Thank You from a Scorpio

My sign is Scorpio, and I fit the profile to a T.  "Governed by desire, not reason."  "Intuitive, passionate, independent."  And this: "Extremely loyal.  Has lifelong friends but is prone to marital strife." It's true.  If you've been my friend at any point, you still are.  If we went to kindergarten together, I love you.  I solved the "marital strife" part by marrying my favorite friend.  One that is a Libra, too, to balance out my mercurial passions.

The most fascinating aspect of Scorpio, which I see in both myself and my Scorpio daughter, is that there is good side and a dark side to our nature. Any fortune teller worth their crystal ball will caution a Scorpio to fight her basest nature and gravitate towards light, lest she be swallowed up in a darkness of her own making.

Though fascinated by Poseidon's realm, I know I have to stay above water and nurture the light, and I do.  The dark side of Circe is no picnic.  When Donald Trump won the election, my dark side came roaring out.  Roaring.  I wanted to give in to my darkest impulses and say all the hateful, angry things that boiled to the surface.  I know parties win and lose and people get disappointed. This was not a party thing. As simpatico as I am with President Obama, I was torn between him and Mitt four years ago.  Mitt is My People.  He speaks my cultural language.  But Obama speaks my philosophical language.  Obama is also My People.  He resonates with me.  I feel harmony with his ideals and a deep respect for the dignified, easy way he and his family handle the office.  Mr. Trump is not My People.  Things he says about walls and deportations, exclusion and destruction, break my heart.  He incites anger in me, and when he won, I felt a rage unleashed.  I didn't see any reason to crush it, and that was the worst part.  After all, anger won this election.  People are angry, why not me?  Why not fight fire with fire?  Why not burn the whole thing down? (Scorpio: Brooding, hot-tempered, destructive. Yeah.)

I don't want to fight with you if you voted for Mr. Trump.  I get it, I do, all your reasons, and they're valid.  And I love you. But I didn't love you Wednesday. I didn't love the 6 million Democrats who didn't turn out for Hillary, either. I didn't love anyone...except my sweet, pure children. Looking into their innocent faces, I ached because of the disservice this whole farcical election has been to them, the next generation. On some level, don't we all wish we'd found someone more noble than Donald to champion our cause?

But enough. What I want to say is this:  I was ready to lay waste to all my friendships and go to the darkest night of my soul Wednesday morning.  I did not care.  My rage and grief was blinding. I felt like every good thing I'd ever done was for nothing. And I told you, my friends.  I threw my grief out on Facebook and My People, regardless of political affiliation, responded with kindness.  Your response saved me.  Thank you for not lecturing me about Trump's attributes or chiding me about my tantrum.  Thank you for loving me anyway.  I feel like you reached under the water and pulled me up.  I don't know where we go from here, but I do know that love has redeemed me from hate, and that's worth keeping my face to the light for.