A BLUE MOON IN SAGITTARIUS—I accept this exceptional celestial invitation to release and reset—the astrologers say this could be just the right moment to practice radical honesty and it’s all happening tonight!
In the age of astrological hyperbole, when every configuration of stars signals unprecedented transformation, it’s hard to make sense of any of it. But a full moon is a full moon, blue or otherwise, and I’m carrying the residual pain of impasses. I’ll howl at the moon tonight.
Outdated beliefs: the ones that begin with “I used to” and end with “but now I…” Emotional baggage: goodbye to the good lie that kept me tied to you. Personal truths: the morning was never mine but I made peace with it; I still love smoking a cigarette—especially at night—even though I’ve sworn them off as “so good, but not for me.”
What are you carrying around that you need to set down—at least for a night or two? This moon will follow you around and tug at your heart strings, asking for a bit of attention and an honorable mention with the gods of fate.
In high school, we read the bible as mythology and then we read all about the greek gods. It never occurred to me how radical and revolutionary this could be—how offensive, actually—until I got older and saw with my own eyes how seriously the literalists took the word of god.
What I gathered, then and now, is that humans act in god-like ways when pressed or stressed and their transcendent deeds get inscribed into the collective books of belief. I read this morning how in Hebrew, the word for crisis and birth pains are the same--mashber--and this amazed me, to consider how what the body perceives as pain is also an opening—a beginning—a rebirth.
Thank you, Rachel*, for telling me about this. I’ve spent so much time and energy attempting to contain the part of me I call Jewish that I’ve tended to ignore the beautiful wisdom embedded in our ancient language and traditions. I find myself taking secret passageways back to my faith—offline and undocumented—one step at a time.
It’s sweet to think of the time my parents put into naming me. In Jewish tradition, our names are commandments. Amanda comes from Latin for love, “she who must be loved” or “worthy of love” or “beloved,” well which one is it! Love is the commandment, that’s clear. Supposedly there are millions of Amandas worldwide. So much love. So much love!
I was never crazy about my name but I accepted it. I’ve also been called Dodin and Didi, names of endearment, names indicating that I have been loved, am worthy of it. My daddy wanted to name me Deirdre, I guess there’s some family lore that my parents disagreed on what to call me.
This morning I thought about my dad, gone but ever-present in our lives, urging us on and transmitting messages of love—commandments, really. A memory popped into my mind of that time when my dad took me and my sisters to see Flashdance, that movie about a woman steelworker who aspires to become a professional dancer.
I know, it’s kind of scandalous, right? This was the 1980s when taking kids to R-rated movies was not that big of a deal and we felt grown enough anyway to handle all that we saw that afternoon. Of course, we loved every single minute of it—the triumphant moment when she’s finally auditioning for the dance panel and nails it!
But what I remember most about watching this film at the age of eight is coming home and dancing with abandon on the green carpet of a lawn in front of our childhood home and feeling whipped up with big love for creative possibilities. I spun in circles with my arms spread wide open singing Irene Cara’s 1983 anthem, “Flashdance.”
“Take your passion—and make it happen!” I belted out every word of that song, which I still have memorized and on every playlist.
OK, so what does this have to do at all with a blue moon or faith or crisis or the meaning of our names? There’s this feeling that life is about breaking free—moments of restraint and release—times of holding on and letting go.
And whatever the moon’s messages are tonight for me—I’m listening!
*Rachel Goldberg-Polin, author of When We See You Again.
In the age of astrological hyperbole, when every configuration of stars signals unprecedented transformation, it’s hard to make sense of any of it. But a full moon is a full moon, blue or otherwise, and I’m carrying the residual pain of impasses. I’ll howl at the moon tonight.
Outdated beliefs: the ones that begin with “I used to” and end with “but now I…” Emotional baggage: goodbye to the good lie that kept me tied to you. Personal truths: the morning was never mine but I made peace with it; I still love smoking a cigarette—especially at night—even though I’ve sworn them off as “so good, but not for me.”
What are you carrying around that you need to set down—at least for a night or two? This moon will follow you around and tug at your heart strings, asking for a bit of attention and an honorable mention with the gods of fate.
In high school, we read the bible as mythology and then we read all about the greek gods. It never occurred to me how radical and revolutionary this could be—how offensive, actually—until I got older and saw with my own eyes how seriously the literalists took the word of god.
What I gathered, then and now, is that humans act in god-like ways when pressed or stressed and their transcendent deeds get inscribed into the collective books of belief. I read this morning how in Hebrew, the word for crisis and birth pains are the same--mashber--and this amazed me, to consider how what the body perceives as pain is also an opening—a beginning—a rebirth.
Thank you, Rachel*, for telling me about this. I’ve spent so much time and energy attempting to contain the part of me I call Jewish that I’ve tended to ignore the beautiful wisdom embedded in our ancient language and traditions. I find myself taking secret passageways back to my faith—offline and undocumented—one step at a time.
It’s sweet to think of the time my parents put into naming me. In Jewish tradition, our names are commandments. Amanda comes from Latin for love, “she who must be loved” or “worthy of love” or “beloved,” well which one is it! Love is the commandment, that’s clear. Supposedly there are millions of Amandas worldwide. So much love. So much love!
I was never crazy about my name but I accepted it. I’ve also been called Dodin and Didi, names of endearment, names indicating that I have been loved, am worthy of it. My daddy wanted to name me Deirdre, I guess there’s some family lore that my parents disagreed on what to call me.
This morning I thought about my dad, gone but ever-present in our lives, urging us on and transmitting messages of love—commandments, really. A memory popped into my mind of that time when my dad took me and my sisters to see Flashdance, that movie about a woman steelworker who aspires to become a professional dancer.
I know, it’s kind of scandalous, right? This was the 1980s when taking kids to R-rated movies was not that big of a deal and we felt grown enough anyway to handle all that we saw that afternoon. Of course, we loved every single minute of it—the triumphant moment when she’s finally auditioning for the dance panel and nails it!
But what I remember most about watching this film at the age of eight is coming home and dancing with abandon on the green carpet of a lawn in front of our childhood home and feeling whipped up with big love for creative possibilities. I spun in circles with my arms spread wide open singing Irene Cara’s 1983 anthem, “Flashdance.”
“Take your passion—and make it happen!” I belted out every word of that song, which I still have memorized and on every playlist.
OK, so what does this have to do at all with a blue moon or faith or crisis or the meaning of our names? There’s this feeling that life is about breaking free—moments of restraint and release—times of holding on and letting go.
And whatever the moon’s messages are tonight for me—I’m listening!
*Rachel Goldberg-Polin, author of When We See You Again.
