Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Learning to Even: Revisiting the Lunar Eclipse Reading

During an August tarot challenge, one reading has haunted me—begging me to uncover what it really means to me. The reading I did for myself on the Lunar Eclipse left me baffled and somewhat petulant, angry even. Why did I feel so indignant over a reading I didn't understand?

I've written before on frustrating readings. Sometimes we get an answer we just aren't ready for, and keeping account of past readings in order to revisit them when we're ready proves fortunate. It wasn't until recently that this one began clicking into place.

I'm a speaker. I always have been and always will be, but over the last year I've denied myself of the one thing that makes me feel whole—the one thing I feel I contribute to the world. My throat chakra has been muffled and dimmed, and I've allowed it. It's left me feeling incomplete, out of balance, and unsure how this happened.

At least that's the narrative I tell myself to make it okay. It's a narrative I've allowed to excuse the exhaustion I feel standing at the base of a seemingly insurmountable bluff. I see the work ahead, the mound of words required to overtake the mass in front of me. I sit down. I shut up. I can't even.

This isn't my first rodeo with blogging. My history as a blogger has been storied and sordid, starting in the secretive realms of a private DeadJournal, to the shameful and mostly unfortunate (albeit semi-popular) stint as a MySpace blogger. Both of these iterations woefully unaware of audience. Both painfully narcissistic, a hollow echo of my self-importance shoved into a world hungry to devour my overly personal sharing. I was young and naive. It took a while for me to figure it out, and eventually I tried again with a blog which maintained the personal elements, but embraced sharing the line where my soul meets with the rest of world. The blog had tone, a consistent tone, which reflected only a facet of who I really am, but no consistency in topics or scheduling. It was just me sarcastically shouting at the world about my mundane trials of life. Those trials could have been brought into a broader scope to intersect with a community that I never looked for, but existed in segregated batches across the web.

Because I stood alone, I died on that hill alone. I'm not the first woman to learn that lesson.

Throughout two different challenges I took part in, multiple readings pointed me toward taking back up that mighty sword we call a pen (or keyboard really). I've feigned and parried around the idea, writing posts that stick strictly to the designated topic, showing glimpses of a real human, but maintaining a safe distance. I don't want to reveal the source of the pain that has lead me to this healing path. I'm now more like an old warrior who teaches and helps others to find and use their sword, but mine is safely stored away.

And while it's stored away, I'm sitting back and watching social media, shaking my head at the echo chamber of voices joining a parade I should be in. And yes, it's a parade. A parade of vulnerability where very few actually are accountable for their voices. The rest echo what others have said for decades in the safety of numbers. It benefits them to join the trend now that many have come before and lost tough battles. I feel like I'm staring into a maze of stripes with no clue who is who anymore.

The shadow that the lunar eclipse reading warned me of has been emerging.

I believe I partially struggled with the reading because it was a warning of a possibility—a shadow that could emerge if I didn't hold strong to my convictions. It was a possibility that was already showing it's ugly head, and I didn't want to admit it to myself. I've resigned from fighting for the things I believe in. I fear the slew of trolls. I abhor the tedious hours of explaining an opinion I know will not be popular. My opinions never are. I'm usually moderately ahead of the current acceptable conversation. It's the bane of being an early adopter of new ideas. I'm also tired of friends patiently waiting for me to be cut down in the front line then gleefully walking over my corpse with their newfound triumph.

The lunar spread was full of endings, tragic and abrupt endings. Those endings were final and exhaustive rather than hopeful and suggesting of fresh starts, but it was only a warning. It showed me a possibility for someone as spirited as I am if I allowed myself to slip ungracefully into the ugliest pile of no fucks given. This isn't the attitude to have. The attitude that should be emerging was revealed in the Solar Eclipse reading I (somewhat sloppily) did that same month.

The 10 of Swords and The Hierophant are beginning in my life. It's time to pull the swords out of my back and use them to make a difference in a rapidly changing climate. It's time to face the hard topics I want to cover with the energy of The Wheel and The Emperor. Ownership and strength of will are traits I must grab by the hilt, and will. I've got a lot of speaking to do this year, and I will—unashamedly.


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