I don’t know how I survived my early years. The things nobody knew, the things I didn’t speak of. Saturn was in Libra then too. Saturn would have conjuncted Pluto at some point.
“You became depressed” is what I heard in my head. “Numb. So nothing could get out.”
“And then in your mid-30s, when you finally removed the cloak of depression…”
I was in meditation class, having the above dialogue with myself. I didn’t intend to. It just showed up. I had been thinking about the Full Moon in Leo squaring my natal Saturn in Taurus, an aspect which threw me into mourning for a few hours.
Moon-Saturn contacts are a daily (Moon) death (Saturn). I have the natal trine which softens the blow.
One of my Twitter pals requested that I write about the Full Moon in my 12th House and to find the story therein (my words, not hers). And the truth is… I’m not sure I’ve found it yet. Still feels like shadows. A little sharper but how sharp can a shadow be? Some murky storyline of the death of childhood which was dead on arrival anyway, and something to do with Saturn conjunct Pluto in the 80s linking up to Saturn in Virgo conjunct my natal Pluto only a few years ago. Traumarama.
The Full Moon in the 12th House is a dark detective or a detective in the dark. I should learn from Leo, the sign the Full Moon is in: curl up and purr right there on the windowsill of the 12th. Make myself at home.
I left meditation right at the end, didn’t stay to socialize like usual, and it turned out to be the right idea. There were massive problems on my subway line and I wound up walking home under the light of the Leo Moon.