I was recently informed by a sign in the mall that summer is almost over! I barely noticed it was here. I guess that sign was supposed to create buyer urgency, but it had the opposite effect, sending a wave of tiredness over me so I turned around and went home. In fact, the defining quality of my summer has been fatigue; I feel I cannot get enough sleep and when I am in bed for stretches of time my ears are getting sore from wearing earplugs (someone snores) so I’m waking up, changing ear plugs, harrumphing in irritation, or simply trying to calm down (lots of herbal teas with valerian) from the busy days so the body can drift into sleep. The pace of life, the speeded up quality of time during the three eclipses spanning the entire summer, is taking its toll on me. Even sitting down to write this is at the cost of productivity in other areas, like the ones I get paid to do, and I almost didn’t write. Yet the price of not sniggling time away to create, to write, to clean the house like a merry maid on speed so I can invite friends over for dinner – is much higher. As my energy risks being consumed by the essentials; I fear, correction, I know that I cannot survive on fumes, so I continue to take care of the artist child within. I sneak ‘evening pages’ (a twist on TAW ‘morning pages’ as I am not a morning person) into the last half hour before bed. I remember to take walks at lunch. I relish gym time because it’s MY time.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer, yet again, its that nature abhors a vacuum. The minute there’s nothing going on (okay, unless you’re in a Saturn or Neptune transit), She fills it with something else. For example, you sit down to enjoy a dinner that you’ve worked hard to create and have looked forward to eating all day and the phone rings. There may indeed be no rest for the weary. Add to that distractions of a technological nature – those things that aren’t necessary to your survival and may not add substance to your life but consume energy daily, and cry like a baby when broken (computers, Facebook, news, television, iPods) – run rampant. I imagine that, if this is the shadow of the Aquarian age, so many information and stimulation sources, it’ll only get worse. Some days I’m so maxed out I’ll stop my chatty Gemini Moon/Mercury in Virgo husband mid-sentence and proclaim ‘silence.’ He laughs and obliges. But it’s no joke. With so many things competing for our collective attention, I think it’s a wonder we’re all still embodied. All the more reason for diligently insisting on making time for the things we’re most called to do, which are the same things that most nurture and inspire us.

Part of the reason why this summer has been so bumpy is that we are winding up the Aquarius-Leo eclipses of the past 18 months, whilst beginning a Cancer-Capricorn set. This means (though not always) that four areas of our lives, that is, two house axes which are in total four, are being stimulated this summer. This last and final Aquarius Full Moon Eclipse straddles the transition between the two; it’s as if this eclipse is handing off the baton of the past year and a half’s relay to the next guy. For me, the last guy is still reeling from this final lag. I’m beyond thirsty, spent and parched – I need electrolyte infused water, that electric water of Aquarius. The other part of the reason things are so bumpy is that the world is changing, in a dramatic way. We are poised for a different kind of future, yet we’re also flying blind to what exactly that looks like. There’s an opening, a vast opening for something new – as change will offer this kind of opening – and yet we also need a plan.

Astrology provides a potent lens, a place to focus and rest our attention-addled brains, on. It is an art and science we can elegantly find that focus and direction, by. Astrology reliably and correctly offers a guidepost or touchstone for that moment *right before* we fall into a puddle on the floor in a heap and cry or quit our job because we’re so damn scattered and maxed out. Astrology is a good Friend, here, that’s Friend in the Aquarian sense of the word – clear, rational, hopeful. We don’t have to stay lost in the forest; we can follow the breadcrumb trail the Creator left us. We can always find our way back home.

This current breadcrumb trail arrives us at the touchstone of the moment: Aquarius. Aquarius is the sign of visions, dreams and the future. Lofty, and full of ideals that future is, and quite tricky. For the future is one that may or may never come in the way we imagine it. Yet here’s a secret, a little a-ha! moment on Aquarius: the only way we will ever arrive at a future destination we desire is by making plans for it. This is an oft-overlooked aspect of Aquarius, the light tripper and the revolutionary. Even the non-committal aspect of Aquarius is far more glamorous than the planner. Aquarius, a fixed sign is in fact very capable of commitment, especially to a vision. After all, what’s a vision worth without a five and ten year plan for achieving that vision? Here’s a scary spin on the tree falling in the forest: what’s the sound of a dream dying? A dying dream makes no sound. The dreamer dreams, a planner makes plans; the two meet in the forest of Aquarius. A missing step or mis-step between the two can cause dreams to fall faster than trees falling in a rain forest with no one to hear them.

The future is always and eternally, now. Every year around this time my husband tells me he has to start manifesting his travel plans for next year. I put in my two cents. He lays the groundwork. Then it happens. It’s no miracle, though it would appear to be so from the outside. This is the result of years worth of self-actualizing, planting dream seeds, and yes – planning them out. I have my own story. At this last Capricorn Full Moon I had a publicity call with my publisher who informed me that they will be pushing a full on campaign for A Love Alchemist’s Notebook during the first three months of 2010 (apparently only few worthy books get a campaign). You’d think I’d be thrilled. I immediately spiraled into panic, the future resembling a string of uncertain ‘what ifs’:  I’ve never been on t.v. before, what if I blew it? What if I forgot my lines? Being in the spotlight sounds highly perilous to me as I have Uranus on my Ascendant and uninvited alter egos have a way of coming out, unannounced. What if my Mr. Hyde turned Dr. Jekyll? Then I was reminded, through the careful help of a few wonderful friends, of that key word: strategy. I could write my own script; I could practice and rehearse; I could host round table sessions with key people I elect as my own personal strategists. They could shoot me questions from the hip which I’d be prepared to answer. I’d train like a politician going into election season, or a runner for a triathalon. I didn’t have to go down like a bomber pilot without ammunition, or say, a first time author without experience. I could plan. I could be prepared.

I’ll be honest. I’m overwhelmed at the thought of what’s coming next, maybe just as you are about the thought of planning your own life. BUT I’m also heartened by the fact that the reason I’ve arrived at this point is because I dreamed it and then I took daily steps to make this dream come true. And while I’m grudgingly surrendering to not having enough time to give attention or energy to a new dream just yet, I’m also not laboring under the delusion that strategic mode is going to click in right away and it’s all going to be a effortless cakewalk. New Moons are reserved for new beginnings, Full Moon’s for reflecting, and this Full Moon has a very close to a Mars-Saturn square: that notorious ‘go, no, stop, STOP!’ aspect in astrology which really means, haste makes waste; or proceed with careful effort (or talk, walk, chew gum and text message while talking on your cell and you’ll trip over your self like a damn fool). Still. I’m taking this Full Moon missive to heart: to allow the coming days to deliver revelations of strategy and focus. After all, in my experience the unplanned future never happens, and the sound of a dream dying is… well you know.  Or as some guy named Alan Lakein said, “Planning is bringing the future into the present so that you can do something about it now”.

photo: La Bella Rivolta