Ready, Set, October

I've always had mixed feelings about October. Though I love the cooler temps, crisp smells of autumn, and the glorious fall foliage, I have not cared for the increasing darkness and approach of winter. October is about harvest and Halloween, especially in the northern latitudes. Here in southern California, it is about the end of summer at the beach and the beginning of wildfire season. Fall is the last gasp of growth, Indian summer, the final color curtain.

Astrologically, this will be a rockin' October. On the 1st, we start the month with an explosive square bound to set the stage for when Mercury slides into retrograde on October 4th. Mercury retrograde in Libra for a month means we will see communication dotted with issues surrounding the status of relationships, fairness, and balance. The dots do not necessarily mean these are fun communications. The retrograde slips further into literal lunacy at the full moon lunar eclipse into Aries on October 8th. Get set for an ecliptic dominatrix visit of intense emotion, perpetrated schemes, and confabulation. During this eclipse, it is best to remember the best defense is a good offense.

At the end of the month the second solar eclipse will occur on October 23rd, with the new moon in Scorpio. With Scorpio there are no holds barred, meaning sex may take front and center stage.  It is not that we have or act on seductive behavior; it is what is our intent behind our seduction that counts. Saturn is in Scorpio now, reminding us we will have consequences for all of our impulsive choices, especially the passionate ones which short circuits our ethical considerations.

Hold on, it's going to be a bumpy October. Happy Birthday Librans!

The Saga of a Prairie Maiden Cougar

Who knew a simple prairie maiden, venturing into dating for the first time in ten years, would find herself becoming a cougar after nine months into courtship? When I began my foray into dating I did it with a prairie woman's sensibility, wanting to find a nice man to woo me and maybe become an occasional companion. The last thing I wanted was to date much younger men-older men about five years younger at the most seemed more suitable for me. Younger men have held no interest with me-well, except for Timothy Olyphant, Anson Mount, and  Joe Manganiello. Besides, I am not cougar material: I do not have the svelte figure, own Jimmy Choo high heels, and have a vamp-like demeanor. I am a seasoned prairie woman with a curvy figure who wears regular clothes, practical shoes, and acts like an intelligent professional woman.

What happened? A nice, 40 something year old man from Minnesota. But I probably would not have considered this jeune homme seriously had it not been for his sincerity, wittiness, and wily persistence. The flimsy list of considerations I had amassed became thinner and thinner as I became enamored with his many charms. Whatever he had, he became harder and harder to resist. He had a refreshing innocence about him. The more he spoke to me the more he reached me. This was the first time I had fallen under the spell of this poised younger man.

What may have started as a passing fancy became a re-evaluation of kismet in my life. Though my Minnesota ad specifically targeted men in their fifties, my jeune homme answered with such an honest and persuasive passion, I kept writing to him for my own amusement. Before I knew it, he had cleverly seduced me with his warm, genuine, and intelligently-worded, sweet messages. He was no ordinary jeune homme: he had a savoir faire I have rarely seen in men twenty years his senior.

But there is a preamble to this story. It was also my first visit back home in years, my birthday week, and having to deal with my deathly ill cousin. Before we met, I saw my cousin in the ICU. He had been critical. Seeing this man I loved so close to death transformed me. In a flash I thought if I switched places with my cousin what would I regret? I thought about how routinized my life had become by my investment in being safe. Staring death in the face is a confrontation of the choices one makes now. Whatever considerations I had about meeting my jeune homme went out the window. I was ready to throw caution to the wind.

When we finally met in Minnesota on my birthday, he was more handsome than I had imagined. But what really impressed me was his naive honesty, sincerity, and tender touch. We began by sipping on champagne and talking about all sorts of subjects. Quickly we felt at ease with one another. Before I knew it we were kissing passionately on the bed. The way he kissed me made me feel like Cinderella after the glass slipper fit. I was surprised how smooth and tantalizing he was. Making love with him was a slice of pure joy. He gave me the best present I've ever gotten on a birthday-afternoon sex with champagne, flowers and whipped cream. Even though weeks have passed, he continues to correspond with me, telling me how blissful that day was for him, too. His emails are so earnest and affective. Oh, how I would like another day with this delight.

