my head are less than supportive. Although I will mention my difficulty right off the bat, red flags start blaring in my head. On the other hand, when a man comes in who mentions being in therapy and talks about things he’s learned from past relationships and ways he identifies his own triggers or complexes, and ways he’s dealt with his own trauma, I get all warm and tingly inside. I don’t want to save anyone but myself.

That’s not to say there isn’t a place for supporting, communicating, and working things out in relationship. Of course there is — there has to be! But I’m so over playing the role of healer or therapist in my relationships. I’m doing my own work, and I’m insistent that those I’m romantically invested in do as well. In that way, we enter an interdependent, potentially co-healing dynamic. I’m much more interested in that than in being someone else’s savior.

It takes some serious balls to face your own suffering and begin to work with it, understand it, transform it and heal it. At this point, it would seem we all need intensive healing — and there is no one-size-fits-all formula.

As someone who definitely consults with and makes use of the services of many different types of healers, I know the value of having friends along the way. As someone who tends to crave a partner who can just hold me at the end of the day and not ask me any questions, I understand the nuances of relating and figuring out needs and wants and asking for them. I also tend to fall at the far end of the “no one else is responsible for meeting my needs, and I need to own my own shit” spectrum, which I realize is not a way of life that is meant for everyone.

But asking someone to do the work for me? Or to tell me flat out what I should do in a given situation? That just seems too disempowering even if I crave the ease of it from time to time. We seem so trained to fling our power outside of ourselves. What we have to reclaim, I believe, is our ability to create our own realities through experience and plunging into it, getting feedback about what works and what doesn’t through our own physical and emotional bodies as well as the insight of others, and then making adjustments accordingly.

In my romantic relationships, I’m happy to offer up all that I am to worthy partners, but I’ve had some tough lessons along the path of learning how to be discerning about what “worthy partners” means to me. I don’t want to be taken for granted.

In my friendships and family relationships, I heartily believe in love with detachment much of the time. I try to be present and supportive, but also let my loved ones make their own decisions and find their own paths. With my clients, I do my best to be friend and ally and to speak honestly when asked questions. These answers always come with the disclaimer that the client’s own experience and autonomy trump my beliefs.

My role as I see it is to help people to relocate the power of healing back within their own heart center in order to re-awaken the root, sacral and solar plexus centers of security, sexuality and power — whether I’m doing that as astrologer, coach, or guide through past lives and the afterlife.

I am sometimes enraged at the ways in which our culture — which I will here refer to as the patriarchy — has cut us off from our own power. Someone recently mentioned to me the horror of the burning times, when so many were burned at the stake, with flames that burned out the power centers of their chakra systems one by one. I’d never really thought of it that way.

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I also believe that we’re all complicit in everything that has taken place. We’ve all participated in one way or another in human history, as perpetrator and as victim.

And so for those of us who can and want to seek outside guidance and support, I’m grateful for groups of people I would refer to as ‘healers,’ even just because it’s an easy label to use, and even if I don’t like using it for myself. Be it for objective listening or for the guidance of someone who has knowledge of systems we haven’t had time or interest in studying.

As for my original question — who heals the healer? — one wise friend responded with the answer of “the universe.” I sense a truth in that. There’s power there. But it does not account for my own need for human companionship, particularly among those who see through to the core of who I am and are strong enough to hold space for me.

Taking that a step further, it does not account for my need to be held and physically touched by those types of individuals. My soul and spirit seem to be in agreement that my human body needs the comfort of physical touch, even if I’m just wanting to be alone.

There seems to be a quiet conundrum surrounding that need, with which I’m existing in tension at the moment. I don’t like that I see so many healing types around me who are somewhat isolated by the very nature of the work they do. We are one group among many who need community and connection with kindreds to be available — and hopefully that’s something the universe will continue to work with us on.

Editor’s note: Today is the 30th anniversary of Amanda Moreno’s father’s death. In honor of this milestone, she has chosen to run this early column of hers again (originally titled simply “Emergence and Belief”), since our current astrology has immersed her in the matrix of this event. It first published in Planet Waves on Aug. 3, 2014. — Amanda Painter

By Amanda Moreno

I was six years old when my dad died. I have a few memories of him. Holding his hand as we walked through the parking lot of the hospital where my brother was born when I was two. Sitting in his lap in our rocking chair as he sang me to sleep or read me stories. I remember him teaching me the Spanish word for table. I remember running to him at the end of each day and latching onto his leg with glee that he was finally home.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

Last fall, my dad started making appearances in dream and in waking life in subtle ways at the same time as I began to access grief from his death and other experiences. I began the process of bringing my dad into my morning ritual and prayers.

