Eclipse Notes
This lunar eclipse is an emo one.
"A psychological astrology perspective on a Pisces lunar eclipse frames it as a profound moment for emotional completion, the release of old subconscious patterns, and the integration of intuition with rational clarity."
I am in a puddle and feeling wrecked about every single thing I've reached for today.
Every self-soothing attempt has been met with some weird picking apart, no patience and plenty of weeping. Even watching a childhood favorite has rendered me pissed off at the adults and wondering why children were so pigeon-holed into gender appropriate activities? Why wasn't Laura allowed to go hunting with Pa? Because she was not his son, that's why. She had the entire spark of wonder that he had for the land and he did not see her most of the time. Caroline wanted stability and structure and a schedule for the girls, and Charles just dismissed her worries. Laura's logic - "Then why did we come to Indian Territory?" and the entire go to bed dismissal when Laura starts asking more questions - because children are seemingly not people yet?
I vividly recall watching the Little House on the Prairie television series in my grandma's spare bedroom, which was her very own artist's studio. She was a gifted multi-media artist, an oil painter who won many gallery awards, but also had a ceramics kiln, needlework supplies, yarn, beads and she had the patience to sit and make those holiday ornament kits that were handmade for our 5 family members most every year. The ornaments with my name made it to me in nothing short of a miracle. To have these childhood relics in my possession is the most precious gift. She made them with her own skills and customized each one to suit the recipient and I know the amount of concentration, presence and love she stitched into each one is irreplaceable. Knowing what it means to hold that focus and let your mind wander to the individual you are creating for?
There was a small loveseat in her studio in front of a tv. I never understood it, but now I see it as a spot for my grandpa to sit there out of her way. I also see it as company if she felt lonely. But mostly I remember it to be the spot where I watched parents that were kind and loving to their children. Caroline was not my mother. Charles was not my father at all.
As my grandparents cooked dinner and had their own cocktail hour, I was allowed to sit in the back room out of their hair with a small bowl of salty peanuts and my own Shirley Temple. My grandparents were very different than my parents and I did not understand how my dad came out of those two people he claimed to hate, when they were so warm and loving towards me. I did not believe him, because I did not experience once, whatever his internal strife was with them. I grew up with better grandparents than parents and when I eventually lost all four of them I was devastated and I knew deep down they saved childhood me. I wept and cried more inside. When I lost my parents I did not care, I was relieved. They could no longer hurt me.
If I was not at one of my grandparent's houses on the weekend, I was firmly hiding in my room reading books. Little House on the Prairie, Nancy Drew, Chronicles of Narnia, A Wrinkle in Time, and a set of grocery store encyclopedias with glossy pullouts. I had a school library card and also a County library card. By some huge miracle, my two brothers and I were allowed to walk to the library and spend time wandering the shelves. Yes, I was responsible for them, and no I do not know how those gremlins did not get us kicked out of there! A 12 year old responsible for two 7 and 9 year old boys? Regardless of that, I was able to locate more books by the authors I already had in my own bookshelf. The library was a refuge and I would go as often as possible. My mother read books and I know my father tried, but he was very tired from working all day. I think the fact they both read made it safe to escape into books, because if they did it, then how could I get in trouble for it or get it taken away as a punishment? That was the only thing that was never taken away. For all the punishments at least there was one silent boundary. They could not stop me from reading or writing.
✉️ Reply to this post via email- ← Previous
Testing the Hearth