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Lisa Guest Headshot

Self. Society. Snap, Crackle & Pop!

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FIRE

Nacho, the Argentinian polo player, now famous as the handsome hunk on Ralph Lauren's Polo ads, told Oprah that when he rides he becomes one with the horse. Being that he changes horses eight times during a match, that's a lot of effort at merging together with another in order to become one. I need only merge with myself for my writing. But that is challenge enough.

Tonight, Dad started in on me again, "Have you written your 500 words today?" When I answered, "No," he then questioned me further: "Then what was it in you that made it ok for you to sit down and watch Oprah?" The entire conversation lasted from 8:05 to 9:27. At one point we were tearing each others head off. Mom kept threatening to leave the phone call, "This is exhausting. I have to go." But she never did click off. He kept talking about Bad Lisa, about the rebel in me, about how I needed to be more disciplined.

I listened. I always listen. Then I started to respond. "My whole life I've been told I need to be more disciplined. All through Berkeley my friend Lizzie said I wasn't disciplined enough. All my life I've beat myself up because I didn't live up to my potential. I didn't work hard enough. No matter what I did accomplish, there was much I didn't get to, and therefore no reward was deserved, no break from the pressure, no resting on my laurels. It wasn't until Lisa Hill told me that because my chart is all fire, discipline doesn't really work for me. You put a raging fire in a house and it won't stay contained within its walls. It will eat up everything flammable and much that isn't within." I started waxing philosophically to those two beloveds on the other end of the phone about how I am like fire.

How I am four planets in Sagittarius, the major planets of Sun, Mercury, Mars and Jupiter. All fire. On top of that, my rising sign, which is described as being the sign that you look like to others, is in Aries. Another fire sign. I'm almost all fire. So when I tell myself I should be producing, my abundant fire, which could heat food for millions, starts to burn around my edges and exhaust me as I try to put it out. Instead of squelching the fire, I must tame it. I must seduce it, not numb it. I must use my head wisely, as firefighters do when being paid to protect valuable structures from the force of Mother Nature.

I can hate myself because I'm all fire. I'm constantly having to watch that I don't explode. It doesn't take much to instigate my rising up. Very little starter fluid and with one spark, I'm ablaze. Yet, for all the danger living with this entails, there are benefits. This is also the part of me that can talk to almost anyone, when I really want to do so, and melt the ice that has built up around their soul and immobilized their spirit. Within minutes, they speak to me of thoughts and feelings they haven't shared with anyone ever.

Mom said, "Oh Lisa. I've never heard you speak like that. Can't you write that up? That is so true about you. I've seen you do it repeatedly. Can't you just ask the part of you that fights you to step aside for a few minutes so you can type this?"