All posts here are from sections of the books: "North Node Astrology; Rediscovering Your Life Direction and Soul Purpose" and "Lifting the Veil; Becoming Your Own Best Astrologer" and "Astrology for the Third Act of Life" and finally "Saturn Returns~The Private Papers of A Reluctant Astrologer" All available in paperback, Kindle and Audible on Amazon.com

To inquire about readings or for more articles on the North/South Nodes, go to: https://www.NorthNodeAstrology.com

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Lindisfarne to Whitby










Dear Kendra~

I’m so sorry I dropped our writing correspondence when all this happened with Sophie. I suspect with your Moon in Cancer, squaring Pluto, you might be sensitive to anything that feels like abandonment or neglect. If I hadn’t finally phoned you from Lindisfarne to catch up on my “disappearance” I would have felt very guilty! But here we are again, and I will get over my private feelings of needing to keep up any appearances –-even in the holding of the teacher/mentor persona….that ‘persona’ part of me that likes having it “all together” just because I’m teaching astrological correspondences. As you know, a persona is a mask, and astrologically we see it described in the Rising Sign, but even with my courageous Aries rising, I feel that I am as much a “Foolish Warrior” as a “Wise Woman.”



Since we last spoke, Sophie got out of the hospital and joined Alistair and I for a few days at Lindisfarne. The first night she was back, the Christian ‘retreatants’ did a healing prayer circle for her that touched my heart, and seemed to do wonders for Sophie. As we stood in a circle with our arms and hands touching each other, it felt as if there was such a connecting energy with spirit, that I must admit--- it just about undid my old religious skepticism, and even my ideas about “how it all is and how it’s always going to be” between us as a family. I guess you could say I felt hope. I know now I want to be reconnected with Alistair and Sophie again— in a different way. I see now how much I need to deepen my sense of faith in “Spirit”—perhaps that’s why I’ve been a bit of a reluctant astrologer…



Today I was thinking how astrologers come from all religious traditions…yet astrologers have always been the “black sheep” in any religious or political systems, yet we seem to enjoy our position as “honored outsiders” and have managed not to be slaughtered too often…except with the great holocaust of the witches and midwives! In other eras, we’d be kept in a “private position” by Kings and Popes and Statesmen, but people usually prefer to keep their private astrologers to themselves. We’re a bit taboo….



Anyway, Alistair and I spent a lot of time walking around this “holy isle” yesterday and soaking in all its sunlit quaintness. There are monastery ruins here that go back to the 7th century, founded by St Aidan, and we learned about the hermit and healer, St Cuthbert, and how he used solitude as his way of connecting to Christ. And…I heard Alistair muttering at some point (quoting Krishnamurti,) about how “Truth is a pathless land” when an over-zealous pilgrim was showing us a sacred site.



You know, I actually like Alistair’s blend of Buddhist philosophy and Krishnamurti (you remember him?--the anti-guru Guru who was so popular in the sixties and seventies?). Alistair’s beliefs move him out of religion into “spirituality” anchor him in the present moment. Being aware and awake in the NOW is what’s so important for him, and I like that. But he doesn’t allow himself to “get astrology” and I don’t think Sophie quite understands either of us. As you know, astrology is about the ability to think symbolically and to make connections between different levels of consciousness—between the inner and the outer life. Synchronistic connections. And maybe it’s up to me to find the connecting threads between Alistair, Sophie and me. And for me to pay more attention to what Jung called “the Self”—the inner Self.



Anyway, as the day was winding down, around sunset, the wind picked up into quite a howl, so we found refuge in a little pub in town—and that’s when Alistair told me that he’s leaving for Zurich, Switzerland tomorrow! For a Krishnamurti gathering…a conference.



“So where does that leave us?” I asked him, astonished by this unexpected news.



“It’s up to you….I don’t know. Would you and Sophie like to go there?” He seemed a little nervous.



“Of course, that would be nice, but why would Sophie want to go there? And do you really want me there?” Some of my skepticism returned. He nodded yes, but I could feel a reluctance there.



“Or…” I began, “Maybe Sophie and I could go south to Whitby first, and then make our way slowly to you…. do you remember our trip there when we were first married? Do you remember St Hilda’s monastery on those cliffs towering above the ocean? Whitby was where the Christian Celts and the Roman Catholics had their big “show-down”–the Synod of Whitby-- where the pagan-Christian Celts lost “philosophically” to the Roman Catholics. There’s such a numinous feeling in the monastery ruins there—how they sit so high on the cliffs overlooking the sea. What do you think?”



Alistair nodded his head thoughtfully. We smiled like we were cooking up a scheme or a broth of spiritual treats for Sophie. “Women were such a big part of the Celtic Christianity then, and maybe the romance of Whitby could create a bridge…maybe Sophie and I could go there first, and then…..” I trailed off trying to imagine into the future and stared up at another Celtic Cross on the far wall—even in the dark pub—(!) and thought how much it looked like Jung’s mandalas. “Maybe we could go from there to visit you….and see Jung’s house outside of Zurich?”



