Virgo 1°

So I was telling you the other day that I found out recently, well, a long time ago, but I only recently starting researching the fact that, I am INFJ in Myers-Briggs speak. This is characterized as Introverted, Intuition, Feeling, Judging. Okay fine. One of the characteristics of being INFJ is seeing patterns in things, which speaks to my interest in all things metaphysical, astrology in particular, which is this perfect mandala for existence on so many levels—that is to say that every nook and crannie of experience seems to folow the twelve fold logic of the astrological signs and houses, one through twelve, as they give way to one another, ad infinitum, on what isn’t a static circle of the zodiac but a never ending upward spiraling staircase, something, in its patterning recalls DNA, the base and railing of this imagined stairwel, forming a sort of double helix—Jacob’s ladder also comes to mind as does the song Stairway to Heaven.

I was musing on this in the car yesterday. Driving my 85 Mercedes into Provincetown with the top open and the windows down feels fantastic in any sense. And I was already enjoying the previous day’s revelation about rushing, which I’m really fighting against doing even as I can justifiably consider my life to be a never ending series of deadlines. It starts with perishing thoughts along that perception and realizing what the hell are we rushing towards? I think rushing is a symptom of not really doing what you want to do or at least including bits or seeds of that truest dream into your day to day. So I myself need to work on that I realize. I might be best off doing it on a local level for awhile. At least I might as well give it a whirl. And so fresh from that realization I had another one:

The old adage “we really are just passing through” can be taken quite literally. I should contextualize this by saying that I am not one to get very attached to very much—my Aquarian moon (which als makes me something of a cult leader lol) perhaps contributing to my often nuts-and-berries existence of non-material attachment and the fact that, as compared with most people, I could probably pack up my entire house in a matter of days and be on my way somewhere else. At the very least I could lock my front door and walk away with the entire contents of my home left as it is and neither miss or nor need anything from it that isn’t in my suitcase. I travel often. In fact I get very antsy unless I’m in a city, even though I presently have no home in a city—each year we sort of pick a place and just go there, but these last three years Stella has been doing a masters degree so we’ve stayed by, in Boston, which I liked more than I thought I would. Anyway, I’ve always felt “stuck” on the Cape in winter dating back to 1998 when we first bought a house.

But back to my revelation. I got this sense that my time in any home, including the planet, is so terribly fleeting that I’m passing through any place I live, including the one I call home, which for me, is an experience so acute to the degree that I’ve managed to turn it around and gain this new perspective of choosing to visit the Cape when I’m here, as one of my favorite places that I visit frequently year on year. Right now I’m in this house. Next year I will be too. After that who knows. But I’ll still include this in my mix. It’s still up to me. I don’t need to retreat somewhere and be stuck there I have infinite options because I keep giving myself infinite opportunity. Already I feel the adjustment is working; I feel terribly less anxious and as if I’m on a sort of permanent vacation, punctuated with business appointments and meetings. But the truth be told. Stella has finished school; I’ve completed one festival and am about to execute a second; I wrote a book proposal which is now in the hands of a reputable agent; and we have a business plan all but finished and ready to be seen by investing eyes. All this will what is already a creative and rewarding private consultancy, which is the backbone of our work, and the soul of our business.

Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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