Up Here in Wild Cuntry

It's new moon. I awoke to a shaft of sunlight of biblical proportions screaming down the crotch of the Purcell Mountains. I brewed up my first cup of java in my moka pot, added a splash of Half n Half and gazed east, over glassy Kootenay Lake; enveloped in a world reborn.

Cosmologically, it's an edgy time. I'm not an expert in astrology, but I take notice. We're coming off the upending power of three summer eclipses and August 2nd is the heart of a 36-hour void moon, the same day that Mercury joins five additional planets in retrograde. Mercury, which governs communications and turns plans into snafus, is its own full plate. A 36-hr void moon is an unnerving window. VMs are commonly known as the Murphy's Law of Astrology: if anything can go wrong it will. In the past few weeks, one friend cut his finger tip off with a Skilsaw when he got up late in the day to do "just one more cut." I said, "Hey, let's just sit and watch the sunset!" Had I realized it was a VM I would have screamed, "No!" This week another friend on his bike had a head-on collision with a truck. Void moons, and their strange energetic vibration, now have my attention; particularly this upcoming one, with no planetary safety nets.

A few moments ago I walked to the stream that rushes down the mountainside next to La Perla and snuggled my large quartz crystal under a moss-lined waterfall. I  call upon her vibrational powers to open and clear chakras. Particularly the heart, the throat, the third eye. I plan to be graceful with myself on Tuesday; positioned so that energies can brush up against me and waft with the softness of Tai Chi. I'll use this time to ponder. It is somewhat of a miracle that I am in Kaslo, BC this summer. I wonder why? What's in store, as the influences of a chaotic planet permeate flesh and spirit. As many are brought to gigantic posturing in a last ditch expressions of ego, others dig into the earth, bastion of instinct and common sense. Of primal wisdom.

It's no surprise that women around the world are organizing "slutwalks," reclaiming a word that has subliminally deterred and defaced women for centuries.  Cunt is another. A derivative of the Oriental Goddess Cunti, the Yoni of the Universe, it signified the Goddess' genital opening through which life emerged. In ancient writings the word for "cunt" was synonymous with "woman." It was a holy place.* At last night's Kaslo Jazz Fest singer Toby Beard belted out a salty, erotic song that began with, "It smells like sex in here..." Then Toby told the story of a group of 70-plus old women approaching her after she'd sung that song. She thought they were going to reproach her. Instead they wanted to talk about orgasms.

Here I sit, in pulsating wild cuntry. Bring on that void moon. Let's see what revelations drop in. I might just stay in my jammies on  Tuesday. Or nothing at all. Jousting with the naked truth.

*Thank you Barbara Walker and your Women's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets, one of the most important books ever written.