Oddblög

Happy Retrograde. Words we never hear. I was born during Mercury in Retrograde and I’m currently living near my Mercury transit line on my astrocartography map. So, Mercury is kind of my thing. 

So much so that I just slept for 28 hours to welcome it… I went to sleep Sunday around 11pm. Woke up around 1:30pm to watch some youtube videos, fell asleep during those again till 6pm… stayed up for about 4 hours and woke up at 7am on Tuesday. I can’t remember the last time I did something like this, but I highly recommend! I’ve been on a JOURNEY the last two days without leaving my bed except to poop and eat once.

In that time, I dreamt a lot. And cried. I woke up crying at one point. I cried about my ex—I swear at one point a corner of my sheets smelled like him and I missed being hugged. I cried about my mom and how we haven’t had a healthy relationship EVER and I”m not sure I’ll ever know what it feels like to be loved by her, even though I know in her own way she loves me very much.

I did a lot of breathing. I guess that’s the caveat—don’t do this unless you’ve been doing breathwork exercise for quite some time, at least 6 months. These episodes without breathwork can tunnel down into depression. I however, woke up wanting to start a blog.

I’m alone. I’ve been alone for over a year now, and kind of my whole life. People hurt, so I usually only get close to them in seasons. 

I was crying about these old pains that I feel are somehow trapped in my body, and I’d really like them to leave. And that’s when a voice—a voice? A thought? Spirit? You know, GOD maybe? When that More Knowing voice in my head reminded me: it isn’t your pain, it’s theirs. People spread their pain because it’s the only color they have to paint with. And how do we ever feel “ideal” love without knowing its hue. 

I’ve worked very hard my whole life not to hurt people, and I’m sure I have. And yet, I carry other people’s pain inside me. Why do I identify with their pain and not the kind I create?

Something symbolic happened Sunday, hours before my slumber, my mirror fell off my closet door. It’s like the world—YES THE WORLD—my own little precious world inside my Los Angeles apartment, was telling me to reflect in a new way. I had to put the mirror in a new place for the time being.

I think that’s what retrograde is: reflecting in a new way. Resting so we can notice what pain comes up while being in the position to see it, feel it, and give it breath and rest. 

I’m not sure I have ever known love the way I’ve dreamt of it. I’m not sure anything has ever lived up to my wild imagination, except maybe in pockets of time when it has actually superseded my expectations. I don’t know why pain is easier to remember than these ecstatic moments, which I know I’ve had, because I remember telling myself to “be there, in that moment and never let it go.” And then I step in shit or something and it’s gone immediately.