The past two years, with Saturn restructuring my Moon, Sun and Ascendant, I’ve been going through phases that can be characterized as: total submersion in grief. It made sense, therefore, that the little six-year-old inside of me would be very present.

I never really cried after my dad died. I remember fixating on splinters in my feet and I know that I almost instantly took on the role of mother-and-protector in my family, at least emotionally speaking. I’ve done some work with that inner six-year-old since then, mostly by spending time in the imaginal realms, spending time with her in my arms, and giving her lots of love.

My personal work as well as the work I do with clients tends to be focused on grief and trauma. I am consistently amazed at just how deep grief goes, unfolding slowly and painfully, often mixing with other complex emotions such as guilt. Trauma is often too much for the psyche to bear.

Last fall, after a workshop during which I purged a bunch of grief, I found myself in bed with a chest cold and fever for three days. The symbolism of a chest cold is not lost on me — the lungs are specifically associated with grief. During that time, I had the opportunity to do some journaling and work with my guides. I made a commitment to working with my dad — whatever that might look like — and asked for some kind of sign from him, despite the fact that I rarely receive direct affirmation.

In any case, right after that session, I went over to lie in the Sun by my window and there was a ladybug between the window and the screen. I thought “Hey! Maybe that’s a sign! Maybe that’s a dad-ladybug!” I laughed at the thought, realizing it was kind of a stretch — why would my dad be represented by a ladybug? But I decided to just go with it.

The next day, I felt myself plunging into grief again, and got totally lost in a massive upwelling that felt like it might not end. I was wailing and barely coherent, and decided to just go with it despite my lack of understanding why — a practice I’ve found infinitely helpful. Purge that grief; clear those lungs! I could sense years of pent up grief unraveling and figured it couldn’t hurt to just get it out.

At some point, I came back to myself with an epiphany. I realized that what I’d been perceiving as a lack of trust in the universe was actually a lack of trust in myself. I believe the universe gives me the ‘right’ opportunities. I believe it is abundant in love and compassion. But I consistently doubt my ability to make good decisions, to take the opportunities I’m graced with and to ‘do the right thing’.

Then I remembered something we’d been talking about at the training. When trauma occurs, the body, emotions and mind diverge. The body has a response, which is then mediated or repressed by the mind. And oftentimes emotions are taken out of the equation. This really messes with our instinct and intuition.

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For example, when a six-year-old finds out her father is dead, her instinct is probably to freak out — to kick and/or scream and/or wail and/or lose it completely. But my six-year-old self shut all of that down — all of her natural instincts. And then the mind took over. In this process of shutting down, an imprint formed that created a fundamental split that has wounded my ability to understand and therefore trust my own instincts.

Anyway, I received guidance that day that I could help myself get out of the crying jag by going over to the window to write about what was going on internally. I sat down and there were two ladybugs in the windowsill.

And then I remembered — the day my dad died, I was at a picnic with some family friends. It was slightly overcast and we had water fights and played in the creek.

I also remember that we waded through a field of waist-high grass, each blade covered in ladybugs. We were laughing and in awe. I think it can safely be said that that was the last happy moment of my childhood, because I returned home shortly thereafter to learn that my dad was dead.

I sat on my bed, recording the memory, and the whole time there were anywhere from 1-4 ladybugs in between the screen and window and I could see others flying around outside. My heart felt lighter and I was so grateful for that little bit of magical affirmation. I was also grateful to have trusted my guides — my intuition — that told me to change my location, and gave me the chance to receive the affirmation.

By Amanda Moreno

I once again find myself in upstate New York assisting at two five-day Deep Memory Process modules — and I once again find myself a ball of exhausted gratitude that there are people in the world courageous enough to plunge into the depths of the soul and face what is found there. A sense of quiet humility fills me as I lean into the fact that as part of my path in life, I get to hold space for and witness these profound journeys.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

The Deep Memory Process work is focused on healing core traumas — an action I believe to be an integral step in moving our ‘civilization’ into a sustainable, life-affirming paradigm.

It is multidimensional in that it is addressing the physical, emotional and mental energy bodies and the wounds accumulated there over vast lengths of time. Relying on the theories and understandings of reincarnation explored in so many great religions, it is the only modality I know of that is a form of past-life soul retrieval — it helps to heal soul fragmentation and loss over time.