“Maybe….! But take it slowly, Isabelle, see how it goes…. I’ve planned to be there for awhile. You know how those gatherings are….but, yes, I’d love to have you both come….”



And so, I turned to Alistair and gave his hand a squeeze. All I could think of at that moment, was Thoreau’s words: “We are constantly invited to be who we are.” And who would that be now?



So, dear Kendra, that’s how it’s been going! Send me news of you~

Love,

Isabelle

Private Journal at Lindisfarne









I’m here—on the “Holy Island” of Lindisfarne staying at the room Sophie reserved for herself at the Christian Retreat Center, while she’s at the hospital on the main-land. This is all too strange. There’s a lovely Celtic Cross hanging above the wooden writing table, and I love the feel of it here—I can even see the white-capped ocean waves through the diamond leaded glass windows. But—it also feels like some horrid dream. This is not the way I would have wanted to visit this mystical place…I should have been traveling with Sophie, not alone, not this way—and not with Alistair in the next room.



The plane from Boston landed early this morning, and I didn’t get to the hospital till noon. Sophie was conscious although looking exhausted—who wouldn’t be after a concussion? And her right arm was hurting her— the monk from the abbey who pulled her out of the water twisted it slightly—he must have been very strong to be able to carry her to the mainland, and then—what a dear-- he carried her on foot, straight-way to the hospital! They say he’s been living here on Lindisfarne for thirty years.



Sophie managed a shy smile when I entered her room. As I hugged her, my eyes filled with tears…tears of the fear and guilt of a mother who hadn’t saved her daughter. Instead, Sophie had to console me, telling me she was fine, really fine, but she didn’t look fine. And I didn’t even notice at first that Alistair was already sitting there, leaning over with his head in his hands, a slight distance from her bed. Talk about strange…what a way for Sophie to see her parents together again after five years! Alistair’s hair looked wispier and grayer, and he didn’t seem as put-together as he used to look, but he still had the Irish cap in his lap…the one I had given him the year before we separated. My heart went out to him—and then pulled back as I struggled to find words….



Alistair had always been good with quick words, with his Gemini Moon and Sagittarius Rising, but all his Gemini “airiness” and Sagittarian self-confidence was overshadowed by the detached coolness often expressed by his Aquarius Sun. When I was ill and going through menopause, he hadn’t known how to be there for me. The day I told him I had to drive to Boston to find out definitively whether I had breast cancer of not, he said didn’t want to “support me in my fear” as this was my drama, not his. A friend went with me instead, as I found out I was not a victim of cancer, but to a broken heart. I left Alistair soon after that day, and it’s now been five years. No divorce, but little connection. He moved to Ojai, California to the Krishnamurti Center there, and I opened my astrology office in the historic section of Newport, Rhode Island. No divorce, but no connection, except through Sophie.



Alistair hadn’t been able to listen--but now here we were again, staring at each other—feeling everything, and neither of us had any words. My Libra nature couldn’t balance or harmonize anything, in fact, it felt like the weirdness factor had just gone off the charts. There was no way to make this look normal. Here we were: Isabelle, the astrologer meets again with Alistair, the Buddhist-Krishnamurti-ite, over the bedside of their Christian fundamentalist daughter who’s apparently had a near-death experience.



“Anyone for tea?” the nurse sprightly asked as she rushed into the room with her request for the tradition of British civility--we all burst into laughter. It felt so sweet for a moment, and I swear the caffeine in the pot of Earl Gray tea felt like a small miracle.





As we fumbled around talking as “normal” as possible and it seemed as if Sophie was becoming more and more pleased that we were both there. She had hated our separation, never understood it, and—for a moment I imagined this as a grand strategy to reunite us. Sophie was a bright, moody, and sometimes manipulative Scorpio—I’d never say that to her or to my Scorpio student, dear Kendra! But after our tea and awkward conversation of basic facts that made no sense-- Sophie convinced us that she was doing well enough, that Alistair and I should go and get some rest— stay out on the island for a few days since we had come so far. It made about as much sense as everything else, so we agreed and left together.



As if traveling 4000 miles to see your near-drowned daughter and ex-husband wasn’t weird enough, here’s where I lost my mind! When we got back to the place where we could have driven out to the island, we found we had missed the opportunity to get there as the fast tides had covered the road, and had landlocked the island yet again, so we were told we were going to have to wait till the next morning.



“Well,” I said to Alistair, “Let’s walk out together and see what Sophie was trying to do…on her pilgrimage and all that—“ So we began walking around in the cold inlet with our pants rolled up, feeling the powerful surge of the waters rushing around our legs and the pebbly sands trying to bury our feet. What were we doing? Trying to relive her experience?



Suddenly I felt Alistair’s hand take mine--“Isabelle, I don’t think our story is over yet.” His voice was a whisper, tentative, questioning. I didn’t know what he was talking about at first, but as I looked up I could see tears in his eyes. I squeezed his hand while staring down at the swirling waters at our feet. I wondered: how does one let go of five years of separation, of grieving? Does forgiveness happen in an instant? And so we stood there, looking like a distant portrait of two children holding hands in the ocean, till someone started yelling at us and summoning us back to shore. We pleaded with them to take us by small boat to the island…..



