October: Libra
Original Libra watercolor by Read Gallo.
The 10th issue of Dharma Direction is all about the only Zodiac sign without a pulse. Souls born during Libra season love to play devil’s advocate as they strive to keep balance in their lives. And while they may at times appear somewhat condescending, their aim is fairness in all things.
Are you ready to Go With The Flow?
Libra: The Scales
September 23 - October 23
I can see your halo.
Angels: “Devil’s Advocate”
Personal Essay by Debbie Abbott
Read time: 9 minutes
Content Warning: mild language
Polls, studies, books, and articles have put forth the interesting fact that…
As many as 8 in 10 Americans believe in angels.
More extraordinary than this information, is the undeniable truth that religion has nothing to do with belief in angels. The existence of the ethereal beings transcends nearly every religion on our planet. Angels are a common thread that binds us all.
I know I am among the few and fortunate ones who has been given the gift of seeing a real, light being. The day I saw an angel glowing on the street corner— as I rode in the passenger seat of the car my husband was driving— is a moment in time that is forever imprinted in my mind, in my heart, and in my soul.
Angels exist. But not just in the ether.
Earth angels are here, in three-dimensional form, to assume the role of assistants to our guardian angels. These people can be part of our family, or total strangers. Either way, endless numbers of self-sacrificing individuals have a soul mission to help others in the ways they are best equipped to.
Some become doctors to heal people and animals with science.
Some people become counselors, guiding those who are feeling fragile through the minefield of the mind.
And others might be chefs, like my husband, whose remarkable skills in the kitchen pale in comparison to his ability to cut through the bullshit of any argument and pull up the root of whatever problem is contaminating the moment.
When I met Mark, it was immediately apparent that he was no ordinary human. As men go, he was the first one— in my entire life— who wanted to get to know me before anything physical happened between us. At that time, I was 36 years old and Mark was 32. His chivalrous nature seemed from another era, when men were called gentlemen and they treated women like ladies. I wasn’t accustomed to this kind of kindness… the type that was evident in the warmth of his smile and the shine in his eyes.
Surely, this man was too good to be true.
Mark was anything but random, or ordinary. And when I found out he was a Libra, the aspects of his personality suddenly made perfect sense.
Despite his tendency to play devil’s advocate every chance he gets, Mark’s heart is always in the right place. Which is funny since the sign for Libra is an inanimate object: Scales. Unlike every other zodiac creature, Libra lacks life force. However, nothing could be further from the truth about this sign’s human counterpart.
Zuriel, Angel of Resolve and Commitment
Guided by Zuriel, known among many as a teaching angel of Resolve and Commitment, Libras intuitively embrace the high vibration this angel brings. Truth, no matter how painful, resonates on a higher frequency than a lie.
Truth “feels” different whether it’s coming from someone else or from within oneself.
For reasons I haven’t figured out yet, a lot of humans have an aversion to being told the truth. For example, I ran into an ex-boyfriend many years ago who’d turned out to be a royal asshole… and I thanked him for it. The confusion on his face was priceless as I explained that his crass attitude was ultimately responsible for how and why I met the man who would become my husband.
In that moment, I was filled with Zuriel’s confidence in speaking the truth with gratitude and not contempt. The experience was nearly as uplifting as hearing a choir sing Leonard Cohen’s masterpiece Hallelujah! I’m sure the ex expected me to spew some venom at him, or at the very least ignore him. I did neither. I merely spoke the truth.
As far as I can recall, Mark is the first (and might still be the only) Libra I’ve ever known. I’m sure I have come in contact with many of these level-headed sun signs along life’s road, but I hadn’t been up-close and personal with one until Mark walked into my life. Little did I know that this humble man was going to commit to me on a level like I’d never known before.
Over the course of our 22 years together, Mark has been a steady influence in my life.
The voice of reason, always.
He has lifted weight after weight from my shoulders, enabling me to live a life many only dream of.
On the flip side, being a very independent, third-generation Taurus woman, I don’t always take kindly to my Libra man’s opinions.
He has what I’ve dubbed a ‘calm-descending’ personality and while I’ve learned that he certainly means well, sometimes his means to an end feels dismissive rather than receptive. This is simply a matter of perception as I’ve come to realize that ultimately, a Libra will listen to any argument, opinion, or idea with an open mind. Always.
The Right Sacrifice
Like a Taurus who wants to be right... all the time… Libras usually are right. And when Mark’s logical Libra brain argues the finer points of every possibility other than the one that I’ve suggested— my stubborn bull nature acts like it has just been gored by a matador of its own making.
Thankfully, Libras are incredibly diplomatic and gracious— even if the expression on their face says otherwise.
These two magnanimous qualities can be somewhat of an oxymoronic pairing, yet I believe they perfectly represent the pans hanging from each side of the Scales’ beam. One pan holds the truth of diplomatic thoughts and actions. The second pan holds graceful words and intentions that will render its offset as equitable.
Unfortunately, this fact can give certain Libras an air of indifference.
