![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A friend of mine had one of her friends and colleagues die recently. She's been on the edge of crisis for some time. She doesn't like her job, isn't sure what to do next, or how to deal with the loss of income should she change careers. She's changed her mind about wanting to have children, but doesn't know how to discuss it with her partner. She's been difficult to reach, as usual, but it seems like it's gotten harder, like she's cocooned herself in her pain and confusion.
I feel like I've spent the past few years in a similar untouchable state. Nothing turned out like expected. And for the most part nothing about my life felt good. Career hasn't worked out. Relationships haven't worked out. Even the move back to my home town presented more challenges than it solved. (Although I still stand by that decision and the relief it brought, as well as the important lessons I've learned as a result, particularly those relating to my family.)
Astrologers refer to something called The Year of Saturn Return. It's supposed to happen around 29, when Saturn cycles back to where it was in a person's chart when they were born. It is about life challenges; the kind that shake a person up and turn them upside down, and if they're lucky, transform them.
Coming out of my own two years of crisis (not entirely sure I'm through them, looking at the state of things just now) I'm starting to see the cracks in the lives of friends I considered to be happy. Sometimes it's unexpected tragedy. Losses that could have never been predicted, changes in which it is difficult to see any good. Other times its the dawning realization that happily-ever-after isn't all it's cracked up to be. Choices made thinking they would make them perfectly happy, have ended up being highly frustrating.
Many of us don't have the careers, mates, or families, we once imagined for ourselves. Mortality has started to tease as our bodies change and our health shows signs of compromise. The realization dawns that we will probably never be famous, wealthy, or even particularly happy. Those people we thought would be loyal to us forever have matured into people who disgust or betray us.
I want to give my friends the permission to enter those shadowed lands, and a lantern to guide them and remind them of the sun when it seems like it will never shine, again. I want to tell them its okay to be sad or angry or frustrated. To let themselves go. To fall apart. I want to share the visions I've had that made the trek easier for me: The dawning of awareness sitting in a doorway that once led into blackness, like basement steps, but is now a window into eternity, a starfield, each point of light another seeker. The vision of our lives like moss or mist upon carved stones; our perception the mist, our foundation the stone.
I want to tell them it's okay to get lost, and to be able to say with certainty that they will find themselves again. I want to tell my friends the two things that I deeply needed when my own darkness descended and I was afraid that no one would love me or recognize me anymore: 1. I will still love you. 2. It's okay to change.
I feel like I've spent the past few years in a similar untouchable state. Nothing turned out like expected. And for the most part nothing about my life felt good. Career hasn't worked out. Relationships haven't worked out. Even the move back to my home town presented more challenges than it solved. (Although I still stand by that decision and the relief it brought, as well as the important lessons I've learned as a result, particularly those relating to my family.)
Astrologers refer to something called The Year of Saturn Return. It's supposed to happen around 29, when Saturn cycles back to where it was in a person's chart when they were born. It is about life challenges; the kind that shake a person up and turn them upside down, and if they're lucky, transform them.
Coming out of my own two years of crisis (not entirely sure I'm through them, looking at the state of things just now) I'm starting to see the cracks in the lives of friends I considered to be happy. Sometimes it's unexpected tragedy. Losses that could have never been predicted, changes in which it is difficult to see any good. Other times its the dawning realization that happily-ever-after isn't all it's cracked up to be. Choices made thinking they would make them perfectly happy, have ended up being highly frustrating.
Many of us don't have the careers, mates, or families, we once imagined for ourselves. Mortality has started to tease as our bodies change and our health shows signs of compromise. The realization dawns that we will probably never be famous, wealthy, or even particularly happy. Those people we thought would be loyal to us forever have matured into people who disgust or betray us.
I want to give my friends the permission to enter those shadowed lands, and a lantern to guide them and remind them of the sun when it seems like it will never shine, again. I want to tell them its okay to be sad or angry or frustrated. To let themselves go. To fall apart. I want to share the visions I've had that made the trek easier for me: The dawning of awareness sitting in a doorway that once led into blackness, like basement steps, but is now a window into eternity, a starfield, each point of light another seeker. The vision of our lives like moss or mist upon carved stones; our perception the mist, our foundation the stone.
I want to tell them it's okay to get lost, and to be able to say with certainty that they will find themselves again. I want to tell my friends the two things that I deeply needed when my own darkness descended and I was afraid that no one would love me or recognize me anymore: 1. I will still love you. 2. It's okay to change.