Deep Memory Process focuses on our basic complexes as can be seen in our everyday speech and affects. Just fill in the blank: “I always…” or “I never…” There you have a complex and a past-life script that, according to this work, is still with you today. I always have to do it alone. I never have enough. I always seem to get stuck. More information on the process can be found in an article I published here last fall.

Heading into this Mercury retrograde period we have five planets moving backwards in the sky — at least from our point of view. One thing that my dear Deep Memory Process teacher is known to say is that sometimes we have to move back to go forward — have to regress to progress. Right now it seems as if the combination of retrograde Mars and Mercury in particular are emphasizing this concept and inviting us to use the energy constructively by plunging into our unfinished business. This is especially true in light of the fact that Mars is reviewing the areas of our lives most prominently affected by Saturn’s retrograde last summer.

Tonight I sat in the living room of the old colonial-style house where I’ve been staying with 20 other folks for the past week. Our conversation ran the gamut of fascinating topics, and ended up in a discussion of different energetic and bodywork healing styles. Someone discussed the nuances of craniosacral work, a modality that led them to understand there are some things that can be cleared out of the subtle bodies quite rapidly, and without any awareness on the part of the client in the session. This was mentioned as a counterpoint to other forms of work during which the client is able to track the healing, be it through feeling or vision or the recollection of memories from the present life or the past.

There are, however, some memories or complexes or wounds that cannot be healed for you by another person, or without your conscious awareness. There are some wounds that need to be worked through and released in a more cathartic and conscious manner.

For example: I have had chronic issues with one part of my body in the form of seemingly sporadic tension and pain that is sometimes triggered by stress. I went to my energy healer dude during an acute episode to see if he could help out with whatever was going on. He responded by spending some time working with the spot and then telling me that there was nothing he could do for it — it was something I had to fix myself.

During another episode, I took the issue to a massage therapist who is also an energy healer. I didn’t mention what the other healer had said, but got the same response from her — there was nothing she could do. I needed to heal it myself.

Some time later, I was in a regression session in which I remembered or ‘relived’ the experience of a hot poker being jabbed into that very spot. In another session, I ‘experienced’ having been stabbed there. In another session, I located a cord to another person that had been attached there. Although occasionally my conscious mind wonders about the weird realms I visit for healing, the proof is always in the proverbial pudding — and the healing is profound.

Through psychodrama, I removed the poker and other projectiles lodged in the spot, and was able to understand the wound with greater depth. I also received insight into steps I could take moving forward to care for the physical part of the body, as well as the emotional wounds that seemed to get stuck there. I addressed the reasons for the cords, and in healing spaces sent love through them to help them dissolve. I also dialogued with the figures I’d been connected to for so long. Sometimes the spot still gets a little grouchy, but I’m always able to resolve it on my own by tuning in and connecting the dots and listening to what is going on there.

Next week marks the 30th anniversary of my dad’s death. The event is in its Saturn return. My dad died in a car accident when I was six while Saturn toured my 4th house of family and home.

As Saturn has once again swept through this territory, forcing me to do a lot of emotional restructuring and self-parenting, I’ve been quite immersed in healing wounds related to that early life imprint of sudden, shocking loss. I have been using regression therapy to help understand the ways that incident in this life served as a kind of trigger through which many similar lifetime wounds converged. My own astrological beliefs include the theory that in the 30 or so years leading up to the first Saturn return, much of our karma is being re-imprinted.

The Spring Reading is now published. You may order all 12 signs here or choose your individual signs here for immediate access. You may listen to a free audio introduction here now.

Now that Mars is retrograding through that same territory, it’s clear that the core desires I will be revisiting have to do with family, home and emotional wellbeing. My dad’s death was also surrounded by scandal that was slowly revealed over time, involving a corrupt and high-ranking judge — a figure who might be associated with Saturn and Sagittarius — and a cover-up.

As the anniversary approaches, my mom is considering somehow going public with the ‘truth’ of the story — at least the truth as we have pieced together over the past three decades, and through reports she received when she hired a private investigator a few years after the fact. Here we can see the potential arising symbolism as Mars leaves Sagittarius and enters Scorpio.

As I wait and see what my mom decides, I am awed at the ways the symbolism of the stars is playing out so literally in my life, and grateful to have the support of incredible healers, a strong inner core and the wisdom of the stars. As I head into another five days of helping people to revisit and remember the past in order to move forward, I’m going to try to remember the importance of doing the work myself as well, and of using this energy constructively rather than going with my first instinct — which was to run and hide. We live in a time of such great possibility for change. Why squander the opportunities?