Do you crave a posture of idealised synastry?
A tree of equal proportions?
A body, perfectly formed?
It shall not be found.
The ascetic ideal of the quality of ‘Libra’, this constellation of stars that have attached to them myths, stories & qualities through eons of none-linear time, is not really about absolute balance.
Ma’at’s scales are not about perfection.
The direction of justice is not cut throat equality. Where we have 50% men and 50% women in a certain industry, delineated labels and politically correct uniformity.
Too often we look through the lens of patriarchal, worn-out concepts that agree with repetitively ‘healing’ humankind with ideas of ‘coming back to centre’, or changing the way we think about something, while remaining disconnected from the body’s whiskers.
What can you feel on the wind?
What does the air feel like as it wisps through you?
Can you smell the scent which has traveled its spiral pilgrimage?
How is the sound as it whistles with tremendous speed through your ears…
This is air. This is the rebalancing of one element, that lives symbiotically within a wholesome communion of 4. This is Libra.
It cannot be separated from Aries, from Capricorn, from Cancer, nor from any other constellation in our one sky.
The rebalancing is not to bring us back to a solidified centre, it is to pivot us into another strand of messy consciousness.
It is to question:
What is my relationship with the Earth right now? Am I knee deep into my compost heap, am I turning it well so this organic matter of interweaving communities receives fresh air as food?
The height of life is the depth of death.
My capacity to self-individuate relies on how embedded in relationship to life I am.
My relationships are womb to who I am.
Who I am gives rise to spiderwebs of interweave.
Don’t over-focus on creating some perfect ideal of what your existence ‘should’ look like. Nor of getting rid of things that don’t exactly make sense. Let it brew, together.
Let the quiet, humble wisdom of coexistence root you in.
Breathe in the air of shared conversation; open minds breathing outside of confined echo chambers, no longer gassed by their own monopoly, but ‘cleaning’ their lungs with diversity.
Where what seemed toxic, wrong, out-of-balance… has a place to rest its head.
In the earth. In the slumber of rest. Among the skins of fellow creatures, nestled, huddled, cuddling, breathing one shared river of pregnant air.
This is a musing which bases itself on the astrology of the New Moon Solar Eclipse in Libra.
It is a free style poetic piece, grounded in the love of nature, cycles & a deeper wisdom current that ties everything together.