"We'll take the whole shebang/ all
or nothing, anything/ Ecstasy's the birthright of our gang/ we'll take
the whole she-bang/ free your heart from guilt and shame/come and claim
what's yours, the whole shebang."
Last week, I—and millions of my fellow Americans—watched the moon move across the face of the sun in a solar eclipse. It was my first experience with totality, with sudden twilight in the middle of the day. As the sky deepened to indigo and the cicadas started keening and the temperature dropped and sunset glowed in every direction, I could understand how ancient humans thought the world was ending.
I was lucky enough to know better. Science told me what was happening, and I trust science. This didn't lessen the awe I felt as a profound reverence overtook me. Yes, the world would go on. It would spin on its slightly canted axis around the flaming ball of hot gas that makes life possible, and the moon would spin around it in a clockwork ballet. Pas de deux and elliptical orbits, poetry and math dancing together. And there I was, a tiny speck of me, right at the heart of it. Just like you.
And that is the secret of The World, the paradoxical idea that the universe has as many centers as it has souls. But then this is a card of paradox. The world dancer exists in stillness and movement simultaneously, her feet firmly grounded on thin air. She inhabits the circle without end under and above twin infinity loops, and she is surrounded by four figures, one in each corner—a human, an eagle, a lion, and a bull—representing the four fixed signs of the
zodiac, the four elements, and the four suits in the tarot (this is the squared circle, which is itself a symbol of paradox and mystery). She is alone, yet she is not alone (she is also not necessarily a she; in many interpretations, the figure is hermaphroditic, which further adds to the mystery of this card).
The World may look familiar to you, even though this is the first time it has come up here. If so, gold star for you—this card has many similarities to the Wheel of Fortune, which came up two weeks ago. Both cards feature a central image surrounded by the same four figures in the corners. There's one big difference, however—we are separate from the Wheel, at the mercy of its risings and fallings, unless we can find the still place at the center. That still place is The World. Here we are an inextricable part of everything. We are complete. We are the World. You are. I am. That guy over there? He is too.
So what does this mean for you this week? Traditionally the World foretells a time of culmination, a sense of integration, finality, and achievement. That's certainly true for me—I am preparing to send in final edits on my sixth book and that's definitely feeling worthy of a hallelujah chorus or two. Whatever it is that's coming to a satisfactory close for you this week, take some time to enjoy and celebrate it. Seriously. Take time. Snatch it out of the maw of routine. Hallow that accomplishment with your attention.
And remember, you are part of something very big and wonderful. In fact, you are something very big and wonderful. Claim every scrap of it. The whole shebang. That's the lesson of the world, and it's as big as...well, everything.
As I write this, we here at Whittle Central are preparing for the Great American Eclipse tomorrow. We live about two hours outside of the zone of totality, so we're making a little road trip in order to experience the full effect.
My husband the engineer is packing eclipse glasses, road maps, and a cooler full of sandwiches. I'm packing every red/yellow/orange crystal I own—citrine and tiger's eye, calcite and carnelian. I'm also bringing something I'm calling Coming Into the Light tincture, full of herbs with solar properties and fire essences. Cinnamon and orange and rosemary.
This is Leo energy in a bottle. Leo is the sign of fixed fire, ruled by the Sun, and as such, has many of the same associations as The Sun in the tarot (the Sun is primarily associated with Strength, but more on that later). Leo governs our creativity, and like the lion that is its symbol, evokes courage and charisma and confidence. Leo roars. It's good energy to channel during an eclipse, and since this eclipse occurs when the Sun is in the sign of Leo, it's going to pack a double punch.
And do we ever need it. Because even though a solar eclipse is about the sun, it's also about the shadow. Every time I watch the news, I feel that shadow. We have evoked this shadow, make no mistake, and it must be heeded and healed before it will return to its proper role in our lives (and it does have one). A shadow is substance plus light, and in order for the Great American Shadow to heal, we have to look hard at the substance it is revealing. Look hard and good for a very long time. Let the Light shine brightly on it. This is going to burn. It is going to be painful, and the tendency will be to turn away. But we must not. We must keep shining the clear light of truth.
That's what eclipses symbolize, after all—profound, often cataclysmic, change. Astronomer Natalia Kuna explains it thusly:
"First, we have an intense 'power outage' that knocks you right out, and
then it is followed by a heightened renaissance: an amped up 'power
surge.' In other words you go through a cycle of great intensity that
leads to amplified light and growth."
(You would do well to read her entire article if you want to put The Great American Eclipse into perspective.)
This eclipse begins and ends in Leo, but the very next day, the Sun moves into the sign of Virgo, the sign of sovereignty and service and healing, joining the New Moon there as well. This is where the Strength card will come into play, the card traditionally associated with Leo in the tarot. There is a Lion on this card too, but instead of being in full roaring bluster, this Lion has been subdued by the quiet presence of a maiden. Not injured, simply returned to a state of calmness. This is the strength of non-violent control, of composure, of relentless, unswerving dedication. No whips, no chairs. Only love, which is at the heart of any true Virgo endeavor (don't let the rules and fussiness fool you—Virgos have enormous depths of compassion).
May the light of Leo shine like the Sun, and even in the dark of the shadow, may you remember that you have a heart of fire. A lion heart. May it be guided by compassion and strength. May this be true, like the eclipse, from sea to shining sea.
