This Moon Mail will need to be a quick one. Lisa and I are on the road, headed for Florida, where we will be presenting on the 7th and 23rd of this month. October left us feeling like a pin-ball wizards, bouncing from one book signing to the next all over New England. The foliage and blue skies have been incredible, from Maine, Massachusetts and New York, through to Virginia where we are now. The bright, sunny days have helped to bring out the color of the leaves in full measure.
It’s been beautiful.
Blessings to all-
(from May 24th Moon Mail, a personal note.)
“This piece of ground was once part of a New England hayfield. It lies on the southern outskirts of Amherst, Massachusetts, a college and university town, the kind of place that has a fine public school system and a foreign policy. The site has been studied all winter. It commands pretty views. There’s a deep-looking woods on one edge. On another, there’s a pasture, which turns into the precipitous, forested, publicly owned hills known as the Holyoke Range. And to the north and east there’s a panorama. Look north and you will see a hillside orchard topped with two giant maples locally known as Castor and Pollux. Look a little east and your view extends out over a broad valley, all the way to the Pelham hills, which have turned blue at this morning hour.”
The above is from the opening pages of Pulitzer Prize-Winning author Tracy Kidder’s work, House. The location of the house is being described as groundbreaking is about to begin, together with some time-honored rituals about how to invoke the favor of the spirits.
“On every continent and many islands, people used to undertake elaborate rituals when they undertook to build. Augury assisted choices and planing of sites. In northern Ireland, for example, lamps were placed on stones that marked two corners of an incipient house, and the site was deemed safe to build on if the lamps stayed lit for a few nights.”
Kidder’s description of south Amherst is familiar to any who have spent any time in this college town. The Holyoke Range is an east-west range also called the Seven Sisters locally, left by the last glaciers as they melted and retreated north. Castor and Pollux was the site where we drew together over a hundred people on the Harmonic Convergence in ’87 to pray, chant, meditate and sing, welcoming in the Grand Fire Trine and the new vibration that August. House was written about a time four years earlier.
“The air has some winter in it. On this morning in mid-April 1983 a New England spring snow is predicted. The sky looks prepared. It has a whitening look. Several weeks must pass before the dandelions…”
My son Andy was born in mid-April, 1983, on the 11th, about the same time groundbreaking was taking place for the subject of House. Arriving at the editorial offices downtown in the week after his birth, my editor wanted to know,
“What is it?” to which I replied without hesitation,
“A double Aries with a Moon in Pisces!“
I thought that’s what she meant!
“No,” she corrected me. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Oh.” I finally exclaimed. “It’s a boy!”
Both Andy and ‘House‘ represent a thread from this same weave of time. Tracy Kidder lays out his tale chronologically, through the spring, summer and fall, from groundbreaking to final finish work and coat of paint, a done deal.
1983 was a personal turning point. After having worked on hour-long astrology radio shows and daily forecasts since ’78, 1983 was something of a high, with three forecasts daily, five days a week, two from the UMass radio station WMUA, and the other from Greenfield’s WRSI. With Andy’s birth, and a newspaper column now absorbing more of my creative juices, it was time to let go of radio.
The banner for the weekly column reflected radio’s stronger influence at the time.
But back to the book, late in the game, about two-thirds of the way through:
“The first mouse is sighted in the basement, by the plumber, late in August. The house has rooms, windows, a hearth, some plumbing, exterior doors, electricity and heat. It still has plywood floors, which now look old and worn. Odors of mortar and special glues come and go. The house always contains the smell of wood and faint sweetish smells of sweat.
“The station to which the carpenters most often tune their radios offers the weekly predictions of an astrologer, who comes on and says one morning, ‘The moon will sesquiquadrate Venus tomorrow. You might want to watch out for lashing out at someone.’
“Painters have recently appeared on the job, and one of them tells the radio, “The moon’s in Uranus.” An old joke…”
Andy turned 30 this year. These are the intermittent signals from transmissions long, long ago. Still wafting out over the hills, caught in dim reflections of another day and another time, together with the morning mist.
Blessings to all-