Page 2 of 3
Here's what I said about eclipses back then:
Eclipses are astrology we can't deny. If there is a conjunction between Saturn and Uranus, it's invisible to the unaided eye, and while many people may experience changes, only astrologers and their merry bands of readers and students know what's happening. Yet when the Sun vanishes, you can be sure that normal activity will come to a stop.
Our busy world will pause, and everyone, from herbicide activists nestled in the hills of Oregon to rock stars in Nashville, will stand in the silent shadow of the cosmic order with the astonishment of small children coursing in their hearts.
This doesn't happen often, and you can imagine the awesome power of so many people embraced in a kind of simultaneous, captive meditation as everything around them momentarily ceases to be normal. Call it a reality lapse, only it's one into which the real reality can flow very easily.
In terms of their astrological meaning, eclipses of the Sun follow this image of collective awareness and radical break of continuity. Whether you can see the eclipse does not matter; part of the miracle of astrology is it works anyway. As many of us are discovering personally, eclipses are expanded moments of often uncontrollable, unpredictable change. They also bring the civilization and its communities together, usually through important collective events and the media.
Eclipses are evolutionary gateways, which is another way of saying that when they show up, we do a lot of growing in a short time. Delays are compensated. Old accounts can be wiped clean. While each is unique, eclipses often feel like being shot through a funnel of space-time, and we emerge somewhere different than where we entered. The key to making the best use of them is to move with the energy, not cling to anything or anyone too tightly, and to stay open.
Let's consider a few other metaphors for eclipses, which I can offer after an additional 17 years of contemplation. I think of an eclipse as a fulcrum point—something on which everything pivots, such as a lever. Perhaps the best example is a telescope. If you move the telescope just a little at the fulcrum, you will shift your field of view many light years on the other end.
That's how to think of an eclipse: as a moment where you can shift your orientation just a little right now, and point yourself toward a vastly different destination as time unfolds. This is, of course, a model based on a linear concept of time. Eclipses, which align at least one dimension of time and several dimensions of space, take us well beyond the linear, which only increases the fulcrum value.
So, this is a good time to observe where your life is headed, and which way you want to turn. If you're not planning to do what you're doing "forever," what do you want to do? If you're not planning to be with the person you're with "forever," what are you planning? If you're not going to be here (wherever here is) "forever," where are you planning to be?
Imagine that there is a future and that it includes you. Let yourself believe, for a moment, that everything is not going to crash down on your head before you have a chance to live a little. In what direction would you point yourself? Imagine you're paddling a canoe and you're heading for the rapids. You want to point your boat directly down the rapids, rather than going through sideways.
I am talking about growth as well as about activity. What problems have you persistently encountered? Can you see yourself healing them?
You may only need a small adjustment to point yourself in a direction that, today, may seem like a remote destination, whether improbable or impossible. How you orient yourself as we go through this event is crucial. It's more important than flocking to the path of totality and looking at the thing through a Mylar visor.