Hang on. There’s a celestial storm coming on Wednesday (full moon, super moon, eclipse and more) that’s reputed to be intense and asking us to prepare for a year of:
no brakes, fallout, powerful cosmic tides, physical elemental chaos
(breathe, sing, move a little – it might not be so terrible)
It’s part of an intense year. Astrologer, Lorna Bevan tells us:
“If vision and practical skills are brought into a place beyond either one, new worlds can come into being. Tenacity is the key. You have to see the pattern, inscribe the pattern, and let it set collectively.” (read more)
(breathe, sing, move a little)
When I read this last bit, I was relieved that there was a way through the storm and then immediately overwhelmed by how much work it all sounded like. Are you with me?
Then I reminded myself, we have actually been in this weather since August’s eclipse. This is the 2nd act and will help us understand things as the dust settles. 2018 will be a year of major transformation for us individually and collectively. But aren’t we actually longing for change? Aren’t we tired of carrying around the old stories that inhibit our living rather than supporting it?
I know it’s weird – at least to admit out loud – but when I was a child living in Ohio, I loved tornadoes. You could tell they were coming: the air sizzled with electricity, the sky changed to an odd dirty yellowish color, the wind picked up – and, you might even be able to see the funnel coming before you closed the root cellar door.
Photo by Lucy Chian on Unsplash
Like Dorothy, I knew life might never be the same. I also knew that I lived in a town that was at the confluence of two rivers and the likelihood of a tornado crossing both rivers and finding us was relatively slim.
Some in the cellar shook with fear and huddled in fetal positions anticipating the worst. My mother would often sing to calm us and let us know she trusted we’d be fine (yes, that might have been a ruse, but it was helpful).
What was I doing? Well, if you’ve been reading my posts, you know how connected I am to the land. I was listening to the song of the wind as I breathed in the earthy scent of the cellar. I was wishing I could dance with that wind and feeling grateful for the protection of being in the earth, just in case. I was rocking my younger siblings to comfort them and eagerly anticipating the moment we could leave the cellar and see what the world now looked like. I could sense the magic in it all.
We’d always take a drive after everything calmed down again. We’d check to see that neighbors and family were safe. We’d marvel at the refrigerator in the middle of a plowed field. We’d pray for those whose homes or businesses were no longer where they’d once been – and lend a hand where necessary.
We never talked about it, but despite the damage we might see around us, there was always the sense of the world sighing in relief. All the pressures and energies that had come together to create the storm had been released. It was obvious that there was work to do, things to clean up, lives to resurrect – but after the initial eerie silence, the air had a freshness about it. We’d find ourselves saying things like, “We don’t have to worry about that rickety barn falling on someone anymore.”
Yes, we have a lot of strong winds ahead of us in 2018. There is risk, danger, potential, … We can choose this year to live in a place with two rivers: Lorna’s rivers of vision and practical skills; or the river of speaking our truth and the river of acknowledging our most tender dreams. The need to recognize these rivers was revealed with the eclipse in August. Did you notice? “Me too.”
Let’s go to the root cellar – not to hide out until it’s over, but to get in touch with what roots and grounds us, what helps us hold our place in life. Let’s take flashlights to help reveal our own truths.
Resistance is futile. The storm is already here – the shudders have been banging and the windmill has been screeching. We are being gifted with this incredible opportunity to let go of the stories we carry that don’t feed our lives, to clear the path and walk in new ways.
The coming winds are not after us to punish or devastate. The storms are here to help blow down the rickety barns and transform our landscapes (inner and outer) to support our dreams, build our community and invite us into co-creativity.
In my book, that’s not so bad. We can trust nature and her celestial dances to continue in their everlasting cycle – to remind us that new life always follows any death. We can certainly choose to deny or resist what is happening. Or, we can enter the mystery with a sense of wonder. We can honor and give gratitude for what no longer serves and do the work of releasing what is not sustainable. We can consciously choose the seeds of new life and do the work of planting and cultivating those seeds.
Vision, practical skills, needed change, potential, wonder, anticipation, new life,…
Yep, it’s not that bad. I can’t wait to see what the world will look like after it all settles. In fact, I think I’ll start imagining its beauty right now.
I’m grateful to share this information and my personal stories/insight around them with you – ways that I navigate it all. I also love hearing from you and look forward to your stories of facing storms or sharing what new seeds you want to cultivate.
Thanks for reading and being part of my circle.
Blessings, ~ Coleen