Initially, I confused this aloof attitude with not caring. On the contrary, I came to learn that the balance Libras are always striving to achieve is totally worth the sacrifices that go along with making the right choices.
Doing the right thing even when it displeases others is as liberating as it is uncomfortable. I liken it to Joan of Arc, and her armor, and the guidance of angels. On a much less deadly scale, of course, but the principal is the same. Follow the vibration of truth in spite of the physical or material cost because the spiritual cost of not doing so is likely to cripple your soul.
There comes a moment, a shift in perspective, when a person realizes how often their decisions are directed by the desires of others, often at the expense (monetarily, emotionally, physically) of one’s own wants and needs. The angels urge you to heed this moment.
We are all products of our raising, I believe. Along with some epigenetic information that’s been handed down in our DNA. Some of us can flaunt our decisions in the face of anyone who questions them, but many of us regret our decisions even before we make them because we know we are making a sacrifice we’ll secretly scorn.
We do things purely because we’re afraid of tipping the scales.
Sadly, we don’t see the irony of our misguided intentions that make it impossible to balance the scales in our own lives because we are not being true to ourselves.
Weight for Me
Without a doubt, I know that if I hadn’t met Mark I would not be sitting here today, writing these words, sharing these messages of hope. Everything he’s done for me is proof positive that my husband is an Earth angel.
In retrospect, I can see how he has given me the precious gift of time to bring my purpose to life. How he’s cared for me in every conceivable way, including making sure we always have had health insurance which isn’t easy when you work in the restaurant industry. Thanks to Mark, I was able to go to Barrow Neurological— one of the top brain and spine hospitals in the world— to have a growing meningioma (tumor) removed from between the frontal lobe and right temporal lobe of my brain. A diagnosis I received six months after we’d gotten married.
Mr. and Mrs. Abbott, celebrating their union in style.
Mark saved my life.
Well, he’s partly responsible. I did have a world-renowned neurosurgeon and team of diligent doctors— who were all amazed by how quickly I recovered from such invasive surgery. I was in intensive care for two days, then they sent me home… shaking their heads in disbelief when I walked around the hospital halls as easily as if I were a visitor, not a patient. As I see it, numerous factors including medical personnel contributed to how rapidly my return to near normalcy came about.
Science was a key ingredient, and I’ve been assured that should my tumor grow back, they’ll be able to shoot gamma rays into the growth without the aftermath of thirty-two staples holding my scalp together like the first time. Thank the heavens for science!
Music was another key to keeping my cool in a very stressful situation. I’d put together a playlist on my iPod mini (this was in 2010) of my all-time favorite songs and I listened to them almost continuously after the surgery. Instead of laying in the hospital bed watching game shows and soap operas, or worse, the news… I listened to music.
Love from my family who, at my request, came to the hospital and all sat together for eight hours while I was in surgery. I’d asked for their presence not as much for me, but for my husband in case the angels decided to take my soul away. I couldn’t bear the thought of him being there alone under such circumstances.
Finally…
Faith in the Angels, both ethereal and earthly, including Mark, who is always true to his Libra nature. The attributes of his zodiac ensure we don’t always see eye to eye but in this astrological sign with no heartbeat, I’ve been gifted a partner with a heart more generous than I’ll probably ever truly know.
Debbie and Mark on the day of their wedding at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas.
Debbie Abbott is a former managing editor for an upscale food and lifestyle print magazine from Scottsdale, Arizona. She now spends as much time as possible working on her debut novel and sharing accounts of her life through her website and as publisher and editor of Dharma Direction.
Connect with Debbie on Facebook, through Debbie's Twitter page or visit Debbie on Instagram.
Audio Visual Art: Angel Zuriel
Digital artist Peter Mohrbacher treats viewers this month to the ethereal sounds of musical artist Xan Griffin (featuring Koo Read). Find Peter’s work at Angelarium.net. Find more of Xan’s work on his YouTube Channel. Watch time: 3+ minutes
Words, wings, and whacks.
Humor: “Making & Breaking My Way Through Life”
with Jill, My Lovely Libra Friend
Personal Essay by Colleen Markley
Read time: 8 minutes
Content Warning: mild language
Libras are all about balance.
I sometimes wonder if I have even a drop of Libra influence in me, as I swing between poles of opposition. On my best days, I move through the universe with determination and curiosity for what comes my way…
I believe I am forging my own destiny.
On occasion, when I have not been practicing all that self-care that’s apparently important or something, I fall apart and become a pile of goo best hidden under my covers. I don’t feel fit for public consumption, and rather than finding self-compassion, I instead chastise myself with the need to get my crap together. Now.
I often find my own life a messy process. Like I am caught in that phase of the caterpillar we all tend to gloss over in Eric Carle’s Very Hungry Caterpillar book. The famished minibeast pigs out, makes a cocoon, and hides. He emerges a beautiful butterfly and small children across the globe flutter their own imagined butterfly wings.
I crave the sequel: here’s what happened in the cocoon during that period of goo. It was messy and dirty and it hurt and the transformation made us question all of our life decisions. And that was destined, and purposeful.