When I returned from my Minnesota vacation, I began my search for a companion here in my west coast town. Enter my second jeune homme, a forty-six year old Virgo man originally from the upper peninsula of Michigan. At 6'4, he is tall, good-looking, a simple kind of prairie man. Unlike my Minnesota suitor, this former Michigan man is more rough-hewn, rugged, and not as courtship adept. However, he does have the upper Midwest politeness, an attentive disposition, and a sweet sincerity about him. When I asked him why he would want a relationship with a woman who is much older, his response was that is his preference. After his divorce, he found older women less dramatic and more sensuous. How right he is.

Being with younger men is perplexing to me. Maybe I am too new to the courtship game or just out of sync with the new dating world order. This does not fit my paradigm for aging. Then again, nothing I have done thus far has conformed to how a seasoned 'respectable' woman would behave.
But in my wildest dreams, I never thought I would act on my personal list of fifty shades of gray. It is surprising, unexpected, fun, and audacious. I feel I am undergoing a personal renaissance.

For years men have dated much younger women without anyone giving it a second thought. Historically, women have never enjoyed this kind of freedom to enjoy their sexuality. Now I am breaking the mold. Maybe I am the newly reinvented seasoned woman.

Hello New Moon in Libra

Today is the new moon in Libra at 11:13 pm PDT, shortly after arriving in Libra's sun sign at 8:59 pm. Another significant event is Pluto stationing direct yesterday after having just passed the autumnal equinox. All of this makes us enveloped in Libra's signature benefits of balance, temperance, peacefulness, and equality.

Time to take a giant step outside your mind. Equinoxes herald energetic gateways, a time to enter into a meditative state to create a new vision and develop a concrete plan. If you could have whatever you wanted, what would it be? What is the first step to having it? What is holding you back? What can you release to realize what is fulfilling?

Happy Birthday Librans!

Three Funerals and the Mourners

Within just the last forty-eight hours, I have learned of the deaths of three people who were intimate friends with some of my posse. All three people died suddenly, surprising themselves and those they left behind. My friends dealing with these unexpected losses are devastated. They are lost in their grieving, inconsolable with heartrendering sadness. The lightning speed at which the sorrowful news was delivered rattled them beyond comprehension.

Unexpected death has consequences unlike death that is expected. No death is easy to handle but when it is expected, one does have some time to psychologically prepare. The difference is akin to knowing when a storm is coming versus experiencing a 8.0 earthquake. Being jolted by a sudden, unexpected, tragic, or violent death shakes the psychological foundation of one's core. Everything you thought you knew changes the second you are informed of the death. Life instantly becomes surreal. Utter disbelief is followed by emotional paralysis. As the shock sets in, disorientation becomes prominent. Time feels frozen. In this fugue one cannot imagine how tomorrow could ever follow today.

But one cannot stand still long for death. There are decedent affairs to contend with, funerals and/or memorials to arrange, relatives and friends to contact, and everything about the death itself needs to processed. Numbly walking through the motions of these first few days, one knows life will never be the same. The death itself acts as kind of a zeitsollwert, a time setter, when everything will be judged before and after the catastrophic event. Think of how 911 changed the world and you get a sense of how these shocking losses carry the same gravity to the psyche.

I tried to comfort my friends but my efforts seemed futile. Even though I know what is like to experience sudden tragic death, my words fell flat. Because we do not live in the same town, I could not reach out to them, hold them, or just physically be there to support them. As a bystander, one feels impotent. I did the most beneficial thing I could do: I just sat and listened.

This is the beginning of the grieving process for them. As their friend, I know once shock gives way to emotion. There will be tears shed, profuse weeping, unbridled anguish, anger unleashed, fits of heartbreaking melancholy, helpless/hopeless verbalizations, and most certainly a shift in existential beliefs. Life and death will take on a new meaning. Every nuance of what happened or could of/ should of happened are reexamined obsessively. Sometimes secrets hidden are revealed as pieces of the deceased person's story spills forth from various sources. The harsh mirror of reality shines brightly leaving no place for the bereaved to hide. The painful longing is unrelenting.

