THE FACE: Welcome to Cancer Season

You have one job now (is what I tell myself).

What is your ONE JOB? 

I have a book to write. That’s it. And I know yeah there’s other stuff. Work. Bathing. Getting up each day. The daily.

I miss Gemini Season already. We were fast. We were sleek. We were funny. Now we climb into our nests, our cribs, our wombs, and search for mama. I don’t eat ice cream but if I did… it might be just the thing.

What to do for Cancer Season besides your one job? Cry. Hopefully your forehead isn’t too shot up with Botox. You can’t cry unless you can make THE FACE.

Moping. Crabbiness. All the sad songs. Spotify has a play list or two for you. I got a new mini Marseilles so I can Marseilles on the road. As if. As if that will fix it. But nothing can fix Cancer Season.

Let’s use the new deck for the guidance: High Priestess. Nothing to be done. Ah. There it is. Reinforcing the High Priestess. Four of Swords. Rest. Curl up in the womb of your choice and how fitting since the Swords on this card are indeed curved, curled up. Nothing to be done.

In Gemini Season, we were doing doing doing flying flying flying and now that it’s Cancer Season we must stop. And then what?

Three of Pentacles. BUILD. Put it together. It’s a slow card, slow energy. I know Cancer is a cardinal sign, dynamic, but all these cards are super…. not just slow but… mending.

Cancer Season this year is for mending you, repairing you, and I know you feel you need to stay on top of things. Deadlines to meet.

The terror I feel at having gotten this far, without parents. I’ve outlived them both and have lived without them for decades now. I don’t have the words for a future with no faces in it. So I’ve been taking this little summer class and this morning our instructor made the point about how… I can’t remember her words… but about how grief changes as you get older, with each milestone. (Or absence of milestones, I thought to myself). And I chimed in, talking about how dead mother grief is perpetual. Well, it does change, move around, makes itself at home in different parts of one’s psyche, but it never clears. There’s always fog on the lens, something, someone, you cannot imagine.

Aside from grief, I have one job now. What is your one job? 

To be continued xo