Unlike Western astrology, Chinese astrology is based on birth year, not birth month. Moreover, its focus is on the concept of fate and then works towards "cures" to change the most probable fate. To learn more about Chinese zodiac signs, click here. The Lunar New Year , starting Jan. Lighthouse furthered that this charm should be carried until February 9, There are several animals that are universal for good luck. Lighthouse offered more advice and mentioned that people wanting to start a business should consider carrying a horse charm. For more abundance in life, individuals may choose to carry a pig charm, while a dragon is recommended for safety during travel.
Users can visit FengShuiShopper. The website also provides information about Chinese astrology, as well as free horoscope predictions. This press release was issued through eReleases R.
What are you willing to risk to know more? It would be impossible not to notice that underneath all the gathering, all the parsing of visual stimuli, signified and signifier, there was pain. Yours and mine. A quiet thing. As if what was found and righted out there will serve as instruction manual.
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We know people are not their living situations, their jobs, their books, and certainly not their significant others. But, these are the parts of our lives we use as scaffolding. We start from the outside and look for whatever gives us structure and encloses us in its meaning.pierreducalvet.ca/86708.php
Weekly Horoscope – Lighthouse Feng Shui
If the structure is maintained and built intentionally it will do well to shelter the building. The building in the center, which is us, remains. The building is inherently a site of beauty and ruin. It wants to be rebuilt, supported, and modeled in its best interest. The scaffolding of your life will not do any of those things for you.
When you are a creature who lives in water and traverses land, you know the difference between a life lived subject to turbulent waves and a life exposed to birds of prey. Seagulls, too, become birds of prey, as do fishermen and careless wanderers. Comparatively, the sea is familiar, you feel the currents shift through you and move with them, you dig deep inside the sand and wait. But, in this life nothing is as familiar as you want it to be and even our most intimate landscapes will shift right from under us.
Everything you feel and have felt is not everything you know. One is always subject to what some of us call fate and what the rest of us call circumstance.
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This is the year of accountability, of pushing yourself to take note of where you are and what has gotten you here and at what cost. This is the moment when I tell you, Cancer, that although there is much unwritten in our lives—our circumstances are subject to our will.
Just as our nation must look unflinchingly at who represents us now and how we, as citizens, are culpable, so too must you look head on at the god of your life. What is the driving force of your decisions? Is it love? Is it fear? If this country insists on stealing the truth from us, we must do our damnedest to live in our truth. On the surface of the sea, the waves argue and the sun beats down. Let go the past and your past self in it, then you are ready to serve the higher good. Are people up? Otherwise, how did such heavy souls find each other and in finding each other generate so much lightness?
I post a small grief relating to my mother and dozens of women answer, pulling from their own well of loss. I am reminded, again and again, that loneliness can be a mood, an invoked state. When we walk through darkening streets alone, I am calling you and you are calling me, soon one of us will answer—something we both know and are better for it.
Love brought you here and it keeps you here—but love is a child you raise in the house of yourself. Behold pleasure, behold betrayal, behold the beauty of expectation—the hopefulness of it in such a hopeless world. On the patchy green gay magnet that is Dolores Park, we were in the summer of our discontent.
We loved those idle clouds and furrowed our brows at love, its magnitude of destruction, its lure. I wrote the poems walking to you and read them reclining in the grass, you said they were good when they were not good. Remember Pride? How my ex sat down with the girl she was leaving me for on the scarf I had spread on the grass?
I stared, amazed at how much pain a gesture so small could evoke. You were livid for me, shooting off sparks. We walked around the block punching the air and swigging Jameson.
I think about that time as a time of truth. We were in a city that was not ours but would later become yours , risking more than we had to risk. We had come because of relationships but something else too. A deep need to fight for the world we want to have or could have if we just believed hard enough. Then the moon left you but all those feelings resonate, stay. It has taken you so many years to get exactly where you are and, in many ways, those years have served to clear the debris so you can begin the most important journey of your life.
Sometimes, I would wake up with it already gripping my heart. Today I left my apartment and started walking north. I knew I would eventually come to the most Southern point of Prospect Park. At the archway, I was struck with the memory of my first girlfriend who had lived just across the street from that very entrance.
Like a time-traveler, I felt my body become soft and the years pull away. Suddenly it was 6am on a summer morning twelve years ago, I had stayed up all night watching her sleep and slipped out with the first sliver of light.
There she was, wearing pajama pants running out after me, asking me to come back, calling me her pretty faggot and fingering my velvet blazer from the night before. She was asking me to believe that she could love me. So many times, I said goodbye to her at that archway, a visceral memory of her boy-body swaying toward and away from mine. Today, I walked past the arch and toward the pond. Now, a swan moved across the muddy surface, a handful of geese spraying each other at the bank.
I sat on a bench nearby, very aware of how cold the air felt. A gesture of what? A circle. You have loved before; you have felt greater sorrow and greater joy.
I want to admit to you that I spent the morning listening to women singing folk songs. And, of course, most of those songs I listened to were about love. Well, not love exactly. Sort of around love or love as a kind of path we walk around ourselves. To listen for the call of lightness is not easy, but you can try.
The trying is a beautiful work. In a field by a farm or wooded area, the sound of lightness might come.
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I have heard it in the tongue of a donkey named Romeo, licking a brick of salt over and over. The rasp of it. And, the horse that Romeo protected, there was lightness when the horse stood still and breathed out softly as I ran my hands over its flank. They will run their hands through their hair and glance up at you and make you feel wise and fragile all at once—like yeah, maybe you should fuck someone but, also, the flowers are breaking through the earth right now.
Some because of the rain, some in spite of it. The tears well in her eyes without brimming over. When I look at her, I see her present self and her past self. I see the young queer who moved to NYC in search of truth. Who was raised Mennonite, that is, who was home-schooled and sheltered and imagined her own queerness out of the secret of her heart and ran toward it. Bleached her hair, made lattes, earned a leather jacket from an on-and-off-again lover. At the bar, I hold her for a while because she lets me. The shape of our future selves change all the time because we want them to.
And, of course there are days when our future selves seem impossibly difficult to fathom. You are never not on your path. Time works on you, cities affect you, childhoods instill difficult mechanisms of avoidance, but who you are—oh, that is a knowing that never leaves you, that always drives you. It is also a gift to have a friend who, no matter how much you disagree with her, will never allow that disagreement to breed hostility between us. Sometimes the terrible thing is the thing that remains.