I have read that the peak of grieving in an unexpected loss can range anywhere from nine to eighteen months compared to four months in an expected one. And if it is a tragic or violent death, the percentages of the survivors ever coming to grips with the horror of the loss is less than fifty percent even after five years have passed. It is incomprehensible to me in this 'get over it' culture, we have no mechanism to acknowledge or recognize the length of time grieving exacts on the bereaved. We want them to stop talking about it, get on with life, and basically be anywhere but where they are emotionally. As one who has gone through this process, I know the time, patience, and fortitude it takes to grieve. There is no stopwatch on grieving, however, we can always be a good listener, comforting presence, and kind support. The true wages of death is bereavement.

Today I dedicate this blog to my deceased friend, Terry, who died suddenly a year ago. He was a consummate actor, director, and friend. Rest in peace, my friend.

The Autumnal Equinox, Precursor to Seasonal Affective Disorder

Today is the autumnal equinox, the day of equal hours of day and night. Despite the brilliant colors and crisp temps, I always anticipated the herald of fall as something unnerving. It is because we also enter the season of decreasing light.

Those raised in the northern latitudes know of what I speak-the dreaded era of seasonal affective disorder (SAD), also known as the winter blues. Officially the SAD season is triggered during the time change to daylight savings, on November 2nd this year. However, some of us feel it sooner. For those so inclined, the decreasing light creates biochemical changes in the brain producing less serotonin and melatonin. The result is a defined period of depression, sadness, mood changes, and poorer quality of sleep. Of course, it doesn't help to anticipate subzero temps, perpetual gray days, copious amounts of snow, and winter driving.

There is a simple solution to SAD and the curse of autumnal anhedonia. It's called light treatment. This highly effective alternative can literally brighten one's life. If you don't believe me, read my former psychiatrist boss, Dr. Daniel Kripke's amazing free e-book called: brightenyourlife.info. Dr. Kripke's web book clearly explains why we as humans need light and what lack of it does to one's brain. Reversing the effects of SAD can be ameliorated by sitting in front of a 10,000 lux light box (it is important that the light box is 10,000 lux) for one half hour to forty-five minutes every morning upon waking for five weeks. However, this light box is not for everyone. If you have been diagnosed with any psychiatric issues, you should get the advice of a psychiatrist with experience with light treatment before beginning treatment.

One of the most amazing vocational experiences I have ever had was working with Dr. Kripke and his group doing a light treatment study for three years. This study was not for SAD but for any adult over 60 who had depression. The purpose of the study was to see if adults with depression could profit from light treatment as well as those with SAD. As a research assistant, it was my role to recruit, monitor, and enter the treatment data on adults with depression who received light treatment. This results, to me, were impressive. I saw our subjects slowly but surely with each passing week of doing light treatment get less moody, their depression lightened and their fractured sleep began to improve. By the end of the five week study, I witnessed many of the subjects who received bright light treatment experiencing greatly reduced feelings of depression and sleep problems. Literally, I could see the positive changes on their faces, it was amazing.

When the study ended, my boss gave me a couple of the boxes as a gift. That was ten years ago. To this day, I use a light box every day. Why? Science knows more about the science of circadian rhythms and the power light treatment has on resetting one's biological clock. Even though I live in sunny southern California, I reside in a windowless office painted gray. This lack of light in my workplace is incredibly detrimental but I won't even get into the why of it here. Doing light treatment daily keeps my mood elevated and allows me to sleep better. Every morning I look forward to my time in front of my light box drinking coffee, answering emails, and writing my blogs. Starting my day with light makes me happy.

"And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that is was good." -Genesis 1: 3-4

Sex and the Sixties

Referring to my title, I am not talking about the 1960s here. I am citing my age. Sex in the sixties is not at all what I thought it would be; it is better than what I could have imagined. Since I missed sex in my fifties due to celibacy, now I am making up for lost time. I say this because laughingly, compared with my male counterparts, I've had sex on an average of only once a month this year.

What is different about sex in the sixties? Maybe those long years of no sex makes me appreciate the whole experience of being intimate with men again. I love the way the men I have been with smell, the way they kiss me, how they touch me, and having them feed my skin hunger. No longer do I feel awkward about my older body, telling men how to please me, and doing things that please them. The whole sexual experience feels incredible. I feel more sensuous and have more orgasms easily. Surprised? I am.

