Spring Horoscope: Venus Rises, Tend Your Tender Roots

Image by Tilly Roice in creative partnership with The Light & The Weight

Image by Tilly Roice in creative partnership with The Light & The Weight

I remember my oldest brother coming home after signing senior yearbooks in the lead-up to his high school graduation. I was in 6th grade at a ripe 12 years old. He was poking fun at a classmate who had written in my brother’s copy, “NEVER CHANGE.” I recall him saying how bizarre and unfair a thing that is to say to somebody. As if staying who you are defines nobility itself!

At my age I had difficulty finding the problem. If I had the language then, my reply might have been, “What’s so wrong with staying true to yourself, particularly if that core has gotten good reviews?!” Now I realize this memory has followed me as witness to its own quiet resolution.

How strange indeed it is to insist that the people in our lives never change — to thrust upon each other unconscious expectations of steadiness — likely in an effort to feel more at ease ourselves. In doing so we inadvertently silence one of our most fundamental human rights: the freedom to discover who we are; to move from place to place in our own universal psyche, all the while filling corners and shading gaps — making meaning.

To discover who we are is not some “thing” we reach, much less something we can grab ahold of. Yet unfortunately this rather plain assumption is kneaded deep in the bread basket of America. If I had the mind at my early age, I would have seen the paradox behind my boyish confusion: to stay who we are is to continuously unfurl. And nobility of character is not found in our strange ideas of “staying who you are” but in the radical honesty it takes to commit yourself to truly know yourself.

To discover who we are is to first accept the premise of its elusive nature. This requires an evolutionary lens that runs counter to our culture and gives equal credence to letting go and bridging-the-now — to the natural and necessary balance of creation and destruction.

Even as I write now, I’m made aware of the subtle cultural shame still lurking on the bottom edges of my heart. The shame of losing friends I never meant to; of becoming someone I couldn’t have predicted; the grief involved of learning to say goodbye just as often as I say hello.

Let our shame speak, as it tells us truths that our minds have forgotten by condition. Our shame demands to be felt, but then asks to be let go. How else are we to free ourselves to live and learn our highest potential? If not to acknowledge our potential’s past, present and future as One? As already whole?

I give you permission to say goodbye, to invite the new, to cycle through. Because I need that same permission, too.