I don’t feel driven by destiny when I am goo.
But, eventually, I seek balance. Sometimes it just takes a couple of decades. And when you’re looking for balance, you better start looking for a Libra. I’m so glad the universe reunited me with Jill, Libra and friend extraordinaire.
Wait and See
For years, Jill and I followed similar yet separate paths and journeys during the nonstop years of raising our children. We were busy being mothers and wives and making our way with careers that battled for our attention against all the other needs we were asked to fill. I lost regular touch with Jill and missed our deep connection. Twenty years later, we reconnected, and slid right back into that feeling of…
“Oh, yes— you see me, you hear me, you get me.”
How do you make that happen?
Well for us, it started with a walk, a girls' night out making pottery, and then culminated with Jill bringing a sledgehammer to my rage party to smash things. But before I tell you the story of her discharging her rage with a baseball bat in my garage, you need to know the origin story of how I came to love my Libra friend, Jill.
Libras are the only zodiac sign who aren’t symbolized by some critter. Pictured as the Scales of Justice, Libras are casually described as the only zodiac without a heartbeat, but I dislike that description.
Libras live and lead from their heart.
They can sort through the lower and upper chakras and connect the earthly and the other-worldly, and hear all of the problems and the worries and concerns and say, yes, this is all hard.
And then they remind you we need to live here anyway, and even though life is hard, we might as well be fucking awesome at it. And Libras are awesome at life. Even if they don’t always remember it.
When a Libra listens to his/her own intuition, the entire world benefits from their balance.
Liberty, Logic, and Luck
In February of 2002, I cried as I left New York City and my completely illogical overpriced 500-square-foot fourth-floor walk-up rental apartment. The hubby and I had made the very practical choice to buy a home in the suburbs of New Jersey for…
Equity
Tax write-offs
Enough space in the kitchen that we didn’t need to store the toaster under the bed.
We both had families within an hour’s ride, and hubby and I appreciated having free, blood-related babysitters for children (who were still just a dream but were very much part of the plan). I was intensely rational about financial decisions. But I was also unhappy.
And then I met Jill.
Jill was the best part of living in the suburbs. She and I had both joined the local newcomers club because we were new and had said we’d like to “get involved,” and we were too young and naïve to understand that was suburb translation for “give them the hardest sucky job that no one else wants because they’re new and don’t know any better.”
And suddenly, Jill and I were organizing a fundraiser.
I was a professional fund development manager and had planned plenty of events, so this was not completely out of my wheelhouse. Yet, I was a little wary of Jill at first. I am incredibly demanding when it comes to the way I like to plan events, and the first thing I suggested was that we stop the annual tradition of a pancake breakfast on a Saturday morning and instead create a dinner and auction (because I wouldn’t even want to attend a pancake breakfast let alone plan one).
It was a huge shift for a little town that liked to do things the same each year, and I was worried Jill would be a status quo kind of human. She was not. Jill vehemently agreed with the plan, and I softened.
She liked my ideas. She treated me like I was smart, capable, and impressive. And that made me feel amazing. I loved working with her.
I didn’t know the town at all and I was supposed to be asking local businesses I’d never been in to donate to an event that had never existed before. Jill and I were in it. And she was so calm. And reassuring. She was balanced. All the best qualities of being a Libra, even though I wouldn’t start paying attention to zodiac signs for another 15 years.
And then we got down to business, and I discovered she could WRITE.
The Gift Horse
Being a decent writer in my professional work environment meant I was often the person helping my colleagues.
“Can you give this a read? Just a once over?”
I was honored to help elevate their work. Grammar and punctuation. Sometimes a rewrite with the words that were needed instead of the nonsense someone had put on a page.
We had senior writers to call upon for writing support, but I tried to learn as much as I could from them and not lean on them with my stuff. I wanted to write well enough that it “didn’t need much.” Jill’s writing needed nothing from me. She was crisp, and clear, and her words carried the soft impact of emotional truth that brought you to the place she wanted you to be.
Convincing, or enthusiastic, or thoughtful. She brought words to the page with the feelings woven in so delicately the threads were invisible.
Somehow, I felt like I could trust her as a human because I could trust her as a writer. She understood the power of words, she listened when I spoke. And she offered a safe harbor, not judgment.
And that felt like finding a unicorn.
Jill was one of the very few people to whom I could admit how I was feeling— unfulfilled. We’d bought our house in an adorable little hamlet that made me feel more like an outsider than a belonger.
My life in New York City had offered me the opportunity to work with famous celebrities for benefit galas and concerts and private dinners for people willing to plunk down donations that were a sizeable percentage of my annual salary. Life in the suburbs meant conversations about kids. And school. And soccer. And preschool and babysitters and draperies.
I felt small. And boring.
And since I am an external processor, I wanted to talk about it.
One talent I have is knowing who is open to conversation. Growing up in a home where saying the wrong thing would often start a screaming match taught me that you test the waters first. In the ‘burbs, I tested the waters gently, sticking my toe in to see how much ripple the pond could stand. Most of the time I stayed on the land.