Frequently I hear men in their forties and fifties complain how their marriages fell apart because of the lack of intimacy. They describe their spouses as intelligent women overwhelmed by work and the demands of child rearing. Because these women have high levels of stress, they have told their husbands they are too tired for sex. No doubt they are. Women mostly take the brunt of the double whammy when it comes to raising children and having a career. No one is to blame for this but no one gets what they want either. It does make one evaluate how much having children is really worth it in the long run. I can hear the groans as I write this.

It is interesting to me that the majority of response I get from my ads are from men in their forties. Typically they are divorced, have grown children in their 20s, and have complained about the lack of sex in their lives. I am their Mrs. Robinson-like fantasy. Several of the men who have written to me say they long for sexual intimacy without the baggage of the routine; I represent the slice of life that reawakens their sexuality. They see seasoned women as liberated, not weighed down by the constraints of reality. There is a deep longing for an intimate connection denied to them for years. It would be tempting to think this was solely about sex but sex is only part of the equation.

But I am no Mrs. Robinson. My needs are not conspicuously met by indiscriminate sex with a younger men. These emails illustrate to me the divide between men and women which is driving up the divorce rate and dividing families. I do not condone adultery or other diversions which shatter family life. It does raise questions about the nuclear family and how much this outworn model is not in line with reality.

Sex in the sixties has its share of joy and challenges. When it comes together its great but getting there is another story. No matter what, I am in my sixties and am no spring chicken. I am competing against younger, more savvy women. Given what their 40 something current or former spouses say, not much will change. My focus remains on the seasoned 50s men who are more my speed.

Working in the 21st Century

These are very difficult times for those of us who were raised in a engaging, empowering work culture. The 21st century workplace is fraught with dysfunction, obsessed with data, and frigid when it comes to the needs of any carbon-based life form. For anyone who shows any weakness toward having a conscience, it can only be a continual struggle between morality and ethics. Even if one is armored up with rational thinking, one's equilibrium is easily fractured by the opposing demands of working in a highly competitive marketplace versus maintaining a sense of integrity.

In a global economy, anything remotely resembling an emotional tone is lethal. Well, maybe not lethal, but certainly it is deadly career-wise. In dealing with modern management, issues affecting stress, workplace politics, and legitimate problems such as intimidation, emotions are seen as the worker's inability to cope. Even if you address these dilemmas with fact-based examples, the response usually comes back to your inadequacy to fit in to the workplace culture. Whether one works in business or government, first and foremost management is charged with making money and/or continuing the revenue flow. Ironically, although most of this revolves around humans, customer service and the welfare of workers will always be last on their list of considerations. This is an era of technology, data, and gold standards documented on electronic records. Actual empathy and dignity for human needs is only pertinent if it is billable, produces dividends, or can be used to boost the reputation of a well-placed officeholder.

I work for the government. Yes, I am one of the many bureaucrats Washington politicos tout as the enemy of the people. They see me as lazy, unproductive, wasteful, and siphoning off the taxes of their hard-working constituency. It does not matter that statistically I can prove I have saved the taxpayers far more than I earn in salary and benefits. Saving money does not generate revenue. Every day I bob and weave to the bureaucracy which places pressure on me to justify my salary, validate my worth, and adjust to the daily conflicting demands brought on by political correctness. And as a woman, I earn far less than my incompetent coworkers and managers who do illustrate what our representatives see as reckless spending. This does not deter me from delivering excellent service but it does demoralize me. Oh yes, I never whine because I should be happy I have a job.

But I am not just another complainer. I believe we need a reinvented workplace where a healthy workplace meeting the needs of both the employee and employer is attainable. Unfortunately, I am not talking about unions here. Though unions have historically done a phenomenal job at workers' rights, they have also created polarizing the workplace by defending incompetent, inept, and bad workers. What I am proposing is a movement which examines workplace issues and balances them with the need for profit and accountability. I am not a socialist nor am I a capitalist. As a person with a strong work ethic I believe in cutting the fat, producing high quality work, expecting workers to live up to the standards for which they are judged, and understanding the very human needs of the workplace. However, I also think employers have the responsibility to provide us with a safe workplace, incentivize us by rewarding our productivity, balance the need for profit by accommodating a sane work volume, and by adhering to moral and ethical conduct. Am I asking for too much here?

