Watcher of Pluto,

 

It is already Day 05 of our Pluto Vigil. How has time been moving for you? How have you been sensing gravity on a deep interior level?

At this turning point, I am pleased to share with you the contribution of co-conspirator, weaver of the mystery and the scholarly, artist of the dream realm, and genius of pattern-finding, Jonathan Koe. 

 

Jonathan has created a letter writing ritual and practice for us to more deeply connect to the Pluto's energy.

 

May this work help you build intimacy with your own potency. Enjoy this deliciously honest poetic invitation from Jonathan. 

 

 

 

As of late, writing letters has become one of my favorite spiritual practices. There’s profound catharsis and subtle alchemy in the intimate act of pouring my desires, fears, frustrations, and joys into a piece of paper that serves as a relational bridge between me and a being, divine or otherwise, in the Unseen Realm.

 

Letters occupy a liminal space. They’re less formal than invocations spoken prior to a ritual. They provide opportunities for reflections and contemplations, without the energetic gravity or the potentially sticky religious residue of uttering prayers. They build relationships in surprising ways by gently and spontaneously shedding new light on familiar, seemingly mundane details.

 

In Pluto’s last few days in Capricorn, I invite you to write a letter as a way to reflect on the past 16 years and the slow, complete nature of the transformation you’ve experienced. You can address the letter to Pluto, to yourself, to another being (human or non-human), or even to a place.

 

 

Does anyone in your life remind you of Pluto? What about their presence, habits, or characteristics feel Plutonic to you?

What habits, beliefs, and ways of being are you ready to release as Pluto moves out of Capricorn? What would you wish to embrace as Pluto moves into Aquarius?

Who were you in 2008, when Pluto first began shifting into Capricorn? What wisdom would this version of you like to offer as you close this chapter?

 

Give your letter the permission to be as specific and detailed as you can make it. Don’t worry about being correct, but rather, strive to be honest and sincere. Allow your words to ignite your imagination and allow your imagination to infuse your words. Finally, let it flow and don’t try to impress anybody (unless you sincerely desire to!).

 

Below, I’m sharing the letter that rolled out of me. Pluto has been crawling through my 5th house of creativity and romance – a period marked by epic love stories blossoming, wilting, composting, and giving birth to other love stories.

 

May this inspire you to write your own.

 

 

Dear Pluto,

 

Last Thursday, I found myself in a deep trance, guided by a dear mentor. She asked us to look at our second chakras: the treasure chest where we stored artifacts left behind by past lovers, notebooks dedicated to past creative projects, and favorite toys from childhood that reminded us not only of the kids we once were, but perhaps always will be.

 

We said goodbye 11.5 years ago. The moment you turned your back behind me, stepping out of that pastry shop on Amsterdam Avenue, I knew our underworld haven was forever vanquished.

 

You told me that in time, we’ll find our way back to each other. Perhaps as friends.

That never happened. But I wasn’t surprised. We were, after all, never friends to begin with.

 

Imagine my surprise when I found a thin silver thread, reaching out of my second chakra, calling to you, wondering how you were. To unsuspecting eyes, the thread may seem insignificant. It was dull, dusty, old. And yet, for me, a gust of wind blew open the pages of our time together.

 

Did I mention that since you left, I’ve found a steady rock, a loyal cat, and a magic wand?

 

I’m happy now. I don’t know how you are. Happy, too, it seems like, from the occasional Instagram story updates.

 

This silver thread was an heirloom from another epoch, long gone since.

It reminded me of the first time we met in Central Park. An invisible knife made of dandelion sliced through the core of my being when you shook my hand.

You reminded me of the boy I first kissed. Except he didn’t have invisible flames jutting out from behind him. Except he didn’t nod a couple extra times each time he finished a sentence, as if agreeing with himself.

 

Except he wasn’t you and the earth didn’t swallow me whole the first time I met him.

 

It was the same silver thread that followed us everywhere for the 15 months we were in our underworld – 15 months that felt like 15 years.

 

Blame it on the quiet of the underground rock formations, or the quiet whispers of the hot lava that was always brewing underneath us the way Starbucks always smells of coffee in the aboveworld, or the electricity whenever our eyes met, as if we knew we were never meant for this lifetime, but perhaps future ones – I could never figure out how it was possible that every detail of our time together remains untarnished, unspoiled in my memory after all these years.

 

I could still taste the Green Curry you made for me the night we moved your furnitures to the apartment by the park. The subtle scent of your mom’s cologne I picked up on while sitting on the back seat of the taxi when your parents came to visit. The night I cried from dusk till dawn after you broke up with me in front of Columbia University. The shirt you wore when we saw each other in Amsterdam after months of being apart. The smile on your face after I played the middle movement of your 3-part piece.

 

The fine silver thread may seem like nothing to the outside world. But to me, it was all I have left of us. A small, hidden part of me tethered to an alternate dimension where the two of us are still by the kitchen counter, scotch for me, shiraz for you, slowly munching on sliced dragonfruits and pomegranate seeds laid out on your warped wooden chopping board.

 

In trance state, I gently lifted this thread, curious to see if anyone’s on the other side.

 

No one.

 

I slowly wound this thread around my finger.

 

For a second, I thought about keeping it. And then it dawned on me – I had no use for it.

 

You were forever out of sight. Neither friend, nor foe. Just somebody that used to mean the world to me. Somebody that used to be my entire universe.

 

Thank you Jonathan, for this deep and vulnerable invitation. May the letters you write and the questions you ask bring you closer to kind of honesty that Pluto asks of us. May you meet that honesty with compassion.

 

If you'd like to engage with Jonathan's world, I highly (highly!!!) encourage you tune into their podcast, Healing the Spirit. Here is a bit more about Jonathan and where you can find them.

 

Jonathan Koe is a queer astrologer, diviner, and alchemist of the subtle realm.

Their work aims to empower fellow shapeshifters, visionaries, and intuitives in remembering their essence, cultivating skills in being present with the ever-changing nature of reality, and weaving sincere, loving kinships with the world - even when the world has broken our hearts.