There were no invitations to swimming, not even to the half dozen pool clubs everyone was joining, which I couldn’t figure out how these families could afford. I’d made the choice to stay home with our firstborn mostly because I couldn’t justify spending more money on daycare than I made with my take-home pay (I worked at a public television station, which in case you're wondering, does not make a lot of money on tote bags).
But I also admit I had control issues.
I hadn’t yet found a dry cleaner I liked. Who was I going to trust with my newborn?
I didn’t start with big questions. I’d sit in playgroups or mom’s night out dinners and crack a joke or two about the things bothering me.
For one, my husband not having much time to talk to me and then me feeling inadequate that I didn’t have anything interesting to say when he eventually asked me “how was your day?” The cases he was prepping for argument before a judge were much more intellectually stimulating than exploding diapers.
More than once, the hubby was busy prepping for nine super important justices in DC, and I was so sleep-deprived from a wakeful breastfeeding baby that I barely had the brain power to remember who those people were, let alone what specific arguments he was devising to counter specific concerns that they’d made in prior opinions.
Most women I talked to about my smallness agreed with me.
My husband had an important job. I just needed to be grateful that I was able to be home with the kids. This was a gift. He was doing all the hard and stressful work.
So I’d stand on the shore of the pond, drop a line, wait, and then reel it in when I didn’t hook anyone.
Jill didn’t need a hook. Jill arrived by boat, stood up to hold my hand while I climbed in, and then gave me a pillow to sit on while she rowed us out to the middle of the pond to make ripples. And talk.
In the early days of motherhood, Jill was a lifeline that reminded me I existed as a human apart from my husband, apart from my children, apart from well-meaning onlookers who kept telling me how lucky I was to be home with my kids.
I didn’t feel lucky. I felt lonely and depressed. And I felt like something was wrong with me that I wasn’t content with this gift of spit-up, sleep deprivation, and isolation.
Jill reminded me that listening to those feelings and emotions didn’t mean I was betraying motherhood or my marriage. It meant I needed to find a therapist.
Finding a supportive and loving friend is a gift.
When that friend is also a fan of therapy and encourages you to go as a positive force for good? And talks about how helpful she has found it in her own life? That friend is a gift from the Goddess.
And thus, I began my 20-year pursuit of my own self in the offices of one, two, three, four different therapists— who each brought something for me to review and reflect upon. Even the therapist who told me after one meeting that I was depressed and should try eating different kinds of lettuce. Lettuce would help.
Some gifts are different from others and help you realize what is good about the other places you’ve been and the other people who were there. Like, maybe the lettuce lady was in-network, but she wasn’t helpful. And therapy is worth the money. To me, it was worth more than the private soccer lessons for three-year-olds or draperies for a sitting room that the same three-year-olds were not allowed to enter because it wasn’t for children, just adults. I didn’t understand those rooms then, and I don’t understand them now. To me, rooms are for living in. Not displaying.
So, Jill was my lifeline, and then life got in the way, and I let it stop me from tending the fire of our friendship.
Time to Goo
Late in the fall of 2020, I was coaching my girl scout troop on finishing up their silver awards. Half a dozen kids had planned most of their projects before the pandemic began, and they had a deadline to meet which meant they needed to adapt and adjust and pivot and do all the other life lessons on resilience and do it quickly.
One of my troop members was working on an activity book for leaders working with girl scouts with special needs, and the “sharing” section of her project meant she needed to get it into more hands.
Jill had exactly the right hands. I shared Jill’s info with my girl scout and explained that she’d been working for the school district in special services for 10 years. And that she was a good human. But my girl scout was still nervous. I’ve found that the amount of anxiety teens experience when they need to email an adult is intense. I promised that Jill would have a warm response because I had full confidence that would be true. Every. Time.
And indeed, when Jill emailed the ninth grader back, it was an email that not only thanked her for sharing the project, but for being a kind and gentle human who recognized that not all students learn and thrive in the same way. Jill thanked her for leading from a place of compassion and sharing positive messages of inclusivity.
A perfect email, written with love, from a loving Libra.
I remembered how much I loved having Jill in my life. But I refrained from asking her if she would be my new best friend all over again. I’m a Cancer Crab with abandonment issues so I tend to love people with my pincer claws.
I love you. Stay here. Forever. I’m gonna hold on tight so I don’t lose you ever again.
Instead, I tucked away (some of) my dark zodiac traits that tend to make Libra and Cancer clash, and I sent Jill a thank you email for being so generous with her time and spirit. I hit send and I let the universe decide if our paths were crossing or meandering or converging.
When Jill emailed me back to tell me that it felt kismet that we were communicating again because she was thinking of turning back to her writing, the chills and goosebumps were instant.
The universe stopped and shifted and my pile of goo became a warm and welcoming pond.
I understood how she felt. I have always been a writer in my heart. But there have periods of my life when I didn’t make time to put words together in a way that felt like I was listening to my inner voice. That made me feel off balance on a molecular level.