When I first started in government, I had experiences working with highly effective, solution oriented, and dynamic people. My workplaces were some of the happiest and most productive in my career. These workplaces had competent managers, inspiring vision, and dedication to serving the public. I don't know where we went wrong but I believe this can be changed. It is a mistake to think this movement will start at the top. As workers, it will only begin with us.

The Joy of Minnesota Nice

Gosh darn, ya betcha, I had a heck of a time in Minnesota on my vacation. Almost 30 years ago I left Minnesota, yet when I return I fall back into the cadence of the language. Combined with the fact I spent the first few days with die hard Canadians, unconsciously I found myself picking up the "ehs" in their accent, making my California/Minnesota drawl sound almost indecipherable. When I left Minnesota  decades ago, I never knew I sounded unusual until people in the western states where I worked kept asking me if I was Canadian. Even today in California, some natives ask me from what part of Canada I was raised. Go figure.

The first thing I noticed after not having been back "home" in five years is the difference in culture. By and large, many Californians are self-absorbed, individualistic, and autocratic. My adopted state thrives on innovation and rugged self-determination. This reinforces more selfish behaviors where the ego is king and competition is paramount. Conversely, Minnesotans are cooperative by nature-one survives the bitter inclement weather by forming close cooperative bonds. People actually greet one another, rarely miss an opportunity to talk to one another even in the most mundane of social situations, and express genuine interest when engaging you. It is a kinder, gentler society. Frequently  while I was there, people offered me transportation, housing, meals, and hospitality without any forethought. They are quick to sincerely look you in the eye when delivering communication, touch you gently when making a point, and delight in laughing at their own quirky ways. This politeness is well known and termed, "Minnesota nice". Of course, there is also a certain degree of passive aggressiveness that goes along with this, but I won't go there.

Ethan and Joel Cohen, who were raised in a suburb of Minneapolis, captured this quirkiness in their movie, "Fargo", which is also now a TV series. Their portrayal of Minnesotans is somewhat more comical and jaded for my taste. What they fail to capture is the sense of integrity, honor, honesty, and kindness in the people. Minnesotans are acculturated to be more dedicated to human values than material ones. A few years ago in California I slipped and fell hitting my nose on the cement payment, causing profuse amounts of blood to gush all over my professional clothes. Fifteen to twenty people watched me fall and not one of my fellow Californians asked me if I was okay or even offered to help me. This would not happen in Minnesota. Because of those snowy, bitter winters, Minnesotans know if they don't bind together one can easily get stranded and freeze to death. There have been countless times I have gotten stuck in the snow while visiting in winter, when suddenly out of nowhere men will appear and magically push me free. Once freed from my snowy imprisonment, they disappear without me even having a chance to thank them. This illustrates the Minnesota I know.

Every time I return home to Minnesota, there is constant pressure on me to see too many people and schedule too many things. Inevitably, I ended up scaling back my over-ambitious schedule causing a number of my family and friends to be horribly disappointed. It is not enough for them to see me once; they want to see me multiple times. It is this connection I miss the most. Being with them, there is nothing to explain; I can just be. After any amount of time there, I feel I need significant alone time because we talk all the time. As an introvert, I am not used to their loquaciousness. But it is not superficial talk, it is an abiding bond which strengthens over time. The only experience I have of this in California is when I meet other Midwesterners or Canadians.

The one thing I learned from this trip is that I will not wait another five years before returning. My support system is aging, making it imperative for me to keep those bonds tight until death us do part.

Champagne Wishes and Whipped Cream Dreams

September 11th is a tough day for anyone, but especially for me because it is my birthday. Every year I wake up seeing reruns of that horrible day, reliving how many souls were lost. Inevitably, I end up crying. It has always been a source of conflict for me to be festive on the day of my birth without  recounting how much this day changed all of our lives forever. But I also know life is for the living. To only remember the heartache of this day diminishes the chance at resurrecting joy. Without joy, we lose meaning. This year on the 13th anniversay of 9/11, I chose to do something different.

