New Moon In Aries: Fire Breath Meditation Out There Somewhere

To HEAR this blog post instead of reading it

I think I might be done talking about therapy. I’m not sure. You’ll find out soon enough.

After ten months of very intense work with The Good Doctor, I’m kinda questioning the value of it (normal, I know) and what should come next. After all, the New Moon is in my Eighth House (of therapy!) and I’m thinking maybe what I need is a priest and a hug and a Diet Coke, rather than the digging-up-bones psychotherapy or psychoanalysis experience. Yuck. Enough already. I went all the way to psycho-town and all I got was this lousy t-shirt, right? I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m sticking with the same guy or moving on to someone else or just stopping altogether. And I might not be the best candidate for someone walking through my brain with a scythe, chopping off branches here and there to examine.

I’m a Moon Pluto person through and through (hello that’s the name of this blog). Moon Pluto conjunction in my First House. Well-aspected all around my chart. You can google that and read all about Moon conjunct Pluto and some of your findings will be right and some of them will be dead wrong but bottom line is the emotions are intense and I need people in my life who are not only okay with that but appreciate it and don’t see it as a problem to be fixed (except when it’s a problem to be fixed).

I had therapy in my twenties, off and on. Had it in my thirties, off and on. In my forties? Nothing. That’s when I became an astrologer and wrote my first book. I’m starting to wonder if the times in my life of the most personal growth and accomplishment where when I was *not* in therapy. I can’t help but notice that. And the last ten months have brought me to what point? To the edge of what? It’s only been ten months. Allow me to sound defeatist for a moment: what do I have to show for it? Except that a guy who used to be a stranger knows all kinds shit about me and the inner workings of my brain.  I’m also more acquainted now with my unconscious. Yay? Did I really need to know that (yes, Aliza, you did and you do). And I always work things out by writing about them, talking about them (the talking cure) and folks who know me best can easily say how I seem now, after these ten months of upheaval and demon possession, and underworld adventure. Yes, therapy really feels like that to me (when it’s effective): possession.

I don’t know what’s next. But I do know I went to some dark places over the last ten months that I don’t think I want to revisit. (And yet I probably will because they are mine, they are my places.) While I was there, while I was in them, in those hell spaces, I think to myself now: was he holding out a hand for me to hold? Was he able to support me while I did whatever I needed to do there?  I’m typing this and I’m thinking YES. But I couldn’t see it at the time. I pull back and then I can see it. His way, his hand. I see it.

Emotional depth, spiritual depth. That’s what I need, want, in any kind of helper. With a therapist, all the more so. Powers of analysis isn’t enough. Training isn’t enough. What matters is soul. Emotional depth, spiritual depth. And that they are willing AND able to meet you where you are. This is a very real thing. Meeting you where you are. And if you’re trapped in hell, to help pull you out of the burning building.

There is this lonely feeling, once the intensity of the therapy session abates. It filled up so much, filled up that hole, not just the session but the thoughts about the session. So much opening up and intimacy. Then it calms down and what’s there? Emptiness. It can break your heart. I suppose this is true for anything that fills us up temporarily. It’s like having a married lover. You only get so much. I imagine the key (one key) is not to run or rush to fill up the hole but to leave it empty, vacant, and just, well, breathe. Fill up the space that way. Ya know, I write about this in my new book (the one that I’m still writing), about how being able to do that is pretty much the cure for loneliness or any existential pain. It’s something I learned once upon a time. That your breath really is your best company and the only true salvation we have. Your own body will save you, every time.

Funny to me to attach this therapy talk to the New Moon. Talking about breathing and loneliness and knowing this is a FIRE NEW MOON and there’s probably some fire breath meditation out there somewhere. When I first started therapy I said to him: I want to be fearless. I’m this close. I want to be fearless. Very Mars, right? Mars rules Aries. I’m not really sure where I am with that goal now. I still get triggered but I don’t think getting triggered is incompatible with a bottom line of fearlessness. And fearlessness, to me, is meeting somewhere where they are — not just my clients (and others) but meeting MYSELF where I am, too.

Okay. I figured it out. I’m still gonna be writing about therapy (lol). I can tell there’s a lot more to say. Happy New Moon, dear star lovers.



"Aliza Einhorn"