The 2021 Astrology Calendar arrived yesterday with 365 doses of daily destiny for the coming year. We Libras, we never know what we’re going to get. But for January, my wife, the house astrologer, relays to me: “Your brain is in overdrive. Try not to let it spin out of control. Instead, use this mental energy for creative problem solving, original thinking and unusual solutions.”
I’ll begin this first blog post of the year with a reflective letter to me, to you, and to the world, as we rebuild our attitudes, relationships and values around the ‘novelties’ of recent months. Here’s a tasty hit of wisdom: What if the world and everything truly real about our lives is free, loving, and subject only to what we choose to think and choose to see. That’s my story — the guiding principle — and I’m sticking to it.
Step back. Breathe. And we’ll all kick holy butt with curious smiles and self-satisfying compassion as we move on.
In humble appreciation for the life privilege that has blessed our household and circumstances, I can do nothing but both hope for fun and fulfillment in 2021, while accepting with grace whatever good or bad that the coming years hold. I begin with a new right hip, a dashing pair of lounging sweats for Christmas, a feeble but consistent workout schedule in our multicolored rubber band and hand weights living room gymnasium, and a huge urge to flap my skinny arms and fly.
Despite doubts and doubters, I have chosen December as indeed the turning point. It was a good month. We’ve had the neighbor refill the firewood cradle with some plum and willow logs harvested last summer. In spite of dreary chill weather, we have entertained bold and beautiful friends in our newly installed propane-powered porch and patio Leaky Tiki Lounge.
I’m not a guy for routine, but late fall had me in a groove of afternoon meditation on the bed, inhaling deeply with Yoga Nidra (whatever that is) music in the headphones trying to count backwards (often in Spanish) while slapping the monkey-mind away. Surviving that (without dozing off), it was time to build the evening fire, open a can of beer, and strike up the guitar.
For nearly twenty evenings I rehearsed the same Christmas song I have practiced every December since 2015. This year I sufficiently conquered the walkdown from D to B minor and declared mastery of “Please Come Home For Christmas.” Alas, just in time for Christmas to be over. Then it was on to hopeful thoughts of longer days, fewer restrictions, and more hugs. So I turned the page to James Taylor’s “Mexico,” which still needs fingering polish. But just me singing off-key of brighter and warmer days ahead was a real shot in the arm. If you get my meaning.
I am committing myself to think big and do right in 2021. I’m sure I have exactly as much energy and luck left as I need to keep dreaming a while longer. Schemes of being exactly where I’m called haunt the meditation soundtrack on these boring rainy days. And rainy day schemes are exactly what we were told as kids to save our pennies for.