To find a form that accommodates the mess…

circles

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“To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.”

― Samuel Beckett

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Why do we like circles?

Is it because we’re made of them…

whenever scientists show us what we’re made of it always seems to involve circles…

Why aren’t we circular if we’re made of circles?

perhaps because those circles of which we are made are seeking to become other shapes…

which would explain why…

we’re not always happy with our own shape…

why we want to become rather than just be…

and like artists we chisel away at it trying to make it into something else,

which will please our vision of who we could be if…

if we could just be ourselves a little less,

or,

if we could just be ourselves a little more…

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samuel-beckett - two fools

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but it’s not only our vision which need pleasing…

our eyes aren’t the only ones watching,

there are others forming a circle around our creation,

like slices of a pie,

but each slice has a different perspective…

just as we do when we are part of another’s pie…

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Samuel-Beckett tears and laughs

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And trying to collate all of that into a rounded view…

especially with all the bites and nibbles of hungry desires eating it away…

can leave us feeling shapeless,

a formless mess…

The shape I like to use to accommodate that mess when it’s mine is a circle.

The circle formed by my astrology chart,

as it somehow manages to make it look like edible slop which could actually be nourishing if I can get over my distaste of it…

and it can sometimes make a vicious cycle be more of a spiral staircase which may be steep to climb but is going somewhere other than around and back to the same place.

Recently I found myself revisiting an old cycle,

a place of fear and failure…

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beckett_ever-tried-ever-failed

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of identity and ego…

of restriction, constriction, and… the need for a straightjacket to contain primal impulses which don’t like being restrained.

It was a subtle event…

a drip, drip, drip behind the veneer of everything’s fine,

which slowly crumbles the structure but leaves the false front standing, still claiming that there’s nothing wrong.

This, in my experience (and madness), is the work of Pluto… most probably aided by Saturn,

as those two both aspect my Sun – my ego and the centre of my universe (not sure if it is but I don’t want to tell it that as it’s a Capricorn in the house of fun).

Pluto is aspecting the Sun in a helpful manner (which doesn’t always feel helpful at all), and Saturn is… just being saturnine, rainy on my sunny, drip-drip-dripping until it drives me to do something rash to break free…

(Saturn in Aries, aided and abetted by Uranus in Libra – who is a complete fruit loop – and egged on by Jupiter – who is the cheeriest cheerleader… of the blindside).

But that’s just my natal chart, a glimpse of what is and will always be in some way… but still it’s just a selfie taken at time of birth, things have moved on from there… haven’t they?

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“The end is in the beginning and yet you go on.”
― Samuel Beckett

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That’s where transits come in,

and sometimes get favoured over natal placements because they offer hope…

or something akin to that…

or not that at all if you read certain interpretations of them (there’s one prominent astrologer whose interpretations invariably make me feel as though that end of the world which is always nigh has finally arrived… but then I survive his doom and gloom, or my doom and gloom brought on by reading his words).

Transiting Jupiter is cuddling up to my natal Pluto, bringing its cheery-leading to my personal Hades. Yay! Rah! Rah! Boom… did something or someone just explode?

Usually it’s me imploding…

then wait for the dust to settle…

sort through the debris…

for a surviving remanent or revenant…

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“The dead die hard, trespassers on the beyond, they must take the place as they find it, the shafts and manholes back into the muck, till such time as the lord of the manor incurs through his long acquiescence a duty of care in respect of them. They are free among the dead by all means, then their troubles are over, their natural troubles. But the debt of nature, that scandalous post-obit on one’s own estate, can no more be discharged by kicking the bucket than descent can be made into the same stream twice. This is a true saying.”
― Samuel Beckett

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Whatever is left…

is right…

at the beginning of a new cycle…

which may well just be a rehash of an old one, and I’ll end up here again, but maybe it will be a circle which has evolved itself a little bit or a little less… spiraling up or down instead of just going around and around,

either way,

after the shocks,

those wheels which keep turning…

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those little circles within keep going even after we’ve stopped.