Astro-Dharma

[Guest guest]

For you astrology fans, this was written by my friend Hunter

Reynolds.

 

Enjoy!

Michelle

 

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December's Dharma:

Unwrapping the gift of our crest-fallen ego

 

Every year on the winter Solstice (Dec 21, 4:23 PM)- when the

entire Christian world teeters on the verge of an orgasm of gift-

giving- the Great Spinner of the cycles of existence barges in to

deliver what may feel like a rather twisted gift:: the relentless

gravitas of Capricorn.

 

Sagittarian " good cheer " gives way to the solemn, limitation-

embracing mood of the Goat. Why, you might ask, would a season that

favors such boundless expectancy be followed so closely by a season

that highlights the hard facts of mortality? Seen through the lens of

our astrologically-gutted Gregorian calendar, the spirit of the

holidays suffers a crushing juxtaposition. Seen through the lens of

astrology, well… " tis' the season " for a divine integration.

 

Over the years, I have come to see in this abrupt and unlikely

transition of energies an opportunity to gauge how grounded I am in

equanimity and the nondual nature of Spirit. I think of the

Christmas/Solstice season as a kind of collective year-end exam

designed to tell us how well we have learned:

 

1) That ego is, by nature, crest-fallen and all states of expansion

and contraction, buoyancy and heaviness, are equally riddled with

fear whenever they lack a present-born Witness.

 

2) That buoyant expectancy and gloomy realism (sag. and cap.) are

equally naïve and unnecessary preconceptions designed to freeze the

river of thought and feeling into a fixed self and distract us from

the ego-dissolving mystery of each moment.

 

3) That the journey from Sagittarius to Capricorn is a microcosm of

our constantly turning karmic wheel ( " fa-la-la-la-ugh… " ) Without

Capricorn's awareness of the limited and, ultimately, unsatisfactory

nature of this dream we would have no Sagittarian motivation to wake

up inside of it. In this sense, Capricorn is to Sagittarius what

samsara is to nirvana, and the Solstice is a bridge-point or portal

where we can more easily meditate on the emptiness needed to taste

the divine flavor in both.

 

Perhaps this poem will convey a little something of the One Taste

of this energetically divided season.

 

Santa Clause of Oblivion

 

Beloved Santa Clause of oblivion

Forecaster of that dreaded End Time,

We call " this moment, "

 

We must confess

We're more than a little spooked

By these confusing cocktails of emotion:

The apocalyptic merriness

This laughing through our tears,

You know, the stuff You blithely refer to as

" The symptoms of unrepressed worship. "

 

Well, perhaps You could reassure us a bit

Tell us in more detail

How we can know for sure

We're not slipping into psychosis,

That Non-judgment Day is, in fact, here

And it really is time

To die laughing.

 

And, Lo, the Great Clause replied:

 

When inexplicable bouts of masochism

Pull you

Within inches

Of a traumatizing strobe light

(The human face)

As it flashes

Beggar/King, beggar/King, beggar/King

And your crisply defined

Categories of caring

Start hemorrhaging

Monoga-poly-renunciate oil slicks

Into the lagoon of your eyes,

 

Yes, yes, it's Me

Just having a little fun

Nudging you to die

Laughing.

 

When an evil snake

Slithers into your lips

Forcing you to smile

(Even as the rest of your face cringes)

At My bizarre, avant-garde taste in music:

The endless grunting sounds

Of knowers

Struggling against a riptide of silence…

 

Oh c'mon…

Humor trumps all aesthetics…

It's your cue to die

Laughing

 

When the broken heart of cynicism

Is the only thing

That brings your heartless optimism

To its knees,

And those muffled Halleluiahs in your chest

(The ones you call " my heartbeat " )

Get whipped into a frenzy

By crows, car bombs, cancer

And other black things that fly…

 

Mmmm….

The road kinda forks there, doesn't it?

Yes, yes,

You're ripe to die

Laughing

 

When

(For the privilege of shopping)

Catholic grandmothers

Are forced to drive around

Like adolescent hoodlums

Spray painting invisible, toxic profanities

On the wall-less cathedral

That St. Francis prayed in…

 

Well, well, well,

Not a lot of wiggle room there, now is there?

Yes, yes it's Me

Prodding you once again

To die

Laughing.

 

When you finally catch Me Cramming

Long, sweaty sermons

On how to pray

Into one toothless grin

From a homeless person,

Whose devastating luminosity

Reveals the poverty

Of looking

For reasons to be grateful

 

Uh, yea…I'd say your numbers up, kiddo.

No choice now

But to die

Laughing.

 

Hunter Reynolds

 

I close with this holy-day wish:

 

As we celebrate the free and breezy philosophizer-God

" chillaxing " in the café' of our inspired mind, may we welcome the

cold gust of God called Capricorn that gets us off our buts and fully

enrolled in the mystery school of mundane demands that is our one and

only true way home.

 

Your astrological ally in awakening,

Hunter Reynolds

Astrologer

Harbin Hot Springs

www.astrodharma.org

707-987-8488

(For same-day phone readings call my cell: 707-239-2497)