After 5 years of being absent from visiting my home state of Minnesota, I returned this week to visit family and friends. My trip started driving from Minneapolis to Grand Marais (on Lake Superior) to hike with my Canadian friends who came across the border from Thunder Bay. The three days I was up there were the warmest and sunniest they've seen all summer. My friends Bill and Jan were very merry and the hiking was superb. On one of the unusually clear nights up there we sat and watched the waxing full moon shine dancing diamond drops of light on Superior. I could not have been more awestruck. To view such magnificent beauty with such warm friends made me feel this was the universe's pre-birthday present to me. The time I was up on the north shore, I felt as if God had his arms wrapped around me.

The next 3 days were diametrically opposite in affect, as I ventured down to rural Anoka County to my cousin Frank's farm. Frank and I are unusually close for cousins, more like brother and sister. In late July he suffered a massive heart attack and stroke. As a result, he had to have carotid bypass surgery which was scheduled on the full moon of September 8th. This is a dangerous surgery and he nearly did not survive. Those days on the farm speaking with his sons (who I used to babysit when they were young) were some of the most emotional I can recount. Though they are not my immediate family, they are my closest one. In our own way, we all knew this is the beginning of the end for Frank. Speaking with each of them about preparing for loss was painful. In the end, Frank did pull through the surgery and was discharged home but has voiced no will to continue living. My biggest prayer has been for him to leave the planet without further suffering. We all holding our breath waiting for this eventuality to happen. The wheel turned bringing with it the next chapter in my journey.

For my birthday this year, I decided I needed to do something different. Because I knew the time with my cousins was going to be draining, I purposely gave myself two days of time in Minneapolis at an inn on an island outside of downtown. This was a time for me to regroup and celebrate my birthday. The inn was quaint and I grew up not more than a mile from here. I remember walking with my father and uncle to it many decades ago. Being back home awakened many positive memories.

While here I met with two potential suitors: one a pastor of non-denominational church and the other a considerably younger man, who I refer to as my "cub". The pastor and I had corresponded numerous times, in addition to speaking on the phone, almost daily before I left California. He had been divorced for a couple of years but had not been intimate with a woman because of his standing within the church. Being that I am a Buddhist also made things complicated. As the Christian leader of his church, he was always under the microscope and I am not what his church would consider microscopic friendly. This man of the cloth brought out the devil in me. Something tempting about seducing a pastor awakened fantasies dating back to my Catholic upbringing. I delighted in taking big risks with this man verbally and in my texts by encouraging him to openly express his inner sexual desires to me. Though he professed to be spiritually conflicted about this, it did not stop him from almost nightly engaging in phone sex with me. It struck me how his confined spiritual beliefs kept him from acknowledging the importance of his human needs. I felt it was beneficial for him to release his pent up celibacy by coming out of his liturgical closet. The good reverend consented to meeting with me at the inn the day before my birthday. We first spent time in my room cuddling and kissing, but his inner turmoil about unresolved issues from his previous relationships would not allow anything further to proceed. All I could think of is that he was like the Reverend Arthur Dimsdale from the "Scarlet Letter" and I was a heathen Hester Prynne. In this case, there would be no scarlet letter sown to my bodice. Well, maybe a letter "B" for Buddhist. As things heated up between us, he got scared and guilt ridden. Before I knew it, he dashed out the door saying he needed to visit a fellow clergy at a hospital. He never returned.

My other suitor (whom I nicknamed the jeune homme) a man almost 20 years my junior, was the one who really gave me the greatest gift for my birthday. He is in the process of divorce and wanted to have a Mrs. Robinson experience with an older woman. Previously before he was married, he had such an experience which he wished to recreate. Initially when I corresponded with him, I told him I was not a cougar. But his keen intelligence, quick wit, and sweetness seduced me. Before I knew it, I was agreeing to a tryst with my charming younger man. Daily, he would send me the sweetest emails and texts. Finally the day of our assignation arrived when he met me at my hotel room. I was taken aback at how handsome and athletic he was. Whatever reservations I had about diving into a clandestine rendevous went out the window when he met me at the inn's restaurant. "How can one woman be so lucky on her birthday?", I thought. He was everything I could have desired and more. Not only was he sensitive, but kind and sweet. His kisses were so soft and passionate. We made love all afternoon. Champagne, flowers, whipped cream, and a gorgeous young man in his forties made my birthday one of the most memorable on record.When he left, I felt like this was yet another incredible present from the universe. I had never entertained being a cougar, now I understand the attraction.