Yes, Mercury Retrograde is once again upon us as of Saturday night at 9:00 PM EDT. I'm a Virgo, which is a sign ruled by Mercury, so its retrograde energy hits me with a wallop (Geminis, also ruled by Mercury, get an even stronger dose). And since Mercury is in the sign of Virgo when it goes retro this go-round, I suspect we of the Sovereign Sign will be feeling it more than usual.
The retrograde refers to the time that Mercury appears to be going backward in the sky. It's not, of course—THAT would be the retrograde to end all retrogrades—but because astrology is all about perspective, it's a time of significant and potent energy swirls nonetheless.
Therefore, things get a little screwy, especially in the areas of life that fall under the auspices of Mercury energy: travel, communications, and technology. Anything related to movement and words, really. Yes, I see you skeptics sneering. Of course a tiny little planet zipping in a tight little orbit around a ball of blazing gas can't lose your hotel reservations. That's not how astrology works, silly. The astronomical movement is merely a clue that something's going on that we should pay attention to, like a particular tarot card coming up. The law of averages explains how often cards appear (just like the laws of physics explain why planets appear to go backwards in predictable cycles)—it's we humans who make the meaning.
Mercury often gets a bad rap (one of my mystical friends calls it "The Scapegoat Planet"). Yes, its energy often manifests in a chaotic manner, but that's most often because we fight it. Mercury loves a good tussle, and will give as good as it gets, so put down your dukes and power up your flexibility muscle. You can emerge from Mercury Retrograde not only intact, but stronger for the bargain.
Here are some excellent strategies (if you have more, share them in the comments).
1. Think like The Magician. Instead of fighting energy or trying to wrestle it into obedience, the Magician understand that when lightning strikes, best to make like a lightning rod and let that pow-bang move through you. Mercury will return your opposition as reaction if you work against it, but if you channel the energy, it is now yours to harness.
2. Ponder like the Seven of Pentacles. We are too often enamored of forward motion. We like speed. We like word counts. We like page totals and checklists checked off check check check. But Mercury Retrograde is about moving forward even if it feels like we are moving backward (emphasis on the "feels"; Mercury loves to play with our "feels"). This is the time for any activity beginning with re—: review, rewrite, rethink, rejoice, recalibrate, recheck, resubmit, rewind, reconsider, rework, and, my personal favorite, revise. Those efforts will be especially powerful now.
3. Chill like The Hanged Man. This is a card of ultimate paradox—to control we must let go. Be receptive to the gifts of surprise and delight that often bloom during the retrograde. Don't get trapped with a bad case of "ought to be"; instead, open to "what is." This is a time when you'll find yourself unexpectedly taking the scenic route, discovering serendipitous connections in mundane places, or finding that a setback might actually lead you to an Aladdin's cave of treasures. Just breathe, watch, be patient. And relax, for crying out loud.
So there you have it, a recipe for creative success during Mercury Retrograde. Enjoy your time backtracking across the sky, and remember, the energy is only what you make of it.
You might want to back up that hard drive and double check those directions, though. Just saying.
It's one of the more interesting junctures between art and science. It began in 1992 when author John Briggs observed that some of Jackson Pollack's paintings demonstrated fractal patterns, an observation later demonstrated in multiple physics experiments. Now there is some difficulty in defining what a fractal is, but one can think of them as repeating geometric patterns that can be split into parts, each of which is approximately a reduced-size copy of the whole.
Fractals are an important function of chaos theory (you know, the butterfly effect) and they are everywhere in nature, in pineapples and lightning bolts, in snowflakes and fault lines. They are easy to replicate using computer technology, but dang hard to create otherwise. Practically impossible. Pollack could do it, however. He could tap into the same random order that the Universe used to create a chambered nautilus. He was so good at it that fractal pattern analysis can be used to authenticate genuine Pollacks from forgeries.
And what is the Wheel of Fortune but an elaborate fractal pattern, Exhibit A in the deterministic but utterly random nature of the Universe. A dynamic system highly sensitive to initial conditions but not predictable in its final results. Round and round and round she goes, and where she stops...
Well, you get the drift. Sometimes we can peek ahead and see what's up, and sometimes the Wheel spins into territory that we could have in no way seen coming, but which can nonetheless be traced back to a single, singular action. We've been here before, of course. And we'll be here again. Such is the nature of all wheels, but especially this one.
What does it mean for you, dear creative friend? Methinks that this is a week less for pontification and more for pondering. Less for answers and more for questioning. Less about pulling back the veil and more about letting the veil cast its gauzy, hazy, utterly mysterious magic.
You won't be able to predict how your actions this week will spin out, so don't demand that your art conform to expectations either. Let your characters talk back to you, walk out on you, refuse to behave. Follow the side road into territory not on the plot outline. There is no satisfaction guaranteed—nothing is guaranteed this week. But I can promise you that learning to enjoy the risings and the fallings of this particular Wheel is a worthy goal.
There's a full moon on Monday, peaking in the sign of Aquarius. There's a partial lunar eclipse too. You can count on those two things. As for the results their energy will spin in manifestation...well, even the tarot will be nonplussed this week. And that is not a bad thing.
