Pink of Perfection

I first fell for Julie when she came over to me during down dog. She told me to spread out more, to take the pose in a longer stance. “You’re strong,” she said, by way of reasoning or encouragement. It’s the same thing the pediatrician said when I had childhood asthma. They say it, and I want to make it so. And so I like to think it was a miracle of the mind-body connection that I didn’t have asthma for long (not because, you know, we stopped spending dry, cold winters at super high altitudes), and that, because Julie says I’m strong, my down dog is as mighty as a stretching Great Dane.

Julie gives these great talks at the outset of class that transform me into a beatific light-filled, hippie-freedom cornball. It feels amazing. (More evidence I’m getting old?) The last two classes have focused on the cinematic happenings in the night sky. Last night, there was a lunar eclipse, the moon glowing a hazy red at 3AM, she reported. Tonight is the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, and, if you can believe it, also a full moon. This is all very rare––though there’s some debate about how rare––but regardless, it’s something to be jazzed about. Today is a very powerful day of darkness.

Astrologers, according to Julie, consider eclipses like portals. Like a black hole/white hole mirror image, they both absorb what’s not working for you anymore and renew a sense of purpose within you. How glorious is that? It’s like cosmically cleaning out your closet, getting rid of those dresses that don’t fit anymore, the skirt that was either deeply cool or a little fugly, and rediscovering that amazing puffy-sleeve sweater you’d forgotten all about. We always have the opportunity to walk through a doorway of change. But there’s something especially encouraging when the stars reinforce our efforts.

Last night, very late, my friend Alison and I decided to cut the tarot deck. “Let’s just shuffle the cards,” I said, “and draw one out, like a mini-reading.” We were full of Alison’s winning success with Thomas Keller’s roast chicken and root vegetables and champagne cocktails (both equally golden and delicious). We were feeling very end-of-the-year, very what-will-2011-hold? We were looking for signs.

I shuffled and shuffled, cut the deck, and flipped a card over: it was The Star. Now, I really don’t know squat about tarot, but even just from the looks of it, you can tell this is a beautiful card. It reminded of Vermeer’s milk maid and the kneeling figure in the background of Luncheon on the Grass. We flipped to the explanatory page in Alison’s  Learning the Tarot book. The Star is about serenity, trust, rejuvenation, and hope. It’s about feeling inspired, loving freely, and being generous. One blog explained it like this: “Take heart, be at peace, and know that all is well.”

It’s a feeling that can pop up in the most unusual places: In the face of chaos, devastation, loss, or uncertainty, we can be ambling down the street or standing in line at the grocery store when we are overcome by a sense that everything’s going to be all right. The first time I can remember this happening, I was riding a train north from Naples, lonely and lovelorn. Looking out the window at a bare winter landscape, there it was: everything will be all right. And again, as I’ve written here before, when my mom was being treated for cancer, there it was again: everything will be all right. And now, with so much uncertainty about what’s coming next for me, I feel all right. The Star couldn’t have come at a better time.

I feel bad for winter sometimes. It’s so hated and misunderstood, and it gets gets short shrift on symbolism; it’s so easy to just see the world as dead during winter. But my image of this cold, dark season is one still so tied to an illustration from a children’s book I saw twenty years ago or more. In a dark and cozy cave, a bear, thick with fur, sleeps. His tummy is full, his lair is warm; he’s just resting up for what comes next. I like to think of winter as a time to turn inward, to stoke the fire. With the darkest night upon us, what better night could there be to let that light glow?

Image: Kali