As I leave my home state, I am touched by how much being raised here shaped me for the better. Though I would never consider moving back year round, I would love the chance to return during the warmer months. Who knows, maybe I'll even see my jeune homme again.

The Third Full Moon at Perigee-September 8th

Feeling like howling? I'm not surprised, we are approaching the third full moon in a row at perigee, or closest orbit to the earth. This moon will look bigger, brighter, fuller, and more hypnotic. Don't let this dazzling fifth supermoon fool you: the Pisces-Virgo opposition will intensely challenge all of us to act compassionately in the face of criticism. Heart and soul are the themes this lunation. Time to be honest about what does and does not work. This honesty is not a slap in the face but an encouraging hand leading one out of the quagmire. Being human is trusting in faith, forgiveness, and healing. Opening oneself up to business not as usual, employing tenderness, and seeing the silver lining increases a broader vision which will let our true light shine.

A Retrospective on Celibacy

For ten years I chose a celibate life. If you would ask me why, I am not sure I could give you a cogent answer. When my last relationship ended more than ten years ago, I was astonished by having a sense of happiness instead of loss. The relationship I was in was not a bad or unhappy relationship, but walking away from it I felt such freedom at being alone again I thought I never wanted this feeling to stop. Years drifted by without a thought to how having a man in my life or being sexual would ever be advantageous to me. I took care of my own sexual needs adequately without any messy emotional complications or unwanted entanglements.

On my birthday last year something changed. An inner restlessness took over, making me want anything but what I was confronting on a daily basis. My self-imposed isolation and introversion started crumbling. I began to investigate my escapist fantasies by looking at a geographical cure, changing my appearance, and reading spiritual books. My search was a marathon run to nowhere. Nothing seemed to quell my unsettledness. As part of my quest, I began to think I needed more social contact, thus began my foray into online dating. Initially my intent was to connect with men only through correspondence. Surprisingly, I did not expect to engage with very intelligent, witty, and articulate men who weakened my abstention with poetry, haikus, and words so beautifully composed I became hypnotized by reveries of what these men might be like in person.

Overcoming my considerations to meeting one of them was an emotional obstacle course. The rational side of me was not sure this was a smart idea to acquiesce to a man and give up being a reclusive spinster. I was deeply rutted in my cynicism of what men had wrought on me. A strong part of me could not digest that spinsterhood was keeping me stuck in a isolative pattern which was neither healthy nor spiritual. The other part of this equation was harder for me to handle was the emotional component. Not being a feeling but a thinking woman, I was unprepared for the turbulent eruption which preceded my first encounter with a man in ten years. I was in my kitchen that day, happily getting ready to go on my first date, when I start regurgitating emotion. It came out of no where-suddenly I was swept away by weeping. I am not a crying let alone a weeping kind of woman. The lightning speed at which this overtook me jolted my equilibrium. As I examined the root of this, I flashed back to all the times I took chances and it backfired on me. A wall of betrayal, tragedy, disappointment, and feeling eviscerated flooded my sensorium. In this paralyzed state I couldn't help but feel I could not go forward yet I could not go backwards either. Fear gripped me thinking about embarking on a journey I wasn't sure I wanted to take. When I look back at this day, I see how silly I was but that day I felt my life and future were on the line.

The man I dated was made aware of my struggles but met with me anyway. Needless to say, it was awkward. About an hour into our tea, the man looked at his watch and abruptly said, "Times up, I gotta go." I was stunned. When he left I started laughing hysterically at how absurd my first date in over 20 years had ended. A date from Data from Star Trek would have concluded more politely. I did not take this man's lack of social grace personally since most likely I appeared timid and overwhelmed. It was then I realized the process of reemerging from a celibate coma would take more time, patience, and practice.

Eventually I did consummate my relationship with this suitor after a number of attempts. So what I have learned from being chaste for ten years? I realized how easy it was to allow myself to be a recluse, wall myself off from men, and justify this by nursed hurts and unrequited emotions. Would I do this again? No.