I’ve recently asked readers to share their stories about the changes that Uranus transits or the Cardinal T-Square of 2010 brought to their lives. Many stories aren’t yet fully formed, but are in the beginning, unseen stages of manifestation. Some people feel afraid or threatened by the times, while others are grateful for the newfound freedoms they anticipate or have found.
During times when major changes are happening or predicted, acknowledge the weird, “wasn’t that odd?” moments that occur. Good or bad, write them down ~ even if only on little scraps of paper you toss into a drawer. Memory dissolves high-focus reality as the months and years pass, and it’s important to be clear on the quirks of major transits as they occur in your life.
I don’t keep a journal, but during 2006 I did keep notes because 2006 was ~ without a doubt ~ the worst year of my life. Here are the astrological details of that time. It’s definitely a MEGO (my-eyes-glaze-over) Award winner in astrologese. If you hate astrologese (and I do), skip this:
There was a Fixed Cross in the sky at that time involving Mars, Neptune, Jupiter and Saturn. This nasty configuration hit the MC/IC of my chart, sat right on my Moon/Jupiter conjunction (with T. Jupiter opposing), squared my Mercury/Pluto conjunction, splayed my Mars by conjunction and squares, and had great fun throwing grenades through my 7th house windows. Neptune was inconjunct natal Uranus, T. Pluto inconjunct my Sun. Also in the picture was T. Uranus trining my natal Uranus and Mars, while T. Chiron sat exactly on my Ascendant.
In plain English, let’s just say it’s one of those times when life literally falls apart on all fronts. I don’t write much about my private life, but I’d like to tell you about one part of that shattered time in hopes that you can find moments of peace if you are facing sweeping changes in your life.
I’ve been a die-hard optimist all my life. I have firmly believed that something good always happens in our lives when things are at their worst. If anything could change my mind about that, the Fixed Cross was it. My personal life on all fronts ~ work, home, marriage ~ was in shambles and my deeply beloved mother was in the last weeks of her life. When she passed away, I never felt more alone in my entire life. I grieved without ceasing for more than a year ~ not just for my mother, but for my collapsed life. The mantle of loss lay heavy on my shoulders. While driving alone one day, weeping, I heard these words come out of my mouth, “There’s not a reason in the world for me to be on the planet.”
There I was, a woman blessed with the optimism of Jupiter on a comfortable Taurus Moon, feeling absolutely hopeless, defeated, and alone. The world was desperately dark, and the future was some uncharted wilderness that I wished would just go away.
What I didn’t sense during the overwhelming drama from that slice of time ~ and what took me quite a while to understand ~ was that I was never alone. Never.
Maybe it was luck ~ my injured Moon/Jupiter still grinding away behind the scenes. Maybe it was a much needed blessing ~ Uranian Angels holding me up with the backward fanning of their wings. Whatever it was, I doubt I would have made it through that period without them. I didn’t recognize them till they were gone ~ if they’ve gone at all.
It started with poetry. Ah, Neptune, you morphing, mesmerizing miracle who is never what you appear to be. I was reading The Book of the Rotten Daughter by Alice Friman, a well-recognized and recently relocated poet who wound up in my neck of the woods. A blessing. I had booked her for a reading into a little theatre I had at the time and which I lost.
Funny how things break down,
like when wires cross in the phone
and the conversation you bargained for~
the one life you sunned
and watered like a petunia~
splits into two.
The Fall, Alice Friman
Several months before my mother and my life passed away, Angels entered my life. I never saw wings, there were no trumpets, no celestial music, no flowing robes. They entered my life as a bank teller at the drive-through who insisted I take the line of credit available to me for an unexpected emergency. “You don’t have to use it, you know. But you’ll have it when you need it.” It paid funeral expenses. Wise, advising messenger.
There was the odd phone call at work from a complete stranger, a retired General who told me the story of how he was forced to push all his beloved belongings out the back of an airplane over the ocean so the plane wouldn’t go down and lives would be spared. “Life continued,” he told me, “without the extra baggage. Sometimes we just have to let it go.” Brave messenger.
Frank ~ dear, sweet, broken ~ who entered my life briefly with roses and soft eyes, assuring me through his new-found faith that we can pull ourselves up from the very depths of despair and be all we never thought we could be. Faithful messenger.
There was Alice, the poet, of course, whose book walked me through the last days of her own mother’s life in a nursing home and served me well preparing me for my mother’s death.
He didn’t write it to me. He wrote it to my mother on June 10, 1949 while he was on the road. My mother had given clear instructions through the years that the letter was to be placed under the pillow of her casket. I knew the letter was one of her most prized possessions, but I had no idea just how important this letter and its date, June 10th, would be.
Not long before my mother died, she had been admitted to the emergency room from the nursing home. Ninety-three and frail from a long struggle with Parkinsons, she wasn’t expected to live for more than one or two days after she came for hospice care in my home. Yet she lived for a week, keeping one foot in this world and one in the next.
She was a Capricorn ~ a very practical, but funny woman who had planned and paid for her funeral decades earlier. She’d had her outfit picked out for almost 10 years, something soft and comfortable. “Who wants to spend eternity in something tight and binding?,” she asked.
The clothes, important papers, and the very special letter from my father were in a zippered case, her “traveling bag” of sorts, so that everything was ready to go when her final moment on earth arrived. In true Capricorn style, she had planned well.
The morning of my mother’s death, I spent some time on the phone with my best friend who was a thousand miles away. Cheryl said, “Read the letter to her.” It didn’t matter that she was between worlds, she would hear.
So I read the letter to her.
“Momma, it’s June the 10th. Daddy wrote this letter to you exactly fifty-seven years ago today. I’m going to read it to you now.” And I started to read.
She passed that evening, June 10, 2006, into the new world she had been striving toward for her entire life, a sweet smile and the joy of homecoming on her face. My messengers foretelling the day of her death? Father, long departed. Mother, who chose this one letter to save, wise messenger. She probably never knew how to tell me she had booked a flight of sorts and that her departure was destined. But she knew when the time came that I would understand.
There was yet another blessing on the night of her passing. I stepped out into the dark and was greeted by a Full Sagittarius Moon which fell softly on my Part of Bereavement, a point of sorrow in our natal charts. With each Full Moon, I remember her departing smile, her sweet goodbye. Lady Luna, dear mother.
There’s a beautiful scripture,
We never know when they’ll arrive or what stories they may bring. I could have ignored the bank teller, the retired General who had a story he needed to tell and that I needed to hear, the beautiful young man who got his life back and helped me regain mine, the poet’s words, and the wise counsel of my dear friend to read a letter written not to me, but for me.
In times of trial, stay aware. Listen, always listen. There are messengers and angels attending you. Something good is always waiting for us when times are at their worst.