Kelly Diels is the straight-shooting, tell it like it feels author of the popular blog, Cleavage, aka kellydiels.com. Cleavage is devoted to “sex, money, and meaning,” though you’ll find a lot of references to love in her mix. Kelly’s article, Love is a Compass, asks us to consider the role love plays in directing our relationships, whether with a person or a thing. It’s a great read anytime our Libra/Venus/7th House issues turn into push-pull dilemmas of “do I or don’t I” and “yes or no?” It shows us the higher path Saturn can travel through Libra by constructing boundaries that create sustainable, thriving relationships, and gives a marvelous clue as to why Saturn (form, foundation, structure, limitation) is exalted in Libra.
(c) 2010 Kelly Diels
There’s a book that was read to me when I was a wee one and that I read to my wee ones. It is the story of a baby bird, separated from its mama, who wanders around asking everyone and everything he meets – from cows to dogs to kittens to chickens to steamshovels to planes – “Are you my mother?”
It is simple. It is sweet. It is about seeking-and-finding-and-fitting and a little anxiety-inducing on a cosmic level (which is where I like to fly).
I also like ruthless, tender simplicity and efficiency. I’m currently pruning dead wood (and skeletons, same dif) from my garden/closets. Of course, this kind of decluttering is not just about lovers. This is about everything. Time, money, attention, friendship, care.
It is really basic. Love is a compass.
When I’m not sure about a choice, or I’m tempted to make one I’ve resolved to avoid, I (silently) ask that choice or thing or person: Do you love me?
I’m like that little bird looking for its rhetorical mama. I ask it of everyone and everything. No sense imprinting a chicken, kitten or a steam shovel.
I say it to blogs. To restaurants. To vices. To charities. To corporations. To friends and wannabe friends and friends with benefits and lovers and dates and other assorted and sundry relations.
To a blog: do you have my interests at heart? Are you protective of my time and attention? Do you want the best for me? Do you want to amuse or educate me? Or do you just want my credit card number?
To a corporation: Dear McDonalds-as-a-stand-in-for-the-industrial-food-industry, do you love me, and my kids? Do you want to give us the best, most nourishing food and experience you can possibly provide?
It is just a quick question, but it gets at so much. It solidifies the airy sense that I’m a moth fluttering to a flame and makes me think, maybe it is time to be the flame. It amplifies the rumbling-gut feeling that I’m about to do something that’s really not good for me and mine. It gets at The Answer. It gets me to the people and things to whom I ought to give my attention, money and love. Love is a ruthless economy.
Danielle LaPorte advises something similar: whenever you’re feeling pressed about your ‘no’, say it doesn’t feel right to me.
Nobody will contest that.
Or, if someone does, then you know strong and clear and viscerally that this person does not have your interests close to your heart, and you should absolutely, firmly, emphatically and defiantly cling to your no.
No one – no person, no corporation, no industry, no government – who truly loves you asks you to sacrifice or do things that put you, your finances, your family, your self-respect or your well-being in jeopardy.
My kids, for whom I might be tempted to sacrifice any or all of the above – might, maybe, I make no pretence to saintliness – don’t ask me to sacrifice.
And I don’t sacrifice for them. All that is required is chosen. It may spring from an oft-exhausted well, but ‘tired’ is not a sacrifice. It is a commitment that expires and renews, every day.
I’m thinking that sacrifice is bullshit. The world doesn’t need sacrifice. The world needs contribution.