My favorite Astrologer Rick Levine describes Jupiter in Aries as, ‘enthusiam: in theos. Ancient Greek for god.’ In Nahuatl, the language of my traditional Mexican dreaming practice, “teotl” means god.
One cold, stormy night I was double-booked for two separate spiritual events. One was an Aztec Dance ceremony for Tonantzin-Coatlique. The divine feminine earth mother Tonantzin and our mother-of-god Coatlique who is death, primal chaos the womb of creation. Tonantzin-Coatlique. Say that five times fast.
My first event was my own, very small, yoga class at a forgotten ashram left over from the 1960’s in the heart of San Francisco.
Celia, an elder and the main drummer from our Aztec dance group, asked me, “Will I see you at ceremony?” I said, “Yes, I have my class tonight. I’ll be late.” Long silent pause.
I had an affair with our chief, Kalto. It was the third time over the span of more years I’d like to admit that I allowed myself to go there. No one thought it was a good idea. Except Celia.
Kalto is young, handsome, gentle and charming. But he’s not ready. Not only that, I have a feeling about him. An intuition. It’s a warning mixed with electric sexual attraction. It’s a sweet holiday chocolate on an empty stomach. It’s a cult leader for a grieving mother. It’s divinity in addiction.
I shook the rain and cold off my hat, rebozo, jacket and pants and changed into my yoga clothes. I felt distinctly enthusiastic. A cute young woman came timidly through the door.
“Is this Yoga for Joint Health?”
“Yes. Are you Eric? Eric is the only one who signed up.” (laughter)
“No, I’m Shelby.”
We eventually move to the wall to work on posture alignment.
“Feel your scapula against the wall. Notice how that activates the upper abdomen.”
“I feel it. My posture got so bad working at Twitter.”
“Sitting at desks all day is making us what Tom Meyers calls Homo Domesticus.
How is Twitter since Musk bought it? I met Elon Musk once. I was writing my book in Portland. He came to our house. We flirted.”
“He just layed me off.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry.”
“He’s selling all our personal emails.. of the thousands of staff he fired.”
“How is that legal?”
“I should stop telling that story about him.”
“You should say he flirted with you. And I’m sure you’re better off. I’m sure you’re a lot happier now. Without him.”
During Sivasana I laid my hands on Shelby’s shoulder to heal the scar tissue accumulated there. I’m a dreamer. I’m enthusiastic. I use breathwork to align my dream body with the earth, sun and moon to heal. Many dreamers from Mexico become healers. It’s an outcropping of the breathwork.
I arrive to ceremony. My hands full of flowers for the altar and a gift bag for a foster child. Estella, the wife of Roban, an older chief of my group, says, “Oh, you’re just in time. They are about to honor them.”
She gives a mischievous smile. I sit down to take off my shoes and put on my Chachayotes (empty seeds to beat with my footwork).
Every single woman from my generation of dancers is in the center of the circle. They have crowns of roses and daisies placed on their heads. Copal smoke surrounds them. Every single woman is there. Except me.
Another chief, Xabela, said, “It was so hard to keep the surprise from them.
We want to thank Kalto for letting us do this.”
It was Xabela not Kalto?
Was it because I lived a life of travel? Was it her husband’s recent admiration? Was it because I didn’t dance while injured or when the gossip hurt my feelings?
Kalto steps into the center, “These women didn’t ask for this. We are honoring them for their work. For their time in Danza.”
Kalto stares into my eyes as he speaks to the group. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me.
I look right and left and behind me. I furrow my brow at him. He places his eyes on someone else. I allow myself a small, indistinguishable sigh.
A few days ago I sent him a voice message, “I saw you these last two weeks and I felt feelings for you.”
He responded, “You don’t need to leave voice messages. I’m sorry if you feel I lead you on. Only send messages about Danza.”
“I don’t feel you lead me on. We had an affair. It’s over. Recently I felt something again.”
Aquarius rules groups of individuals. We are inching out of the age of Pisces into the age of Aquarius.
What is it about groups that makes communication so much more difficult? Why is it that a leader of a group is much more appealing than the average person? What is it about ourselves that an identity based on some group feels certain?
I hit a like button on ‘Please Stop’.