Warriors, Hyacinths and Skateboarding with Abandon

"Of course we're at war during Aries," an astrologer friend said over coffee. I hate statements like this. We had just stood with over a hundred women, all dressed in black, in the plaza of our small Oregon town. Mothers, daughters, wives-without a speech or placard we simply lined the street in a silent plea for peace. There was no media coverage. Some who drove by honked and gave us a thumbs-up or peace sign. A few yelled "Commies!" or "Go Bush!" Most avoided looking at us altogether.

I spent the first fifteen minutes choking back tears (I sob whenever I vote in national elections too). I decided to meditate, counting my breaths. My feet were hurting. It was difficult to imagine this was doing anything. Still I couldn't deny it: something powerful was taking place. For those thirty minutes at noon, the women in the crowd were transformed. We became warriors, in the very best sense of the word. We were strong and tall with conviction. We were courageous, impassioned, and kind.

I've lived through almost 50 Aries seasons. Most have not seen wars. Some months I confess I slept through Aries. Those were the years I lived out of season, neglecting to nourish my spirit with the sun. Spring came and went, but I stayed with my doldrums, daring neither to desire nor challenge myself. Other springs I was motivated: I wanted nothing short of dramatic renewal. I planted a vegetable garden, worked out at the gym five days a week, took a class in something entirely new, sent out my resume to new opportunities. Then there were the giddy Springs, when I was in love, or hoped I might be soon. Aries life force stirs sexuality too.

This season I'm spinning through all these options. As the world scene grows more threatening, I contemplate drawing the covers over my head, thinking of T.S. Eliot's "April is the cruelest month…" Then suddenly I want to leap into action. I want to cut through ignorance and negativity, raise my faith and optimism. I want to lose ten pounds, eat healthier, weed the garden, love my partner and children with a stronger, more compassionate, more playful heart. I sniff the hyacinths, study the daffodils, start worrying about politics again, look for signs: "What does this Aries season want from me?" A woman walks the country road in front of my house and puts a religious flier in my mailbox: "Ye must be born again," it says.

My son wants me to watch a video with him, about Dogtown, a funky beach community in Southern California in the late sixties. There, the Z Boys, a group of outcast teens, surfed dangerous waves through pier pilings each morning. Afternoons they were daredevils on homemade skateboards (this was decades before skateboards, helmets and knee pads were standard kid equipment). There were no role models. They stole into backyards, drained swimming pools to make their skate parks, and invented the first aerials and verticals. They had no idea what they were doing. They were just doing it. Instinctive. Raw. Full of enthusiasm. Bursting on the scene like the blooms in my garden. "That's Aries!" I realized: Pure life force, not knowing what it's creating, just expressing itself with reckless abandon. A new self being born, again and again.

At fifty, I won't be riding skateboards this Aries season. But I do know what I have to do. I got the signs I was seeking. With no guarantees on the outcomes, I must get into motion. I must midwife my spring rebirth. Whether it's standing in silent protest, reclaiming my health, inspiring my family, or finally getting my rose garden in shape, I must enter it all with reckless abandon, and discover who and what I'll become this year. It's an auspicious time for beginnings -whether as a warrior, a leader, a daredevil, or a pioneer. May we all burst forth like blooms.

Offering to the Personal Collective

Psychologists suggest that each of us has a "sympathy group" of around 12 people, those individuals whose death would leave us truly devastated. Psychologists also suggest we each have a larger group (around 150 people); these are ones we have social ties with, people we wouldn't feel shy about joining if we bumped into them at Starbucks. These groups represent your family and your tribe. Think of them when you make your Aries group offering.