By JILLIAN KRISTINA
Here we stand, at the precipice of death and life. We’ve been forced to look at the devastating underbelly of what happens when people refuse to recognize and accept their shadows. To confront their rage. To hold their grief. We’re existing in a time where vitriol trumps the right to just exist. This world we live in, side by side, is divided by a hate so deep and so blind that the faces we used to recognize are no longer the same; twisted, morphed, or even frozen in a mask so polished, a facade so fake, that the ulterior motives slithering beneath the slowing forming cracks seem impossible to ignore. And yet, some do. Some deny, and bury, and continue to push and squelch and suffocate in the name of righteousness. In the name of knowing better. In the name of being right.
“We were chosen, remember? We were chosen. This is the only way we can leave this hurting. This is right. This is the only way we can stop hurting. We can leave all this pain, all this shit, behind.”
In Karyn Kusama’s 2015 psychological slasher, THE INVITATION, a group of estranged friends come together for the first time in two years following the tragic death of one of the couple’s sons. They gather at what used to be Eden (Tammy Blanchard) and Will’s (Logan Marshall-Green) home in Hollywood Hills. The home the couple once shared with their five year old son, Ty. Now, Will makes his way there with his new girlfriend, Kira (Emayatzy Corineadli) for a dinner party hosted by Eden and her new husband, David (Michiel Huisman). As they make their way up the winding road, Kira marvels over the thickness of the elaborate invitation. How grandiose, this piece of paper – this echo from the past, calling people back…
And that’s when it happens. Screeching tires. A crash. A coyote appears in the road, seemingly from out of nowhere. Wounded, suffering – there’s only one option – and Will must do it himself.
“We hit a coyote on the way up here. It just came out of nowhere. I mean, there was nothing we could do. It was in horrible shape. He had to kill it.”
A sign. An omen. A warning. Coyote’s are traditionally associated with trickster energy, blurring the lines between what we think we see, what we think we know. They traverse a tunnel through the veil of perception, arriving when reality is not as it seems. Not even close. They show up as a question, as a hesitation. As an ignition for our intuition. But it’s up to us to keep that ignition running – to keep that flame lit. To keep our senses about us when we find ourselves drifting into the horrors of the past. The ones that surround us in an obscuring mist, clouding our perceptions of memory, of choice. Of truth.
Will and Kira arrive at the party where old friends are well on their way to celebrating their reunion. They’re greeted warmly, enthusiastically. And yet, Will can’t completely return their warmth. He’s too preoccupied with entering this tomb of trauma – a place and time when his life ended. When his world came crashing down. And when he sees Eden descend the stairs and makes her grand entrance – a vision in white, glowing from the inside, out; a smile spanning a face that appears a little too…something…a little too happy, too put together, too composed – he knows not all is right in this space where shadow and laughter meet. This space where life and death share a lingering, crushing kiss.
“I am different. I’m free. All of that useless pain, it’s gone. It’s something that anyone can have, Will, and I want you to have it too.”
Will isn’t the only one who notices Eden’s new persona, her odd behavior. She follows him into the kitchen, rattling on about pain being a chemical response, how it’s completely avoidable, how you can exist pain-free and truly live. How you can literally eclipse it from your life. As Ben (Jay Larson) walks into the scene, listening to Eden’s pamphlet-like spiel, he’s more forthcoming.
“I’m sorry, Eden, it just sounds fucking crazy.”
In a flash, a quick and loud slap.
“Eden, what the fuck?”
“Until you stop making a joke out of everything, you’ll never learn a thing. That’s why nobody cares what you think.” Delivered with a smile. A smug grimace. An insidious energy, simmering just beneath the polished and poised surface. The schism between perfection and total breakdown begins to form. Pain has a way of rising up and erupting when it’s not given its due – when it’s not given its time, its space, its place. When it’s ignored. Denied. And just as quickly as the pain explodes, it’s tempered, buried once again.
“Ben, have a glass of wine. I’ve let it go already, and so should you.”
The party resumes, the wine continues to flow. Expensive wine. Wine for a celebration.
“This night is special. We shouldn’t save these things. We shouldn’t put off enjoying what we have…Let’s raise this ridiculously expensive glass of wine to new beginnings.”
Socializing continues, and there are two additional people at the party. People who weren’t part of the old friend group. People who are friends of David’s; a woman, Sadie (Lindsay Burdge), who is staying with Eden and David, and then a man, Pruitt (John Carroll Lynch), who arrives later. Pruitt has a somber, almost looming presence, while Sadie presents as a slightly unhinged, highly sexual creature who adds a layer of discomfort to the scene. Unnerving discomfort. At least to Will, but not to all of the guests. Because after Gina (Michelle Krusiec) starts chatting with Sadie, an exasperated revelation cuts through the party…
“They’re in a cult!”
