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astrology, John Donne, My Daily Astrology Diary, My Weekend Astro Diary, The Astro Essence, The Daily Word image

‘An Invocation to I-em-hetep, the Egyptian Deity of Medicine’ By Ernest Board {{PD}}
We can visualize, or even ‘feel by immersion’, what would constitute a state of perfect health for us, and even better, we know exactly what to do to achieve it. The mind is healed, as well, if we are willing and able to put our attention on what needs to be transformed from the past. This may be a current situation formed in the past that must be addressed with love, or a matter of reviewing something we regret and healing it by rendering it powerless to make us feel guilt or to affect the now. Please note: this is not a license to indulge in Self-destructive behaviors from the past under the guise of attending to their healing. That’s not how any of this works.
(Chiron parallel Hygeia, Neptune nov Vesta, Mars parallel Pallas, Mercury trine Chiron, Sun nov SN)

Mandrake is also known as ‘The Devil’s Apples’ {{PD}}
Today’s word image is a mandrake root. The mandrake was believed to have magical properties, as the root often resembles a human. It has hallucinogenic potentials but is dangerously poisonous, as well. What rather ordinary thing in your life has been endowed with a magical aura because of associations you make–and what about it is so negative that, when you’re honest with yourself, you admit you really should eliminate it?
And now, one of my favorite poems:
Song By John Donne
Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil’s foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou be’st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true, and fair.
If thou find’st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go
Though at next door we might meet;
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
Beautiful poem though very misogynistic!
I used to play John Renbourn’s version on the guitar:
Thanks for reminding us of its magical aura and have a happy week-end, Julie.
Thank you, Katia, though I have to differ with you on the poem–I don’t see it as misogynistic, I see it as a heartfelt expression of exceptional disappointment in a love affair–which leads him to temporarily believe love can’t be constant, that it can’t last. It strikes me as the kind of cynicism in which we all indulge when our hearts are broken–it won’t last forever, but while it does we may see the entire concept of relationships with a jaded eye. Donne compares love to all kinds of mythical, elusive, magical things, the kind of things we may believe exist, but have never seen–and I think that speaks to a loss of visionary magic, of hope and optimism, in the speaker, not any kind of actual disdain for women in general.
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