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.
Judgment. It comes up a lot around here. And I'm not talking about judgey-judge judgment, or even the more polite judgment of discernment. Like Death, Judgment is one of those cards whose meaning is more nuanced and archetypal than the dictionary definition.
To paraphrase Inigo Montoya, it doesn't mean exactly what you might think it means.
Judgment is often called Rebirth in the tarot, and yes, that is exactly what you think it means. And as I noted before, this cards turns up a lot for me (and for you, dear reader, since you're here and all). It turned up most recently in June, in my big Three-Card Summer Solstice reading, and also here and here. Judgment and I have some history, which is fine—I understand that rebirth is often a multi-step process—so I asked for some further classification this time around.
Dear Judgment, I said, care to elaborate on what exactly you are illuminating?
And the answer was even bigger than the question. For corresponding factors, I got Strength and Justice (you can click on the links to read my take the last time those cards showed up). It's like old home week around here, all these familiar faces. So what does it mean, all of them showing up again, this time in each other's company.
My thinking? For one, there is something BIG on the horizon. These are all major arcana cards, which means this next step in our rebirthing is going to be a doozy.
And for two, it's got the presence of the Divine Feminine written all over it.
Just look at those cards. There's Justice with her sword and scales, severity and mercy all in one swift impersonal stroke. And there's Strength, with her hand in the lion's mouth, the very emblem of soft, yet powerful, control.
So what's up for us creative folk this week? I'd say that whatever you have been working on over the past few months—or the past lifetime—is going to reach an interesting stage in its gestation. You might need a midwife to help you along. And by that, I mean all the fierceness of the female way of thinking and knowing and being in the world.
This might be in the form of an actual woman you know, a friend or sister or daughter, a mother or mother figure, a mentor or maven or minister. If this is this case, she will have advice. There will be wisdom on her lips and she will offer it freely. It would be oh-so-smart to heed those words this week.
But She Herself might show up, usually veiled and in your peripheral vision. In that case, get in touch with the part of you that connects to others even as it remains sovereign unto itself. Open your heart and mind simultaneously. Listen for the whisper that comes from just over your shoulder, the nudge and the pull, the feeling in your gut. Let your feet take a spiraling path instead of the straight and narrow. Stand in your truth. Walk in it too. Speak it as clearly as you can. And know that forgiveness and compassion and empathy are not weaknesses. No, they are actually quite muscular. As is She.
What has all of this got to do with writing? I don't know. But I am certain, absolutely certain, that I will know, in a very little while. And so will you.
We have been in this particular lion's den before. But since this is not a story of vanquishing and over-powering, our return is entirely proper. For once you have befriended this lion, you may come back to it as many times as you wish, as often as you need to be reminded of what soft control looks like.
I was myself reminded of this kind of control — this deep, unwavering, and yet gentle kind of strength — in this week's Brain Pickings with Marie Popova, who shared excerpts from novelist Nicole Krauss' response to Vincent van Gogh’s 1884 letter to his brother. Van Gogh's letter explores fear, especially the fear of the blank canvas and the unknown. Krauss' letter, separated from Van Gogh himself by over a century, offers the following observation, a perfect summation of the Strength card:
"And yet even if we could scrape away the many forms our fear takes and get to the underlying source — our mortality, our division from the infinite — we would still discover that our fear is not based on actual knowledge, unlike the part of us that chooses to be free. Bravery is always more intelligent than fear, since it is built on the foundation of what one knows about oneself: the knowledge of one’s strength and capacity, of one’s passion."
This week, treat your fear as if it were a wild animal in need of comfort. Kneel before the part of yourself that wants to lash out, recognize this impulse as a protective one, and treat that creature with all the compassion you can muster. For compassion is no weak thing — it has muscles and stamina. It is strong enough to be gentle. And so are you.
This applies to all your life, not just your creative endeavors. Whether you are sitting down to the page or sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner, remember that we must have compassion for everyone — editors and mean aunties, critics and cousins alike — but most importantly for that wounded and roaring part of ourselves. Because if our inner lion is not cared for properly, it might just eat somebody alive.
There are times when you need to push hard and push fast, muster every ounce of willpower you have and exert it with force and discipline.
This week is not one of those times.
This week calls for Strength, a card the demonstrates a more nuanced approach to control, one that might not come easily to mind when confronted with an angry lion. Slavering beasts with pointy teeth bring out the "gotta get that thing in a cage, and quick" mentality.
But notice the woman of this card. No whips, no chairs. She's not combative, not demanding. The lion does not resist her touch; indeed, the creature seems almost tame. How does she do it?
The key is soft control, and that begins with compassion and empathy. Despite their reputation, these are muscular responses, hence the title of this card. The infinity sign above her head is another important clue as to the meaning here -- the quality of mercy is not strained; neither is it finite. There is always an abundance to tap, if we can learn to open our hand and let it flow.
What in your life are you trying to beat into submission? A project, an attitude, a fear? Strength reminds you that the most impressive muscle at your disposal is your heart, not your biceps. Stop wrestling your demons. Befriend them. Pluck whatever thorns you can find from their paws. You might find that monster in need of defeating is actually a pussycat.
