Chiron, the half-man, half-beast, stands for in-between, the twilight experience, grief beautified, or beauty grieved. It can also be the symbol of the storyteller in our charts, as A. T. Mann puts it. Moon Chiron Wound? Here’s my story:
In my days of being a Ph.D. student, I used to marvel at Maurice Blanchot’s The Infinite Conversation (parts of which I translated into Persian), as it was a feast for those fascinated by verbal aesthetics, but also hard-core philosophy: words were never quite reflective of life, but were in a non-relation to life, interrupting life in a way that life could not do to itself.
For the last few weeks, my life came into an uncanny intersection with words, in a way that Blanchot would have smiled and said: “Now, that is what I am talking about!”
As I was writing my first drafts of Moon Chiron aspects, I became pregnant.
Chiron has been transiting my Descendant (where we meet “the other”), hence my natural attraction towards the theme. I have been writing draft after draft for the past couple of years, trying to bring this project to a concrete conclusion. Yet, as is expected, “concreteness” and “conclusion” has not happened in the presence of this god. The best I have achieved so far is editing, organizing and purifying some of my scattered writings in order to gradually release them in the form of digestible articles through my weblog (i.e. right here).
Nine weeks after the lunar event of my pregnancy, as I was expanding my drafts on Moon Chiron in between all the tests and doctor visits, a miscarriage took place.
The god had presented himself in flesh, opening a literal wound in me, thus teaching by example.
And the grief, as consuming as it was, had an unmistakable aesthetic quality about it: it was noble grief, grief witnessed by gods, humbling and riveting. As the loss had happened in sync with the cosmos, it was not a meaningless loss. I could read it not only in the words I had written on paper, but also live it with my flesh, opening and bleeding in the presence of the god of wounds and wisdom.
When I opened my eyes the day after, this came to me:
The Chironic wound, the wound which is a site of possibilities, is life itself.
Life begins with a wound, the wound formed in the womb of the mother as the embryo burrows himself into the walls of the uterus. This wound is open and thus full of potential: it keeps changing and growing, exhausting all the possibilities presented to it, wholesome, yet fragile.
Birth is a wound, and death is the closure of this wound, the healing. In the space between the two, we learn to stand in awe, much like the audience of a Greek tragedy whose hearts would be ripped out of their chests by the calamities befalling the protagonist as their ears would be sweetly caressed by the sublime beauty of the words spoken by him.
Chiron is the teacher who teaches not by words, but by flesh, not with noise, but with silence.
May our Chironic wounds stay open to keep us connected to life and not just its name.
May our Chironic wounds serve the quest of our ever-seeking soul, no matter how.
May our Chironic wounds become what is remembered best in our absence.