The schism widens, opening its hungry mouth just a bit, but not completely. Not yet. Because now it’s time for the video. Now it’s time to introduce everyone to Dr. Joseph (Toby Huss), the leader of the grief group known as The Invitation. The reason Eden and David disappeared for two years. The reason they were in Mexico. The reason the group is about to witness a shocking film clip.
Death, broadcasted. Uninvited. The intended message, unrequited. The group is understandingly taken aback, appalled even. There was no warning. No option. No consent. But David is quick to defend what he just showed them, as well as Dr. Joseph.
“I was a slave to my own grief. But not anymore. Dr. Joseph freed me from that.”
And yet, there’s no freedom in denial. In delusion. There’s only imprisonment, a loss of will. A loss of agency. Bars on the windows. Locked doors. Devious agendas. Entrapment.
“Why didn’t you leave the key in the door though?”
Will has been noticing these details throughout the night. Restraints on and within the house. Restrictions. The voice of reason, looked at with a sense of treason. David reminds Will that it’s his house now. This is what happens when we question the over-the-top curation. This is what happens when truth is offered to a mouthful of lies. Not everyone wants to see it. Not everyone wants to hear it. It’s not until the bloodied blasphemies begin to flow that the naysayers take notice.
“You’ve been acting so suspicious of our hospitality.”
Always trust your intuition. Always go with your gut. Always.
The night goes on. Further uncomfortable situations ensue. Pruitt tells a story – a confession involving a fatality. But it’s ok – he did his time. He’s forgiven himself. He’s come to terms with it all. He’s found peace, because that’s what The Invitation is all about. That’s the medicine of their work. That’s what he and David and Eden and Sadie are trying to communicate to everyone. And again, not everyone is interested. Again, shock. Again, no warning. Again, no consent. No choice.
To placate the unrest, the group is ushered upstairs where dinner will be served. A long table boasting an exquisite feast. The friends settle in, eagerly accepting more wine as they fill their plates with scrumptious roasts and decadent dressings. A subtle frenzy descends, one that isn’t completely apparent, but Will notices as his friends devour. Consume. He watches as they rip the tender meat to shreds. He looks at Kira. He flashes back to the tragedy that still hangs so heavy in the air, losing himself a bit there. Lost in the wailing agonies of the past. Drowning in gaping wounds so deep, so crushing, that the waves seem almost insurmountable. Screaming out – silent screams landing on deaf ears.
“Something very dangerous is going on here, and nobody’s talking about it. We’re all just ignoring it because David brought out some good wine.”
They will talk about it, though. Those who remain will talk about it for the rest of their lives, because David and Eden are about to bring out some different wine. An offering – a toast to those gathered there with them tonight. A toast to those they love. A toast to life.
“Each and every one of us is on a journey, and we feel it’s important to be on it with the people we love.”
But love has no place here. Love hasn’t lived in that house in years, desperation and anger and fear having taken its place. This invitation wasn’t for a reunion, or communion – it was selfish and self-serving. It was agony and grief’s guttural moans that brought them all there. It was a shadow filling the echo chamber, wailing and crying and begging for someone, anyone, to see it. Acknowledge it. Reach for it. Hold it. Integrate it.
“It’s like a scream trapped inside of me.”
We’re seeing the horrifying backlash of repression – and oppression – right now. We’re watching, helplessly, as atrocities unfold that we never thought we’d witness in our lifetime. We’re watching the ways in which we betray ourselves become externalized, weaponized. Hatred, prejudice, terror – power. We’re seeing humanity eclipsed right before our unbelieving eyes, but we can’t look away, and we can’t deny. The upcoming lunar eclipse is occurring with the Full Moon in Libra on March 25. This is the second eclipse in Libra since this cycle began back in October. Think about what happened back in October. Think of what volcanic acts of brutality and barbarism erupted across the world – across our screens. Six months later, the malfeasance is unimaginable. The sheer, incalculable loss, unbelievable. But again, here we are, bearing witness. Here we are, confronting our own shadows – our own pain. Anger. Rage. Because in all the helplessness we feel, what we can do is our own work. We can acknowledge our own trauma, our own pain. Our own violence. We can work to better ourselves by facing those sides of our minds and souls that we don’t want people to see – that we don’t want to see. We can strive towards a deeper understanding of ourselves and extend that outwards. We can cultivate compassion. We can invite a sense of grace.
