It's Easier to Blame Saturn
for the ways life comes undone in a sudden hush, than it is to sit still within another hard stop. To swallow the acceptance of a new grief. To fill open; unmoored in awareness of the thinness of our individual consequence.
A few weeks ago after getting laid off I went on a run down to the Lake. I sat in the middle of the Oak Street beach pier, facing the skyline, and I wondered, not for the first time, whether this city was trying to kill me. Whether I was being broken open or breaking? Because it’s easier to make meaning out of sadness, than it is to keep writing on pages that can be taken or turned at any moment.
My Saturn Return ends in January, and if I believe it’s all Saturn, then I can believe that the hard things will come to an end when it exits my life and not when my life ends.
I want there to be a reason painful things happen if only to prevent them — if only to be able to do something; and, I’ve wanted to save myself badly enough that I’ve held myself in the binds of shame to be able to. But, I become the cost for this sliver of illusory control.
To accept that I’m not wrong, is to accept that most pain comes without malice. The real control I have is how I choose to live through.
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