Sometime last week, either in Zurich, Newark, Memphis, Chicago or - Zurich, I lost my journal. It wasn’t just ‘my’ journal. That journal belonged to my soul. I contacted airports, airlines and even sent a couple of prayers to the Universe.
Nothing. Nix. Nada.
I poured my heart, my thoughts and a couple of bottles of Nebbiolo into that journal. Because of that, I’m slightly lost at the moment.
What was I thinking about last month?
What goals had I set?
What the hell was I supposed to be doing with myself?
I couldn’t remember unless I could go back through that journal. It had my "brainstorming" notes from various unrealized projects. It also had my tarot notes: daily pulls, thoughts and meditations on various cards, etc.
I would review the pages, read and ruminate.
And think about more courses to take to get better at divination rather than actually divining.
And think up more plans rather than actually doing anything.
And think up more ways to become the perfect reader-astrologer-human being because I'm just. not. there. yet.
But I never moved on. Perhaps my journal was more of a security blanket than anything.
Perhaps I was hanging on to those old thoughts and the need to constantly learn and review out of two things: procrastination and good ol’ fear.
Hanging on to stuff is comfortable, but not constructive. We keep turning back through those pages, digging up old memories and getting stuck in a cycle. Yes, writing your thoughts and analyzing them can be great, but if you do it too much you won't get anywhere.
We keep taking notes, taking stock, taking advice...thinking that we're doing "something" when in fact we're using those actions as an excuse not to move on.
I call it "perpetual student" mode.
Tonight I unwrapped my new journal, and properly palo santoed it (is that a verb?) like a good spiritualist should. But I also said goodbye to my old journal.
And thought of ways I could now move on.