I remember how hard it was to find my spirit and pluck the right words from the world to create shape for emotions and feelings. Goo doesn’t always like to be contained. But it makes for great growth and fertilization and microscopic organisms who like to emerge from the pond with something to say.
Even if we’re afraid of the voice who is asking for airtime.
I couldn’t wait to talk about writing, but first I asked Jill if she’d throw mud with me.
There was a girls' night out pottery event I‘d been dying to try and I signed us both up. Jill is always willing to try something new.
Libras are a cardinal sign, which means they are cosmically aligned to try new things and bring new ideas and creativity.
Jill offered to bring our snacks and showed up with a beautiful (gluten-free) spread that looked like it belonged on Pinterest. We munched, we drank, we played with clay and we made adorable little wheel-thrown pots and hand-built pinch pots. A year later, I sent her a thank you text for going with me that first time. I can act like a middle school girl quite often, and having a buddy to help me do something new is exactly the kind of thing I need to get moving.
The day after our date night, I signed up for weekly classes. Twelve months to the day I finished glazing a teapot. Jill didn’t make the teapot for me. But she helped me through the door and raised a glass to toast my new creative expression. And that felt bright and sparkly.
Colleen’s two-tone teapot … or genie lamp incognito?
Jill and I have had many weekly walks since then, in every kind of weather. In the dark hours of winter when the sun sets in New Jersey at 4:30 in the afternoon, I’d wear a hat with a built-in light for safety and I tried not to blind her when I faced her as we talked and walked all over our tiny town.
Sometimes we talked about writing. Or our kids. Or the husbands. Or our parents. Or the world and all its outrage.
I don’t enjoy feeling angry and frustrated with the world.
I knew when I was feeling consumed I needed to let it out before it made me dark and stormy and gooey again.
I asked Jill (and a couple of other women nearest and dearest to my sensitive fragile snowflake heart) to come over for a rage party. SCOTUS had just determined that my civil rights were no longer valid in half of my country. At some point, I would get organized and advocate and march and give money to helpful organizations and candidates. But first, I needed to break shit.
What happened when three Cancer Crabs and one Libra Scale joined together in their female rage? One day I might write a “How to Host a Rage Party” essay to share all the details. But this is a piece about balance, friendship, and celebrating authentic selves.
And how to stay aligned even when we shine differently and make other people squinty when they truly see us for who we are. To find balance we needed to discharge what was feeling wrong.
We raged with intention. We channeled with purpose.
We wrote a list of rants with everything that was bothering us about our relationships, the world, our own internal struggles. SCOTUS topped my list.
I do not react well when I feel the hurt of other women, and I felt that fear rippling through every state. I didn’t want to stay stuck in the fear or the hurt.
We wrote it all down. And then we let it all out.
Jill brought…
A bat (helpful since I broke my golf club on the fifth swing at the 3D printer I was smashing after it had sat on a shelf in my garage for 10 years)
A sledgehammer (which is actually pretty damn heavy but I still managed to swing that sucker over my head to come down with fury at a cast iron sink)
And sheetrock (that she smashed into dust).
We threw glasses and plates and smashed the crap out of everything in my garage.
It was exhilarating. And freeing. And we all agreed we would do it more regularly. Maybe at both solstices. Or equinoxes. Depending on how much rage was building up in us and the world.
Yang Needs Yin
After we raged and smashed stuff, we went to meet my Reiki teacher, who also does sound healing therapy. She bathed us all in Tibetan singing bowl vibrations and we came home all Zen for more wine and conversation. And plans for what’s next. Because coming from a place of balance means more forward momentum, without so much tripping, or falling over, or transforming into goo.
Since our summer solstice rage and relax party, Jill and I have continued our walks and talks and taking turns sending panicked texts and reminders to keep breathing.
When we walked this last week I thought about this place of balance that Jill creates in my life and her own. I realized that our new moon walk was just that— we are walking toward new things. One of us sits on one side of the age of 50, the other just before it. We are holding hands and balancing this seesaw scale of perimenopause midlife crisis what do I want to be when I grow up— together. When Jill dreams of writing, I dream of reading what she has to say. I know she will turn her own goo into her own gold, just like she’s helped me realize I can do for myself.
Turning goo into gold is a glorious, balanced place to be… especially with the company of a friend.
Colleen embraces the “rage and relax” theme of her self-care party.
Jill, the Lovely Libra, channeling negative energy into a positive experience.
Colleen Markley is a novelist and freelance writer living in New Jersey. Her award-winning essay “Unflappably Calm, Occasionally Furious, Ready and Willing to Hide the Bodies” was recently published in Sisters! Bonded by Love and Laughter. Colleen’s essays and humor have appeared in multiple anthologies in print and various magazines online. Named the June 2021 winner of the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop Humor Writer of the Month, Colleen attempts to be funny every month as a regular contributor riffing on the zodiac for Dharma Direction. Her novel-in-progress, Lilith Land, is a story about the end of the world where only the women survive. (It’s a novel, not an action plan).
Find her at www.ColleenMarkley.com or sign up here for her newsletter and updates.
Visit Colleen on Instagram, see what’s up on her Facebook, or shout-out to Colleen on Twitter.
