Wednesday, 10 January 2018

Jupiter transits Scorpio Oct 2017 to Nov 2018 | Unravelling a Twisted Cosmic Knot

2017.01.11 Jupiter in Scorpio

In October 2017, the planet Jupiter entered the area of the sky that the star constellation of Scorpio inhabits, what astrologers call the eight house. 

Due to the speed of Jupiter’s orbit traversing in our solar system, it will transit through Scorpio until November 2018 when it will move into the constellation of Sagittarius, or the ninth house.

The eight house is mysterious. Deep bonding and  energies merge in this house. It is a ruler of birth, death and transformation. In a divergent strain, the eight house also rules property, money, real estate, inheritances and investments. 

Jupiter expands everything, especially wealth. Jupiter is benevolent and kind. Generally its gravitational pull and warmth smiles on its subjects, this child like positivity brings them luck.

So, you can imagine the combined influence of Jupiter in Scorpio.

The last time Jupiter entered the eight house to traverse the plane of Scorpio was October 2005 to November 2006. Eight house activities we started then, will expand and grow with prevalence.

At first when I tried to ponder what activities I was undertaking 13 years ago, the memories were dull and almost forgotten. Through the help of paper documents in a file cabinet, it came flooding back. 

October 2005 energies merge • child like luck

I was living in Newark on Trent. My best friend had killed himself the preceding June and I was still wheeling from the effects. I had not returned home to face or accept reality. I was in shock. I decided to plan a fancy dress party for Halloween. 

I drove down to London to pick up supplies and found myself at a dark and gloomy market on an even darker and gloomier day. 

Weather that would have otherwise depressed others did not dissuade me.  I was enlivened. The grey skies and cold dampness in the air complimented my mood. Everything was mystical and unknown. 

I purchased six large pumpkins, envisaging the results of a thrilling jack o lantern carving competition without planning the logistics. The gourd monger doubtfully gave me a black plastic garbage bag to secure haul.

The load was heavy and I clumsily lumbered across the footbridge overpass to the car park. There were about four switchbacks left on my descent. My temperature was rising. I was sweaty. I knew I’d made a blithering mistake.

Between the slippery sweat of my palms, the cold dampness in the air and the weight of the gourds, the plastic bag ripped open from seam to seam. 

One by one, the pumpkins rolled away from my grasp down the windy descent. I frantically ran after them without a focused goal. 

Meanwhile, thirty business men in black suits ascended up the ramp, ensuring to plummet their hands deeper into their pockets and hide their miserable faces deeper into their collars. 

I finally gathered myself and aimed for the furtherest pumpkin. Picking up speed by virtue of a focused direction, as my hand extended almost within reach, the thirty-first business man raised his foot to catch it and then briskly marched on. 

In that split second, I felt the deepest gratitude. It was close to the kindest thing that any one had done for me.

Enlivened again, I turned to face the remaining tumbling gourds and opened my arms like a mother welcoming home a gaggle of children.

November 2005 Deep bonding and benevolence

The memories of the entire month are faint. However, I flew to Malaga Spain and remember every single blessed detail of that trip.

Selena was waiting for me. She was a dedicated lass who took the time to learn Spanish while we were in high school. 

This time was her nova. In astronomy, a nova is when a star suddenly and largely increases its light, which then incrementally dissipates after a few months and the star returns to its regular brightness.

Selena was my connection to the Spaniards, my translator. She was my support and release in my grief, my nova.  

I slept a lot and was unable to eat. Everything smelled and tasted like filth. This was of no concern to me.

We started at the homestead sitting on the bed reporting the events of the preceding year. She told me everyone from home was so worried about me since Matthew died. They thought I would say something. Call them. Send my usual letters and packages of wine. My people knew me as expressive, quick tongued and even obnoxious. For the first time in my life, I silently starved. I had nothing to say. An aloof cat without a tongue. 

Up until that point, my relationships had always been about me. My enjoyment, what I wanted to do, recharging my batteries through incessant chatter and communion. 

Selena’s nova gently showed me empathy. How to step outside myself and see another’s point of view. I will always feel gratitude for her honest heart and direct words.

We ventured to a semi abandoned mall so I could learn about the lollies and ghetto Spanish life.

Next was rummaging through markets for souvenirs. Baskin Robbins in an ancient stone world built in the name of a christian god. Red desert esque dusty sand on the streets. Meeting Jesus. Magical nights in another stone town square. The stone wall that runs forever along the beach. Somersaults in the sand. Dancing until sunrise with pervy old men. Tequila. Football. Running from gun shots in the hood. Running with the bulls. Deciding to get matching tattoos. 

The whirlwind came to halt when I yanked on the glass door of the parlour to discover it was locked. I yanked again. Pressed my face up against the glass. Checked the times on the door. Checked my watch. In that moment, I learned of the greatest societal practice of all time: siesta. 

Praise to whichever christian god that the tattoo parlour was closed for siesta. 

December 2005 Death

I stayed out my last days at in my wing of Cowtham House and said my goodbyes to living in the England and travels through Europe. 

A day before Christmas Eve, I packed two of the heaviest suitcases, including a glass tea pot for my sophisticated grandmother, and made my way to Heathrow.

