“This horoscope is not an advertisement for ceremonial shovels. I am receiving no payment from a ceremonial shovel company for suggesting that you procure a customized engraved gold digging tool for your own personal use. And I will feel fine if you don’t actually get a real one, but instead merely imagine yourself wielding a pretend version. The fact is, Leo, the coming weeks will be an excellent time to do a groundbreaking ritual: to dig up the first scoop of metaphorical dirt in the place where you will build your future dream house, masterpiece, or labor of love.”
—Leo, for the week of Nov. 15, from Rob Brezsny’s Free Will Astrology
I read this as I dug into my right glute and hip on the mat. What typically sent shivers down my spine when using a medicine ball or foam roller left me wincing, and I wasn’t even on an extremely hard floor. Losing alignment in lunges will do that to me, though, and I’ve been aware of paraformis sensitivities, let’s call them, for years. My LMT would be proud of me—what started as a vinyasa moon flow this morning quickly shifted into me breathing into miniscule movements as I rolled out my glute for 15 minutes.
It was exactly what I needed.
As I blinked my eyes open this morning, the corners of my mouth turned up. Something about sleeping in a king size bed makes me feel like a child. A few tears well up as I think of waking up in the king size bed at my mom’s house in Rising Fawn. There, especially when it’s cold, I usually hear her and Rick softly talking in the kitchen. I know she left a robe and slippers for me somewhere on that massive bed. If I look out the window, fog is usually covering the field behind her house, and the backside of Lookout rises out of that blanket, the sun creeping up slowly to eventually burn off fog.
The perculator will be on in the kitchen, a mug left out for me. Being in her house is one of the few places I’ll pad out to the kitchen and be greeted without once ever looking at my sleepy hair and face in the mirror.
I think that FEELING…of being home and cared for is in my dream house. I cry now, much like that little girl in the big king size bed, suddenly painfully aware of the physical (and emotional) distance between me and my home. I’m even further away from my family and those chilly mornings in Rising Fawn.
(Whew! And to think that’s only a bit of the tension I’ve been holding in my hips.)
Letting these feeling and emotions bubble up is not good…it’s GREAT. My brain signals that they’re somewhat seasonal—I messed up dates on my calendar, and I realized earlier this week that I’m going to miss an early Thanksgiving dinner with my mom due to teacher training this weekend. Externally—and even in my brain—I wipe it off, push it away, know that I’ll think about it later.
And then it all comes out as I roll out my hips on the hotel room floor at 5:30 a.m. somewhere in northeast Georgia.
And I can laugh at that.
Happy Tuesday ❤