Sweet Fruity Blue Highs.
Culinary Craft: “Aromatic Balance”
Article and Recipe by Chef and Wellness Coach, Candy Lesher
Read time: 2 minutes + Recipe
If you’ve ever had a close friend or relative who was born in October, you know the “land of Libra” can be quite engaging to say the least; I have first hand knowledge as my mother falls into this category.
No doubt, they definitely love all things balanced. Growing up (before ever even hearing of a Zodiac), it baffled me how, if she bought anything for one daughter, she couldn't rest until she had given something of equal value to the other three daughters. Everything in life had to be handled in equal portions— right down to the number of jelly beans in the Easter baskets!
Though I'm a Capricorn, and yes, I can personally attest to the fact that Libras and Capricorns aren't the best of personality pairings— I admit to being grateful for the focus on balance she nonetheless instilled within me. It has served me well, most notably in the kitchen where I spend most of my time.
Balancing flavors, textures, and aromas is a joyous challenge.
I love to find an inspiring combination of ingredients, then create that balance in it that I inherently sense is yet lacking.
This is exactly what the Blueberry/Pear/Feta Compote recipe is all about. Though the original recipe of just 4 ingredients (blueberries, lemon, sugar and feta) was delicious, it lacked that next level of aromatic balance. A little time in the kitchen, some ripe pears, balsamic, fresh ginger, and lavender “tipped the Libra scales” to positively delicious.
Though I kept it as an option, I highly suggest taking an extra 5 minutes to crush a little culinary lavender (along with the finely minced lemon zest) into the sugar before tossing with the fruit. It's an incredibly unforgettable aromatic combination.
How do you serve such a divinely fragrant compote? Though it is lovely simply draped over vanilla gelato or angel food cake, it was uniquely fabulous at a dinner party spooned into small bowls and served with an array of thin, European butter and ginger cookies to eat like a dessert dip!
Insider’s Tip
Leftovers— if you're lucky enough to have any— are fabulous spooned onto a freshly baked biscuit or atop pancakes the next morning. Rest assured, with all the holiday parties, potlucks and informal gatherings happening over the next few months (because we CAN!), this is the perfect offering for a light and not-too-cloying, Libra-balanced finale.
Recipe: Blueberry/Pear/Feta Compote
Serves 6-8
This works quite well using other berries like raspberries, blackberries and cherries.
If the raspberries are particularly tart, you may need to add an additional tablespoon of sugar.
Tart apple can be substituted in place of the pear, but the apple cubes first need to be lightly cooked before adding to the berries. To do this, microwave the apple cubes on a plate for 90 seconds or sauté/steam them until just tender.
Ingredients:
4 cups blueberries (preferably fresh but frozen works too)
2 medium pears, peeled, cored and chopped into quarter-inch cubes
1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon dried culinary lavender (optional)
1 Tablespoon finely grated or chopped lemon zest
1 teaspoon finely grated ginger or ginger paste
3 Tablespoons lemon juice
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 Tablespoon balsamic vinegar (plain or fruit flavored)
8 ounces feta block (preferably Sheep's Milk Feta)
*Note: If you’re not a fan of feta, substitute with Cotija or goat cheese
Method:
Preheat standard oven to 400 degrees. If using an air-fryer oven, heat only to 360 degrees.
For fresh blueberries, rinse and drain well. For frozen, defrost for 20 minutes.
In a mortar and pestle, vigorously crush the sugar with the lemon zest and lavender, releasing all the aromatic oils. You can also use a heavy bowl and the back of a spoon to do this.
Toss together the blueberries, pears, aromatic sugar, ginger, lemon juice, salt and balsamic vinegar, thoroughly combining. Place feta into the center of a 9x9 square baking dish. Evenly spoon the blueberries around the feta.
Drizzle the feta with a splash of additional balsamic. Bake for 35 minutes; should be bubbly and fruit should look reduced. Add an additional 5 minutes if still somewhat watery looking.
Remove from the oven and gently stir to distribute the feta evenly. Let cool 10-15 minutes before serving with assorted cookies for dipping, or spoon over gelato or light cake (like angel food).
As a Culinary Wellness Coach, Candy Lesher doesn't simply sit on the sidelines and coach, she's right in the game with her clients. As a chef she openly admits weight is an occupational health hazard, so she engages in that daily battle also. As a Stage III cancer survivor, she knows the importance of feeding your body the nutrients it needs to fight off illness—and function at its very best.
Connect with Candy on LinkedIn or visit her website at YourKitchenRX.com
Looking for leverage.
Original Libra watercolor by Read Gallo.
Need a balanced schedule to live life to the fullest.
Make time to work out and shop organic. Plan ahead to reduce stress and not drop any balls at the office. Need to pick up the dry cleaning and schedule the bills. Visit grandma, rake her lawn, take out her trash, and look at her photo albums. Sign up for that dating app and write a good profile that includes visiting your grandma every two weeks.
