Chiron, the wounded healer.

Chiron—the planet of healing our deepest wounds. Active under the Libra full moon, I closed my eyes and turned inward, zooming into the galaxies behind my eyelids. Each speck of light and darkness swirled in hues of whites and blues, a celestial dance unfolding inside my brain. The instruments began to vibrate through my body, their reverberations gently pulling me deeper.

Others surrendered to sleep. Soft, rhythmic snoring rose to my left. To my right, a woman released bloated breaths, each exhale thickly punctuated by the wet sounds of saliva. These distractions weren’t just background noise—they lodged themselves deep in my awareness, stirring something primal. A strange mix of agitation and detachment coursed through me, electrifying my senses. My thoughts spiraled as fast as asteroids: from “How could they sleep through this moment?” to—“What a beautiful gift sleep must be.”

Does anything really matter?

I had come with the intention of connecting to my mother—to feel her presence, to acknowledge my guilt, to sit beside her pain and find peace in knowing she is at peace too, wherever she may be. But the snoring around me felt like static interference, as though it kept me from hearing her voice. I felt the weight of her absence, of her death, settle into my chest. I carry it every day, but in that moment I asked myself again--does any of it truly matter?

We give so much meaning to memory, so much heaviness to the past. But what if we didn’t? What if we let go of the stories we cling to, of the sorrow we wrap around our hearts like armor?

Just as that thought landed, the instruments shifted. A deep gong rolled through the space, vibrating through my bones, and suddenly a wave of euphoria surged through me. Gratitude arrived—purely and simply. For the breath in my lungs, for the sensations in my body, for the privilege of witnessing this moment. My awareness briefly flicked outward—I heard the bass of a car stereo from the street, giggles from passersby on the sidewalk above our quiet basement space. Distractions, yes. But also gentle reminders that we are not alone. That even in silence and stillness, life moves around and through us. We walk this Earth together.

That realization opened something in me. The ancestral connection I had been yearning for made itself known. In surrendering, I finally received. I felt my grandmother clearly, vividly, as if she resided within one of those galaxies behind my eyes. Her presence carried memories of joy, echoes of grief, the shared pain of the women who came before me. It all moved through me—like stardust in a tide.

As the sound bath neared its last vibrations, gentle chanting and chimes called me back to the room, pulling me from the dreamy spaces where my spirit had wandered. A rhythmic drum beat over my heart and sealed something in me—a lesson of duality, of light and shadow, dancing together. Five slow, intentional strikes, followed by the delicate tap of a cymbal. A soft punctuation mark on a cosmic sentence.

I am a Pisces sun, Gemini moon, Leo rising. And on this quiet Saturday in April, with Chiron eclipsing the Sun, I was given a lesson in healing. A reminder to embrace both pain and pleasure as part of the same whole. To feel deeply, to release, and to say thank you—for all of it.