Grasping at straws

I’ve been thinking a lot about Neptune lately.   The planet of dreams and transcendence. When Neptune enters Aries, the meandering dream entering the world of direct action, anything is possible. Everything is possible. Neptune takes an incredibly long time to complete its orbit, staying for several years in each sign. The last time Neptune was in Aries was 1861. The American Civil War began in April of that year. Here in our time, Neptune has entered Aries at the end of March and it will remain there until 2039, upheaving and unrooting and forcing us to reimagine everything we know. Is it any wonder that it feels like the ground is being pulled out from under us? Like the very world is unraveling?

My mind and my body are processing the horrors of our reality separately. In my mind, Neptune reigns, reminding me that the seismic shifts which will form our new world were decades in the making, everything moving at its own place, in its own time. And it comforts me to know that I am simply just one small part of a much bigger picture. Knowing that I am small and insignificant helps me see the machinations of these very bad people more clearly: the tantrums of small men who think they are greater than the world. There’s nothing new in any of this. In fact it’s so repetitive that it’s almost boring. Almost.

That doesn’t mean that the harm they’re doing is any less real. Of that we should disengage from direct action, mutual aid, organizing and building the better world we all deserve. It just means that this is not new and that there will come a time when they will again be on the other end of the power balance. Who knows what the world will look like by the time the cycle completes.

Unfortunately, the body is too smart for the mind. I can spend all day doing the mental gymnastics necessary to write the emails, work on the slide decks and care about the meetings. Neptune this and Aries that. But it’s irrelevant to my body. What my body knows is how the heartbreak and horror lodge under the skin. Every day is a desperate revolving door of early morning sunlight exposure, reminders to drink water and eat a real meal, an almost-religious adherence to the sleep routine, herbal tea when I’d rather have a cocktail, an evening walk. Tiny bandaids on gaping wounds, over and over again.

I try to find rest in the new leaves on the trees, big blue skies, the sound of April rain on the pavement, the undeniable knowledge that I am small.

And on that note, a small proposal:

What if you tried to collect just 10 minutes of happiness each day? It doesn’t have to happen all at once. Maybe a friendly exchange with the person who makes your coffee can be 30 seconds. The feeling of the morning sun on your face is probably at least two minutes of happiness. Singing a song you love. Helping someone just because you want to ease something for them. Maybe these little seconds and moments aren’t much on their own, but I enjoy thinking about the math of it, adding up bits of happiness here and there. Doing the tally at the end of the day, a little list of highlights. It’s amazing how quickly it adds up.

Thank you for being here.