Need to have fun. Meet the gym gang for drinks. Take the niece to a movie. Read more. Make time to read more. Correct sleep routine. Make a list and buy presents. Have to get ahead of that to avoid overspending. Have to get ahead at the office and put in my vacation days. Have to take a good vacation and relax. Have to—
Look! It's that woman whose colorful clothes always flutter around her like she's some kind of ancient forest creature. Sometimes when a non-local train roars through, her whole outfit blows away and accents every contour of her body. She never loses her hat. She does not manage her time well. You've noticed her saunter up to the train as it pulls away; a little more hustle and she wouldn't have to wait. You've noticed her when she gets to the train station before you, recovering from a train she's missed by fumbling with her hair or putting on lip gloss. You always notice her. Don't stare.
Keep It To Yourself
Need to keep occupied. Keep growing, keep learning. Keep an active mind. Read more non-fiction, not trash. Watch educational documentaries to be a good history buff, so you can write that on your dating profile when you make a dating profile which you need to do. Need to be a good citizen of the world and a good person. Drink less alcohol and coffee. Drink more tea.
Have to go to church and keep involved in the community. Visit Mom. Visit grandma, paint her porch, and re-pot her plants. Take the niece to a movie. Go drinking with college buddies. Go to the neighborhood barbecue. Go online and sign up for that dating app.
Have to make time for yourself. Try yoga and meditation. Treat yourself to your favorite coffee in the morning and your favorite breakfast. Have to sleep in. Got to seize the day and live in the moment. Got to get up early and work out and eat right. Got to make full use of this life I've been—
Look! There she is! The woman you always notice on the train. So full of life and excitement. There's someone who must be self-actualized, except that her schedule is off-balance because she misses the train. Her skin is sun-kissed, and a floppy hat nearly covers her eyes. Her eyes are looking at you. Accidentally, you smile. She smiles and says, "Haven't I seen you before?"
This fluttering feels dangerous, strange, and off-balance. Your perfect evening routine will be shattered if you answer. No hope of finishing this podcast tonight and no 15 minutes with Duolingo. But it would be rude and silly not to answer. "I take the 5:40 train every day."
"Me, too. Well, I try."
She might have come to the same station but not at the same time. You catch the same train every day. Even Wednesdays (hump day is for self-indulgence, so you go to get a desert after work) and sometimes Thursdays (Thursday is extra cardio, and sometimes that runs too long, and you have to rush to catch the 5:40 Express).
Tempting Fate
Need to get up earlier. Adjust to daylight savings time. Had to pack for the trip to the cousin's wedding. Call grandma and tell her to let the yard guy rake her leaves because you have to meet the gym gang—no, the college buddies. Take the niece to a movie.
Have to get a date for Dale's double-date movie night. Download the app and upload good profile pictures. Research what makes a good profile picture. Had to be hot enough to get a good match because she has to be cool enough to make you look cool.
Look, today, that woman is running for the train instead of her usual saunter. You're not supposed to hold the door; can you lose a limb if you try to hold the door? It closes on your bag and then opens again. Just enough time for her to make it. She bumps into you and sends your bag to the train floor, but that's fine. Nothing breakable. Just the empty remains of your healthy lunch and the wrappers from that dessert you shouldn't have gotten.
"Whew!" she laughs loudly in the small train. "Didn’t think I’d make it. Thanks!”
Today she is wearing a bright purple coat and a white scarf, and she cannot catch her breath. “Oh hey, it’s you again.”
Everyone on the train looks at her because she’s so accidentally loud.
“Yup, it’s me. How have you been?”
“Running late!” Her laughter is like a dozen sparks electrifying the track. The kind that sets fire to the litter on the track and throws off everyone’s schedule.
You take out your earbud, letting the inspiring podcast on the history of human achievement drone off. A conversation might throw you off schedule, but you’re on the top leaderboard of Duolingo anyway; you don’t have to try that hard.
You talk to the woman— her name is Paula— and consider not showing up to the bar tonight. You could ask Paula on a date. You could bring Paula to the bar if you want to stay on schedule. And if you stay out late you could call Mom and tell her you were sick or something. You could—
The train stops at 8th Street without you asking her to interrupt her schedule for tonight. You automatically stick to the routine, walking away from the woman on habit.
Miss Opportunity
Got to finish the celery sticks. Got to drink another beer. Got to visit mom in the morning and take the niece to a movie.
This movie makes you think of Paula. It's so easy in these movies for people to laugh and dress in bold colors. Spontaneity is forgiven, rewarded, and things balance themselves out.
What happens if you’re not your best self for awhile? What if you were harried and off-kilter? What’s it like to drop the ball, eat too much, sleep too little, be improperly hydrated, skip leg day, and read trashy books?
There’s Paula. She missed the 5:40 Express and will have to wade through every stop on the 6:05. She looks at her Fitbit watch when she sees you.
“Hey there! You missed your train?”
“I waited for the next one.”
“Oh, you got a hot date on the local?” Her laughter is harsh and braying, not beautiful or cool, but a heavyweight bouncing.
“Maybe.” You haven’t flirted in a long time. “What do you have planned after 8th Street?”
