I just had to write one more. Mainly because I have been struck by some of the comments I received, especially on fb, from the first post on not getting any calls from my siblings on my birthday. Actually, those comments spurred me to write the second post, to show, without telling, how badly “off” the commenters were, to assume that the relations among me and my siblings are difficult or non-existent. So many people speak of not being in communication with their blood relatives! Of being glad there are “families of the heart” to feel safe with (instead)! Even at last night’s Community Dinner (bundled with my birthday party, Solstice celebration, and even a Saturn/Pluto presentation afterwards), I noticed some friends, in their response to me, having heard that on my birthday morning, none of my siblings had called me, looked stricken, forlorn, as if they had momentarily sunk down into memory, into the Plutonian family secrets that their internal Saturn censor was trying not to allow to be felt, or seen, or even known.
So, I do want to tell you, I did hear, eventually, yesterday, from all seven sibs on my 77th birthday, including John K (who had the wrong phone number) and the youngest, Kristin, who sent this message, in the same kind of sarcastic, make-fun-of-the-self tone that especially she and I use to lighten the playing field wherever we go:
Marnie, BTW, insisted that she was the first to email me, early yesterday morning. But I still haven’t located that email.
So she went one better today. Sent me a Christmas picture of her feet, and told me to notice her high arch, “just like Dad’s”. Yup!
So why have I belabored my Christmas season birthday? I think it must because I want to encourage readers to work through whatever still holds them captive (Saturn) to old gunky memories (Pluto) that threaten, when projected onto the outer world, and/or held tightly within the body, to bring us into conflict and/or make us sick.
Come on folks, we’re better than that! Let’s rejoice in each other, and especially in all those lessons that our souls, by deciding to be born into particular families, invited us to learn.
Marnie, BTW, second in line and with whom I had to share a room, used to be the object of my total animosity in childhood. I never did let her borrow my sweaters. She always let me borrow hers.
I did consciously process that and other gunk within me, and it took years!
So glad that’s over!
And Mea Culpa, Marnie, for the millionth time!
