Retrograde Reruns

They’re baaaaaaack…

Scream dreams.

Raise your hand if you’re feeling all this retrograde motion in the cosmos!!

I’m honestly not one to hate on retrograde planets, and I’m not really about
to start now. I feel like “retrograde” gets a bad rep…mostly because when
people hear that word, they associate it with Mercury retrograde: car
accidents, exes calling, and general miscommunication.

“Retrograde” really just means that from the perspective of Earth, a planet
looks as though it is moving backwards and away from us. In astrology, this is
interpreted as the time to go inward, a time for introspection. We are easily
distracted from the outside world during these times as our inner worlds are
calling to us directly and more loudly. We are being called to heal inner
wounds, and this often means that triggers may show up in the outside world and
yes, in our dreamworlds. And now that six planets (Mercury, Jupiter, Saturn,
Uranus, Neptune, Pluto) AND Chiron (wounded healer) are currently in this
retrograde motion—it’s safe to say that a LOT is surfacing.

Last night, I dream that I am cleaning inside a house—one that I don’t
recognize from waking life but seem to be familiar with in my dream. I am in the
bedroom upstairs, and a spirit begins to provoke me. I try to throw this blue
water from a cup onto it. The water is blue like I’ve been painting with blue
watercolor paints. I throw the water around on the walls and onto this large
painting that overlooks the foot of the bed. After getting drenched, the painting
begins to warp and curl as it dries.

Then, I am lying in the bed and trying to sleep in that same bedroom. My partner
is downstairs. And a man who I know and really dislike from waking life is in
the room next to me. (This man is a huge trigger for me in real life as he is a
misogynist and all-around creep.) I never actually see this man, but I do sense
his presence.

The spirit begins to walk erratically around me on the bed. I cannot move my
mouth to scream, so I am trying to grunt and yell through my throat for help. I’m
trying to get my partner’s attention to come upstairs. Then the spirit gets under
the covers. The blankets are rising up near me, right beside me, and it looks
super creepy. I’m still trying to scream but can’t.

Finally, I take a huge, deep, long breath and yell, “HELP! HELP!”

And I wake myself up in the middle of screaming this.

When I first wake up, I start laughing a bit uncontrollably—which I know
sounds twisted, but it’s quite an endorphin rush to wake up from a nightmare screaming and suddenly realize it wasn’t “real” life.

After the initial rush, the feelings of what I was processing in my dream
begin to slowly bubble up to consciousness.

My first clue to the meaning is the blue, watercolor-paint-like liquid in
the cup. It reminds me of childhood. And it’s interesting to note that there seem
to be two antagonizing forces in the dream: the spirit who I cannot define or see
(as something incarnate) and the hateful man who I have no control over.

The dream story climaxes as I am increasingly panicking, desperate for help
and protection but unable to find any.

As I am lying in bed, in waking life, rerunning this dream over and over in my mind, I start to think about something unexpected and totally random: the death of our very
first family dog, Frisky.

She was my protector and best friend from infant until almost three years
old. I don’t actually have real, conscious memories of her, but I have seen
photos and videos of us playing together. In one video, I am sitting in a
kiddie pool with lots of cups in the water. I fill the cups up with water and
pour them onto her back. All the while, I am chatting away (in what sounds like
nonsense) to her, deep in conversation with a language of our own.

I do have what I believe to be a memory of the day Frisky died. I remember that
my mom is holding me, and all I see is a flash of concrete steps. And I know
that I feel deeply sad, perhaps the first time I experience a profound loss.

And I cry. I mourn for her—for what I can but mostly for what I cannot even
remember.

This memory begins to spiral for me. I go deeper into the pain and realize this
perpetuating cycle of becoming alone, having no one to look after me. I see
that I have lost many who I saw as protectors at young ages throughout my life,
all feeling to me like it was too soon.

It is true. I have lost my greatest protectors, the matriarchs who
represented unconditional love and powerful safety.

Because of this, I had to step up, even as a young child/young adult. I had
to learn to protect myself and others the hard way: trial and error and a lot
of getting burned and feeling powerless, feeling like a failure.

But it’s ok for me to have this pain. It’s my pain. It’s my wound to heal. I
accept the journey.

I keep holding space for myself.

Keep holding that space for yourself too. And be kind to your pain.