We’re all standing on the precipice of a massive threshold, and how we choose to walk through it is up to each and every one of us. How we choose to show up in the world, the work we choose to create, the communities we choose to tend are all being highlighted now. Libra speaks to balance, to harmony, to relationships. To justice. With this eclipse, borrow Libra’s scales, placing your heart on one scale and anything that might not seem quite right on the other – something that hasn’t measured up for a long, long time – like beliefs, relationships, collaborations, associations. We’re being given the support to make the hard choices. To leave the toxic relationships and cut the draining cords. We’re starting to see the truths of our own damaging cycles and the ways we’ve neglected ourselves. Undervalued ourselves. And now, we might find ourselves wondering who exactly we are without those things that never belonged to us. Without those people who never really saw or celebrated us – those people who would all too happily and greedily use us for their own agendas. Consuming us, gnashing their teeth and licking the plates that contain the last scraps of us. Drinking up our life’s blood like wine, red droplets streaking their gluttonous mouths.
Our invitation now is to see through the smoke screen and choose ourselves first, for once. We’re being invited to listen to ourselves and scream terrible truths from the rooftops – or across the dinner table – even if they fall on deaf ears. Those who are all too willing to drink the poison will. But we know better, and there are others who do, too. Who we choose to be, what we choose to create, and the gifts that we choose to nurture and share matter. We matter. Our voices matter. And they’re needed now, more than ever.
Here is a tarot reading, my offering, for the collective the next two weeks. Take what resonates, leave the rest.
Queen of Wands: Considered the witch of the tarot by some, this Queen is fire. She is will. She is passion. She is sovereignty and the self-mastery and magic that comes along with that. She’s the beloved ancestor who’s been calling you back to yourself, to your strengths, to your abilities. She’s been the thrumming beat pulsing through your veins, singing through the reddened streams that power your throne room – your heart. She’s your energetic root system, and she’s here to give you a massive boost. Yes, you’re at a threshold, but you’re not alone.
IX – The Hermit: Remember that – you’re not alone. Feel the Queen’s hand on your shoulder as you approach The Hermit, who holds your next assist – a lantern to guide you through the darkness. A lantern, emitting the softest of light so that even though it will help you see, it won’t obscure the richness of the darkness. The mysteries there. The necessary memories and pieces that have been resting, waiting for you to arrive at this space; this internal cave. This darkened hearth, waiting for you to lend your warmth (Wands) and vision (Hermit) to what has been gestating in the dark.
IV – The Emperor: Your power. That’s what’s been gestating in the fertile soil of your inner cave. Your belief that you deserve to be here. That you are more than worthy. That you have purpose, and you’re capable of bringing that purpose to fruition. The rise of this internal Emperor is the result of everything you’ve been through. This figure is the signal of culmination of cycle after cycle, except now, you’ve chosen differently. You’ve chosen yourself. You’ve decided to see yourself as you are, rather than how you’ve been conditioned. How you’ve been devalued. How you’ve sacrificed yourself in the name of belonging. Of acceptance. You’ve come to see that the only acceptance you need is from yourself, and it’s from this space that you will build your empire.
XXI – The World: With this newfound (remembered) power, you greet this precipice anew. You step through this threshold, arms spread and heart open, ready to simultaneously release and receive. This is both an ending and a beginning. This is the point of no return.
I – The Magician: Now, you step fully into your own magic. Rooting down, rising up. As above, so below. You welcome the elements into yourself, weaving and alchemizing and integrating the unique threads of the story that belongs only to you. This marks not just a new chapter, but a new book. You’ve chosen your tools and laid them on the altar before you. From this space, you are free to create unabashedly. This is your sacred vessel. Your conduit of creation. This is you, finally.
XVI – The Tower: Flashes of illumination strike. Your vision is clear; your sight stretching beyond the mundane. Beyond the physical. There are elements of The High Priestess here, for she presides over thresholds. Over illumination. She is the ultimate conduit – the revered oracle. As The Tower is destroyed, so are any remaining illusions. Any remaining blockages. Any lingering cords that you may cling to out of fear or loss. This cycle is truly finished, reduced to rubble. And from it, you rise with the potency and vitality of The Magician. Of The High Priestess. Of The Emperor. Of the sovereign creator of your own life. The creator of a better world.
May we walk through this Tower threshold together, and may we emerge with the strength and solidarity that we need to always speak the truth, always trust ourselves, and always, always fight for what is right. Take care of yourselves and each other during the next few weeks. That is the way out. That is the way through.
