Gifted astrologer Lois Rodden taught that Jupiter–planet of abundance and good fortune–is often involved in death charts, because from the soul’s point of view, death is a liberation, a passport to a new journey. Michael Jackson died just as the sky’s current Jupiter/Neptune conjunction moved into a beneficial trine with Jackson’s natal Jupiter. Jackson was born under a Jupiter/Neptune conjunction, which, according to Reinhold Ebertin, can incline one to be a dreamer, a visionary, someone who’s artistically talented, generous, loving, and interested in moulding and shaping things. This combination can also make one idealistic to the point of being unrealistic, easily seduced, someone vulnerable to scandals, or constantly misunderstood by others. I’ve heard Jackson described in all of these ways. But the one thing nobody misunderstood was just how gifted he was–and how blessed we all were to be in a world where Michael danced and sang.

Family vacation—two words that have long inspired such terror in me, that when I told my 16-year-old son we’d be driving to the IONS conference on global transformation with my partner Robert and his kids, I was shamed by his bright reply: “Oh boy, my first real vacation!” Had I been ruled by my past that long? I remember childhood vacations, trapped in a car made miserable by my parents’ bitter relationship, with my sister and I drawing furious lines in the back seat, “This is my side, don’t cross it!” Every town was a nest of tension, arguments and disappointment as my mother glared, “You’re supposed to be having fun!”

At least that’s how I remember it. Cancer rules the moon, family, and memory, and now, being over fifty years old, I understand that memory is flimsy and unreliable. Who knows what really happened. It’s the stories we tell ourselves about the past that become as durable as the crab’s shell, as confining as a prison. It’s what I keep recalling about family vacations that makes me terrified.

So now I embark anew, having what I lacked as a child: a hard-won ability to break through self-limiting perceptions with fresh awareness. It’s spiritual work to say: “Oh, that was then, it doesn’t have to be true now!” And it hasn’t been. We’ve traveled three days and over 900 miles, two adults trading off at the wheel, with a sixteen-year-old, a seventeen year-old, and a twelve year old in the back seat. We’ve all melted down at least once, but unlike my traumatic past, where wounds festered and joy dissolved, this time, everyone recovers quickly, forgiving and forgetting, and having fun. What a concept! So at this Cancer New Moon, I have a simple yet wonderful thing to celebrate: a summer vacation with my family. May your Cancer cycle begin just as remarkably.

As a counseling astrologer, I’m no fan of celebr-astrology. The celebrities don’t seek my counsel. I know little of their inner natures. Still, when a scandal makes the news, I like to stalk the archetypes–that is, discover the god behind the story. So when David Letterman got into trouble this week and had to apologize for his Sarah Palin jokes, I checked Letterman’s chart. Uranus–god of genius and controversy–is conjoining his Pisces Mercury this year. Uranus is quick and can remove the constraints of decency; with Uranus transits, we’re always warned to slow down and avoid getting carried away with our genius. We may spark a revolution or simply raise the dust, as Letterman did when he joked about Palin in NY, going to Bloomingdale’s to buy slutty flight attendant garb, and Bristol getting knocked up by A-Rod. Poor taste? Sure, but in a media world where Bill O’Reilly can declare that Dr. George Tiller deserves his murder, where a Washington Times Op-Ed accuses Obama of a bait-and-switch akin to Adolf Hitler, and where Rush Limbaugh’s outrages are daily reported, Letterman’s poor taste hardly seems worth talking about.

As I predicted, two little envelopes arrived from Blue Cross this week, announcing what the health insurance rates would be for me and Branden this year: a whopping $1200 more than they were last year! Costs have increased every year since I’ve been self-insured, but this jump is particularly phenomenal, especially since my coverage is so minimal. Branden and I together have a collective deductible of $14,000–in other words this is catastrophic insurance only, a privilege for which we must pay more than $4000 each year. My Oregon senator, Ron Wyden, has a pretty good health care initiative, which I’m praying the health care lobbyists don’t send to oblivion. I’m not sure I’ll be able to afford my health insurance premiums when they increase again next year.

I’m behind on my spring cleaning; already I know my summer plans are way too ambitious. Still I’m feeling as gay as a character in a Broadway musical. That’s because my roses are in bloom, a sunny choreography of lavender, burgundy, coral, pink, and cream. Their names are like treasures from afar: Pearl Essence, Moon Shadow, Angel Face, Double Delight. Even the solitary Ole beside the garage shouts when I drive up, “Dance a little!” Mornings I bring my books and journal into the middle of it all, but can hardly write or read. My 401K has shrunk to nothing. I can’t afford college for my son. Still, around my roses, I recall the lines from a Mary Oliver poem: In this world I am as rich / as I need to be.

June’s Full Moon has long been called the “Rose Moon”–for obvious reasons.

Compassion is in the news. But it’s hardly in the headlines. You have to hunt for it; it’s an aside, a footnote, something mentioned in the last paragraph. For example, last month when the story broke about thousands of Irish children being beaten, raped, and routinely humiliated in Catholic reform schools, we learned many heart-breaking details of their abuse. We also briefly heard about the impact of kindness—how profoundly small acts of encouragement, sympathy or understanding had affected some of the victims. Meanwhile in the US, the conversation about torture continues. Amidst calls to release more memos, or those horrific photos, in between the debate about what one should do with a captive terrorist holding knowledge of a ticking bomb, and the sham outrage about what Nancy Pelosi knew and when she knew it, there is usually a sentence or two acknowledging torture simply doesn’t work. What actually makes a prisoner divulge his secrets is compassion: being treated with sympathy and respect. Chiron rules our pain. Neptune rules compassion. Jupiter, now conjunct both in humanitarian Aquarius, has the power to make whatever it touches grow bigger. Why hasn’t our conversation about compassion grown bigger? Sadly, the power of kindness remains just a nice spiritual thought, instead of what it needs to be: the outcry of a new national conscience.

About Dana



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