Pluto. The Phoenix. Transformation. These are all words I deeply associate with, mainly as years of being Sewered and the ensuing recovery remanded me to the mines. I'd learned the hard way that when your astrologer says Pluto Transits are achingly slow, they are not kidding. I drafted the following paragraphs on November 1st as I listened arduously to an inkling that seemed too hidden in the loam for naught but a low hum:
"I suppose all these thoughts of Pluto, sex and healing are all apt themes on the first day of November. Adjacent to that is lucre, since Pluto also rules mining and riches. Something I'm a bit preoccupied with at the moment, though I'm more at the grizzling and flopping down helplessly stage rather than the actioning-a-plan stage. To reduce the problem into it's simplest form, it is thus: I am at a crossroads work wise.
But really, the victory of this juncture is that I am unavoidably admitting that I need to do something, and that this something will most likely involve a change of employment.
How do I know this? I know this because I am filled with grateful and even loving thoughts for my place of business, a fondness if you will for all it's given me over the last decade. It had lasted longer than my marriage, it had sustained me through Sewerage, a divorce, and numerous other detrimental life events. These people were my family, complete with all the dysfunction necessary to call it that. In a perfect world, it and I would be growing together. Alas, that remains to be proven, and the likely answer is that we're not. "
Yes. I wrote all that three months ago, before I'd taken off to the Yucatan with the Lovely Libran. I didn't post it then as I literally ran out of time between the traveling, having the Lovely Libran over and avoiding the kind of rude singleminded-ness writing demands. Then there was Thanksgiving and fresh blood on the Rotational of Lovers. December came with it's December-ing, and as it rolled into January, I'd wondered if that conclusion, if those thoughts which I'd been turning around against the light was an illusion. It was not. The Universe is good with Irony and Timing.
The details are boring now, at least to me. But all I'd stated was irrefutable. Without plan or intention, I'd said the very thing this had all been leading up to, that more and more I was convinced it was not the right place for me and that in fact, it was just a matter of time. I made no threats, augured no ill will. I didn't even have ideas for "corrective action". I reassured them very sincerely of my professionalism without demand and promise of what was to come. I simply stated what is.
When Jung wrote about "holding the tension between two opposites..till a third thing came into being", he did not elaborate on the Ick Factor. A very wise move on his part, as words fall short describing it. Explaining it any further also defeats the purpose. Because to "hold the tension between two opposites" is essentially to face What Is and it requires a letting go that doesn't rely on repeating the past, or conquering the future based on a past construct. When I first drafted those entries, my unspoken thought was, "Something is calling me.."
I knew that if I were to sit down and try for instance, to "resolve" it in steps, it would defy any logic or planning I could do. Naturally, I still tried. And there were some ideas that really did help, getting my taxes done early, working on my CV like it was my Magnum Opus, figuring out financial scenarios on the chance I'd have to leave. I'd realized based on how the outburst had descended unforeseen upon me that I was dealing with something less Plutonic and more in line with Uranus. Less slow transformation, more Inspired Chaos - as Mystic would say. While I don't endear myself overly much to the thought of a hasty, unplanned departure, I didn't want to deny its possibility either.
Otherwise, there was not a single dissenter to my leaving, when it happens. I suppose it was because they found it a long time coming and unburdened by my own fears, they could easily see something else for me. Like working in a more creative environment and writing for a living - two things which until that outburst, I couldn't really understand how to break into.
Except now, I can't really imagine myself avoiding it, can I?
Still, I think the exhaustion comes partly from emptying the past and the formidable energy demands of the imago. It's a blankness that invites the unforeseen, the arduousness of keeping the space clear without hurtling one's self into a hive of effort to fill it. I can say therefore, with all honesty, that I have no idea what's to come next. I only follow the dreams which seem to have come without fail every night since, retained in the flashes and sparks my sleep self would allow. Dreams where I saw more of my mother since I don't know when, dreams that would leave me palpitating as I woke from them or in some instances, outright laughing.
It is a strange time of alchemy, where I am alchemist, lead and gold altogether. If someone asked me for a five year plan, I would smile alongside the Gods silently laughing. All the changes will come, by nose, by smell, by sense and by heart. But I definitely think I'll need a strong stomach.