“Pluto Transits Your Sun: Brace Yourself—It’s Like a Cosmic Price Check on Your Soul, and Honey, The Bill’s Coming!”
Added on May 8, 2025 inASTROLOGY CARDS
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Ever find yourself tangled in a psychological labyrinth so twisted it makes the Minotaur look like child’s play? Welcome to my world — where power dynamics blur, memories resurface, and old flames return from the metaphorical dead, dragging along shadows and stories that refuse to stay buried. With Pluto flexing its transformative muscles today, stripping away the surface like a stubborn onion, it’s the perfect cosmic backdrop for unraveling what lurks underneath our veils — taboo, trauma, and all. Sometimes, the darkest journeys are the ones that deliver the most surprising kind of healing, especially when the person holding your secrets is the last one you’d expect to still have that kind of hold on you. Ready to dive in? Hold onto your pristine white dress; things are about to get real. LEARN MORE
I eventually got comfortable with the soldier having this leg up on me. I realized, I needed him to recover my memories. The fact my sister and I was gone through a similar process, when we went to therapy, jointly, but separately, helped.
If this sounds like a tremendous imbalance of power, that really wasn’t the case. Here is the case…. as written by me, in 2003. It’s an old blog post.
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“….Well for awhile there every day and at some points, every few hours, it seemed I was finding a new low. Not depression, mind you. I’m not even remotely depressed. I’m talking about the underworld. I’ve been caught in a sort of psychological labyrinth that is simultaneously repulsive and appealing. Taboo, baby! Textbook Pluto.
There have been various happenings. There have been some deaths, and people close to me are gaining power… (i.e. Ben and others). HQ has showed up on deck and had enormous impact on my life, but at this point, the old beau is what is acute for me. He’s the primary agent of the universe sent to facilitate this process which is profoundly profound, very personal, and more than I can assimilate in real time which is why the void on the blog.
Let’s see. We’ve been out of contact for more than twenty years, so what do you expect? You expect to encounter each other and think, “what the fuck was I thinking with this person” followed by polite retreat. Well, that’s not what happens here. Instead, three days pass. Three emails are exchanged and the bond we had then constellates in the present day, just BAM! We blink and the trust that was unshakable back then, still is.
I’m learning about my 17 year old self and it’s traumatic. It helps that he loves me. He loved me then and he loves me now, so whatever I did back then is okie doke even though it’s sometimes brutal to absorb. I did what? I said what? Oh brother. ::rolls eyes::
It’s painful to acknowledge the level of my own vulnerability at that age, for starters. It’s also hard to learn that I was some fuckin’ operator, I’ll tell you. I may be a desert turnip off a truck but I was a psychologically sophisticated one. I was sweet, and I was naive, but I was also quite cunning and this is glaringly apparent. We didn’t know it then, but we know it now. I know it and so does he, so you know what that means. He’s got the major goods on me, which is delicious while excruciating. Le petit mort.
So on the Pluto front, here comes a man back from the dead. When he shows up, parts of me are recovered. I learn I’ve been at the periphery of his consciousness for all these years. I’ve been an arm length away and it’s shocking. It hurts my head. I’ve stayed with him his whole life, so it’s obvious I had tremendous power back then and this is news to me.
It’s disturbing news in many ways. We all like to think of ourselves the way we like to think of ourselves and he is showing me sides of myself I routinely repress. Yeah, I may be cutely hapless but that is so much veneer and doesn’t begin to tell the story.
Then there’s the death. He’s dripping in it and he’s telling me his stories. Years in Special Forces, he’s seen plenty and he writes like I do. This stuff is graphic on its face, but he doesn’t flinch when he tells. He’s not telling some, he’s telling all, and I receive the astonishing result (often with pictures to match).
Then I have to cope. Not just with my reactions to the stories, (I’m attracted and repulsed) but with my feelings for him. Get it? He’s not some anonymous person telling stories that are removed from me. He’s someone I’ve loved deeply and completely and although he was always powerful, I have tender memories of him, vivid and sweet, and all of this crashes together in my psyche.
He says I’m the only one he can tell and that’s no shit. These are not stories you can tell at a party. These are stories that send people running in the other direction. I have my own stories of this type so I know this firsthand. And I know these stories are like the hydra. They’ve got to see the light of day or the person trying to contain them is just fucked. What do you do when you have a thousand stories inside you that no one can stand to hear? Well it’s painful that’s all. It eats you up.
You have to find someone who will let you talk, and I have. All of my stories have all been aired one way or the other. Either through therapy, friends, writing, the FBI, and various other ways. I told it all, ten years ago, so I have intimate understanding of this process and what going through it will get you. Like mine, his stories are off the page, so basically I’m seeing I’m uniquely equipped to assist him though I admit some of the stuff sends me reeling.
He says I shouldn’t internalize the stories. He suggests I slough them off, but I think he’s dreaming. Some of it is going to penetrate one way or the other, and if I don’t actually “receive” what he sends… Well you can’t tell stories like these and have them fall into some kind of void. I have to hear them, process them, and come back with response, otherwise he’ll feel vacuumed out and I don’t want that. The healing is in the exchange, I’m sure of it.
I told him to puke it up, and I’d dump the bucket, bring him back some fresh water, and then we’d do it again. He said it’s going to take a while and I told him to take his time because we’d probably live another forty years.
They say Pluto strips you down. It strips away all things surface, often violently in order to expose the true self. I see this process happening on many levels and one thing that’s coming clear to me is I am one hell of a trauma nurse. Oh, I don’t do so well with blood in real life, but if you’re talking violence, crisis and taboo, then I’m your gal!
Part of me feels like Clarice Starling, except he’s no monster. He’s totally not that, however, he’s definitely an extreme human being, here to show me that I am same.
See, this is what kills me (Pluto word there).
I’m learning that he’s who he is, but it was me who took him deeper. This was true then and it’s true now.
::wipes brow::
So much for my pristine white dress.
Sometimes people wonder how I do what I do. Well this is how. I pet the black dog, as they say. I go right to what hurts the most and I be with it until it evens out. I don’t give a shit how long it takes, how many tears fall, or any other thing. I like this life and I’m showing up.
And the blog? Well I vacillate. Some days I want to protect the reader here, and other days I want to protect myself. Most days though, I just think this is a process that will have a better result if I hold my cards close to my chest. This is mostly because I’m holding someone else’s cards now and I’ve got that mother gene, don’t I?
Yes, I do.
And I don’t want to come off as a do-gooder, even though this is what I am. I’m in service for sure, but it goes in both directions. I’ll tell you something really cool about someone like him (and someone like me). You can say anything you want and we’re not going to run screaming from the room. We’re peers in this way, so you know what that means. It means that he can talk, and so can I. He’s the safest most dangerous person I know. Isn’t that a trip?
I love it.
To be continued
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