And now, I sit at this desk, writing in my journal, trying to make sense of things…with Alistair in the next room to me….each in our own monk’s cell.



I am shocked that we are all “feeling together” again. When Alistair and I separated, we used to talk about his inability to know what he was feeling and express it—or even to listen with his heart instead of his head. Alistair’s South Node in the pragmatic sign of Capricorn and North Node in Cancer, would have had a hard time embracing the emotionality/sensitivity of his North Node Cancer. He was very much a left-brain man, as a craftsman and arm-chair philosopher--- but me? Since when is a Libra woman with an Aries Moon, such a “feeler” anyway? —I’m more of a spiritual warrior if anything. Even if my Sun in Libra conjuncts Neptune, it doesn’t mean I’m so empathic or freed from my own illusions. Hmph. And my South Node in Scorpio would get sucked into dark drama at times, and forget the healing pull and serenity of my Taurus North Node.



Well, writing seems to help sort it all out…. Or does it? I feel dizzy with shifting sands, silence…fear. How can I write Kendra about this? How do I keep up my teaching Wise Woman persona with her when my world is dissolving and shifting too rapidly for words? I’m exhausted. Sleep calls….

Monday, September 13, 2010

Lindisfarne














Oh Kendra~


I got a call from the British hospital late last night about Sophie. She had gone on “pilgrimage” to Lindisfarne—which she’d never told me about— I had no idea that her dream to walk to the Holy Island ‘through the waters’ to her sacred site meant crossing dangerous undertows of incredibly fast tides. I had no idea she planned to walk at night, by herself through the waters—it was a New Moon last night, and it must have been very dark. I still don’t know if she knew how many “pilgrims” had died this way; people like her, who didn’t swim, and got caught in the undertow.

Was she risking all for God? Was she depressed? Manic? Suicidal or---“enraptured”?



I’m leaving tomorrow….they said she had a concussion and was barely conscious by the time someone found her and pulled her out of the water—she had lashed herself by her belt to a pole that wasn’t that far from the island.



I feel so ashamed. I never told you that my daughter, Sophie is a Christian fundamentalist; the ‘only daughter of an astrologer’—ah... I feel Sophie must feel ashamed of me. Why do these beliefs come between us? Why did she go there? Was she hoping to become more…..faithful?



Will write more when I find out what’s happened….I’m off to England, to Lindisfarne, to the nearest little hospital in “Berwick-on-Tweed”. I wonder if they contacted her father, Alistair too—I can’t imagine seeing him again after five years….and meeting him this way.

!!!~ Isabelle

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Dear Kendra, Sept 5th





Dear Kendra~

I just found this poem I wrote for Alistair and I, years before our separation, and it made me cry. I wrote it after we returned from a trip to France, and I believe there was a wonderful Neptune/Venus aspect happening at the time.



Neptune rules nostalgia, film and photographs, yearning, illusions, and combined with Venus it nurtures romantic idealism at its best. I remember thinking Alistair and I would be together always…such a sense of severance I feel now…



I called the Poem “Old Photographs” as I was imagining us looking together at photographs in years to come—and now it has been over two years that we’ve been apart. I don’t know how we will ever come around to finalizing the separation into a divorce; I certainly can’t do it. It all makes me sad. This must be part of Saturn conjuncting my Sun in the 7th house of marriage. Since Saturn takes over 2 years to travel through each section of the chart, each house, I wonder how it will play out for us? I suppose Saturn here is also capable of re-uniting us, but I haven’t seen signs of it…



Old Photographs

"I was in the café, sitting in front of the potted geraniums

wearing the straw hat I just bought.

I was writing a postcard to my mother

when I looked up to see the shadows

of the early autumn evening

dancing on the stucco walls.



Then you walked by—you were taking pictures of the light.

I watched you… trying to imagine what you were seeing there.

And then you turned your gaze on me

and shot this one here—

a little out of focus—but it was then that I saw them—

the tenderest eyes I’d ever seen.



Look. This is where we found ourselves standing later

by the edge of the river—the one Van Gogh painted.

We walked for hours feeling Van Gogh.

You talked apertures, lens and focus.



This was the hotel, Le D’Arlatan…

Do you remember wandering the back streets—

lost in the cobbled labyrinths—

till we found ourselves here?



The oversized antique bed held expectations. I felt shy.

You said—“Pull the curtains,” and I pulled the heavy curtains back.

I read you a poem by candlelight.

You smiled right into my soul—then served us farmer’s wine

in the opalescent glasses we’d bought that day.



I put the photographs down.

“It was so good,” you say.

“Like the wisp of a dream I can barely remember.”

I lean into your eyes; those milky apertures

transparent with the film of a lifetime.



Now, I offer you wine and pull the curtains open

catching the last dance of light on the peach colored walls.

You put on the old songs…

We sit in chairs by the window,

admiring the blue hydrangeas

our knees will touch, and we will speak about how

the quality of light makes everything different

and everything the same." ~



With love,

Isabelle