She looks confused and then says. “Well, nothing.”
“Wanna do nothing together?”
And suddenly you have a date. She has not been vetted. You don’t know her hobbies or what she wants in a relationship, and you don’t know if she has dogs or is on the right websites and fandoms. How insane that she just gets off the train with you. Not that you’re dangerous, but just that she doesn’t have a schedule, a place to be, a “have to” she has to do.
Or maybe she did have something planned, and this was the real conversation you had.
“What did you have planned after 8th Street?”
“Avoiding the loneliness and the sneaking suspicions that I’m not good enough to be loved through an endless pursuit of perfection.”
“Ha. Same.”
In real life, you tell her you like her hat, so cozy and warm.
“Thank you! I wait all year for it to get cold enough to wear it. I love the fall, don’t you?”
The collapse of every neat and orderly thing in your life, sleepless nights, panicked dates, self-denial, over-stepping, sharing your food, time, bed, and clothes. The sinking feeling that it all might be for nothing. That she might disappear from your days and leave with nothing but a hole shaped like billowing silk scarves and cozy hats and flamboyant purple coats. The breaking of every part of yourself to accommodate this woman's sudden unexpected dropping in.
“Yeah. The fall is exhilarating.”
L.J. Longo is an award-winning Romance author, a queer geek and feminist writing a medley of dark romance (which can be found through Evernight Publishing) magical realism, weird sci-fi/fantasy, and very implausible creative non-fiction. She recently received Third Place recognition for her submission to the Writer’s Digest Annual Short Story Fiction Contest with her entry titled, "To Harvest Lavender."
Connect to L.J. on Facebook, L.J.'s Twitter page, or L.J. on Instagram.
The Worry Cabinet.
Energy: “Release the Worry”
B.E.S.T. Certified Practitioner Anja Dubberke joins Dharma Direction’s editor/publisher, Debbie Abbott in a Q&A video about bringing your body back to an energetically balanced state of being when it’s overrun with negative energy.
Find out about a reaction called SEMO and why it’s the root cause for the body’s inability to properly heal itself.
Video watch time: 15 minutes
Connect with Anja on Facebook or visit her LinkedIn page. Get more details about B.E.S.T. or schedule a consultation or treatment with Anja through her website: Bio-Energetic Reset.
Poet-Tree
A soft foundation.
When the things we want to do are overrun with the things we need to do, the cracks in our path of purpose seem to swallow up our dreams faster than we can pursue them.
With this issue’s poesy, “Through the Cracks,” we find common ground in everyone’s desire to choose the things that will create our best life, and to accept that sometimes that choice is made for us by greater forces.
Original poem by Debbie Abbott
Read time: 1 minute
Through the Cracks
Unseen slivers swallow things like priorities
Feeding on tasks and time like tapas and wine
A bottomless pit filled with must-dos that don’t
Go away, but rather gather to torment the mind
I envy Emily and her window of hope
A desk all alone free from internet grime
Feathers falling with the leaves leaving whispers
On the breeze, drifting wisdom through doorways we can’t find
Hurling through space we strain to see divinity
Attempting to mold good reasons from mad rhymes
For the choices we make and for those that slip
Through the cracks, where best laid plans are splintered by design
~ written 02.19.2022 – 03.02.2022
Debbie Abbott is a former managing editor for an upscale food and lifestyle print magazine from Scottsdale, Arizona. She now spends as much time as possible working on her debut novel and sharing accounts of her life through her website and as publisher and editor of Dharma Direction.
Connect with Debbie on Facebook, through Debbie's Twitter page or visit Debbie on Instagram.
Music
“It’s a sad, sad story / When a mother will teach her daughter / That she ought to hate a perfect stranger.”
“Not Ready to Make Nice” by The Chicks
Singer/Songwriter Natalie Mains, Libra birthday: October 14, 1974
Playlist: Libra
This month’s playlist takes lots of cues from our content, sending out the soothing vibes of our Zodiac theme through unforgettable messages that revolve around Libra and some of the artists born under this sign.
Please enjoy Dharma Direction’s playlist for October. Keep in mind that the playlist on YouTube changes each month to focus on the current Zodiac. This month’s songs are listed below ~
“Not Ready to Make Nice” - The Chicks
“Come Together” - The Beatles
“Help Is On The Way” - TobyMac
“If Not For You” - Olivia Newton-John
“Running Up That Hill” - Meg Meyers
“The Monster” - Eminem ft. Rhianna
“abcdefu” - GAYLE
“Saturday in the Park” - Chicago
“Good God Almighty” - Crowder
“Halo” - Beyoncé
“Blueberry Hill” - Fats Domino
The Reading Dingy
Fresh air, fresh words.
See what our contributors are reading now, what they recommend, or what’s on their “must read” list. Our picks may be new releases, forever favorites, hidden gems, or classics we can’t wait to read again. If we love it, we’ll let you know here!
Color Therapy: Libra
FREE Downloadable/Printable — just get your crayons, pencils, pastels, or paints and right-click the image below.
Libra People