Around 23.23 the check in clerk noted that my bags were double the allotted weight and I would need to pay 175 pounds (Jupiter expands). She saw the fears and tears as I said I only have 23 quid for my journey home. I stammered and said I would try to make some calls. Embarrassed, I moved my bags to the centre of the tiled hall and asked a man if I could borrow his phone. 

The clerk caught my eye and waived me back over. She said, its almost Christmas Eve love. Don’t worry about the fare. Just get home safe. In that moment, I felt deep gratitude. 

After the homecoming reunion and christian celebrations, my highschool sweetheart took me to my best friends grave.

It was cold, it was dry, it was snowing. The grave yard was so far out of the city. It took forever to find the grave because of white blanket covering the earth. I was wearing a drop waist skirt with army print and knee socks likely in an attempt to mimic one of Canada’s great fashion icons, Avril Lavigne. No one was happy. This was not a happy time.

We cleared away the snow from the granite rock. As if looking at a rock would reverse the decay on the bones beneath our feet. 
Nonetheless, I involuntarily collapsed to my knees and buried my faced and freezing tears in the freezing snow and sobbed. 

I felt John’s forever furnaced hand on my back. Again, a feeling of deep gratitude washed over me and muddled into the sadness. 

We got back in the truck and he drove me home. At the end of the estate driveway he put the truck in park. Maybe from force of habit. We nestled into the heated seats and our energies merged with passion and old familiarity. He stopped and said: I love you Natt, but I can’t get back together with you again just because we’re both really messed up over Matt. 

January to April 2006 resisting transformation and investing in death

I conquered the bureaucratic strain of transferring my university credits from Lethbridge to Mount Royal College and switching my degree from agricultural studies to psychology. 

It’s a shame bureaucracy is such a beautiful word, linguistically, because its such an ugly beast. Somehow the word bureaucracy always reminds me a beautiful antique french made wooden desk, built with solidarity with a lingering smell of the beautiful earth.

On enrolment, I knew I was going down.  The natural and logistic choice was to enrol in Human Anatomy 1214 and Chinese 2205. I can only chalk this bizarre divergence of course up to the mysterious influence of Scorpio. 

I was so depressed I almost died. I looked up into a circle of light to see all my friends leaning around a circled barrel. I could see tens and twenties of arms trying to grab me as i fell backwards down into the bottomless dark black hole.

Natalie Clark was there. She didn’t give up on me. Looking back, it was probably difficult for her to be my friend and support me. Losing my best friend had changed me, changed my personality, but I refused to acknowledge facts and drank the oceans of my life away.

Even now, from taking this look back, I can feel a sickness rising from my solar plexus. Its spreads everywhere and it is difficult to keep returning to the writing desk.

I achieved a C+ in Chinese and a D in Human Anatomy and was put on academic probation.  The most terrifying part of all of this is that I only learned about the location and functions of my large intestines this year.  It may be good to retake that anatomy course.

May to August 2006 money and birth 

In the summer, I canvassed to raise awareness about depression and suicide. At the first door I broke down crying. Rachel Rose and Rachel Craig stood closely behind in tears. 

Richard Clark taught me how to pitch. When I asked him for a donation I was sheepish and didn’t want to cry. He said, what the hell are you doing? If you’re coming to my house and asking me for money you better clearly tell me how much and why. 

I got my motorbike licence. I walked out of the dirty suburban Shawnessy Registry and was so excited about the licence I picked up the phone, dialled 2781861 to call Matt to tell him. When his mama answered I remembered he was dead, but with a collected calmness said: Diana, I just picked up my motorbike licence so I can drive in the ride this year. 

I didn’t end up driving, but I attended the second annual Matt’s Ride. 

To be honest, I don’t remember anything else from that summer. I couldn’t tell you where I lived, if I had a job or my social activities. I was an equitable millionaire and heiress to a real estate empire so my problems didn’t transcend to meeting Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. I had the luxury of lamenting and grieving for as long and as obnoxiously as I needed.

I think I spent the majority of my time trying to lose my virginity to my ex boyfriend, writing songs, hanging out with Matt’s parents or trying to kill myself.

September to November 2006  • child like mystery 

In the fall I found myself back at Mount Royal College enrolled in Archaeology 3303, Issues in Consumer Economics 1160, Strength Training 1145, Tennis 1249 and Principles of Psychology 2205.

Again, there was clearly no logistic plan or method to these class choices. Shooting from the hip. Drawing straws in the dark. Looking to the disconnected for a connection.

I met my psychology teacher Tammy who turned out to be my friends’ cousin. 

I was taken with her. Everything about her was fabulous. I haven’t thought of her in years, but still hold her in the highest regard. 

I began blooming out of my sadness and devoted all my energy to studying. I don’t remember making any friends at school (I know I had too many friends on my plate anyway) or really any more detail of the last half of the year.

I think that was the year dad built the ski chalets, so around October / November I would have been riding Kicking Horse. 


After the semester finished, I received the Jason Lang Scholarship for excellence in academic performance. I was so moved when I found out I’d won, I wrote a long winded and weird thank you letter to the board. 

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