3I / ATLAS — A Living Transmission
- Karen Di Gloria
- 5 days ago
- 6 min read
October 21 | New Moon in Libra
On my Solar Return, an interstellar visitor—Comet 3I / ATLAS—made its closest approach to Mars.
The third known interstellar object ever to enter our system, CO₂-bright and ancient, arriving from somewhere beyond Pluto’s realm.
I can’t ignore the timing.
I can’t pretend to know its meaning either.
All I can do is witness what moved through me as it approached.
Prelude: October 2 – 5 | Field Notes
Oct 2 — The Cord
In meditation I saw a white-silver cord rising from my navel, threading through the fascia of my entire body.
It wasn’t umbilical—it was a living conduit, attaching to something beyond the atmosphere.
As I breathed, the light shifted from silvery white to deep indigo, like information pulsing through fiber optics.
Left Shoulder, Neck, Head Loops (also Oct 2)
Energy gathered over my left shoulder—the receptive side—and my head began tracing slow counter-clockwise circles, then figure 8s.
It felt like fascia unwinding.
Movement instead of stillness.
Integration instead of overwhelm.
Oct 3 — Weights and Light
Later the current changed.
Black-brown cords extended from my sacrum but didn’t root into Earth—they held me suspended, stabilizing.
Above my head, a white funnel opened at the crown, a quiet portal waiting to pour light.
No vision, no message—just readiness.
Oct 3/4 — Dream Harvest
Dream after dream blurred together:
a dog dressed up to perform while I begged people to let it just be a dog—to play, roam, and be loved instead of entertain;
a wake where I refused the processed food of the past (“Nabisco,” my dream self said clearly);
a mother yelling at her child while I reminded her—gently—that both she and her child needed love.
Each scene felt simple on the surface, yet charged with emotion—as if my soul was replaying the oldest programs of performance, consumption, and projection so I could finally release them.
The dog was my own instinctual self, once conditioned to earn love through doing.
In freeing it, I was freeing the part of me that believed worth came from usefulness instead of presence.
The wake marked the funeral of that old identity.
Rejecting the “Nabisco” food was more than a dietary stance—it was a refusal to keep feeding on what dulls consciousness: artificial sweetness, emotional convenience, collective programming.
I chose soul nutrition over societal conditioning.
And the mother and child revealed the next layer: the inner parent learning a new way to love.
No more scolding the self for feeling. No more reproducing inherited shame.
Just a quiet remembrance that both the inner child and the one who guides her deserve tenderness.
Spiritually, this cluster of dreams felt like a rite of passage in miniature—a movement from survival to sincerity, from role-playing to real connection.
Jung might call it an encounter with the Self—the moment instinct, ego, and archetype converge to birth something whole.
When I woke, I felt tender but clear,
as though I’d shed one more invisible costume and was meeting myself, unmasked, again.
Oct 4/5 — Running From the Ex
That night I woke as if from a nightmare.
I was hiding from my ex—my most recent partner, the one who spiraled back into addiction after we split.
The scene revolved around shower and bathroom stalls in a hotel-like building.
I didn’t want to be found or seen.
Right before I woke, I was running across the floor from one stall to another, trying to make it into a solid stall—not a clear or opaque one—before he was finished in his own.
I made it, slammed the door, and locked it just as he emerged.
I woke up with my heart racing, feeling anxious and doomed… but also noticing something new:
For the first time in a dream like this, I was not slowed down.
No molasses. No paralysis.
I moved at normal speed and got myself to safety.
In trauma-processing dreams, running slow or feeling frozen is the nervous system’s old “freeze” imprint.
Moving at normal speed and reaching safety is a breakthrough:
My psyche was rehearsing a new outcome—I can move, act, and protect myself.
The solid stall = a boundary that holds.
The water running / bathrooms = the cleansing ground of the unconscious.
The ex in addiction = the shadow of unpredictable masculine energy that once frightened me.
Locking the door = sealing a boundary, completing a cycle.
This wasn’t just a nightmare; it was my inner self demonstrating that I now have the capacity to act rather than freeze.
Healing landing not just in my mind, but in my nervous system.
Jungian Terrain
The psyche speaks in symbols.
The dog—the instinctual self—begging to be freed from performance.
The bathroom stalls—the unconscious chambers where we cleanse and reclaim privacy.
The food brand—mass programming, collective appetite.
The mother and child—the lineage still yearning for gentler parenting.
The locked stall—a boundary finally sealed.
Each scene a complex uncoiling.
Each emotion a cord through the fascia of the soul.
Plutonian Terrain
I was born with Pluto conjunct my Sun and Moon.
I’m built for descents.
Transformation is my native language, even when it looks like exhaustion or retreat.
During these nights I felt like my fascia was speaking in hieroglyphs:
codes of grief loosening, patterns of protection unbraiding.
The black cords at my base weren’t punishment—they were scaffolding while new architecture formed.
Sagittarius → Ophiuchus Corridor
When astronomers first detected 3I / ATLAS, it appeared in the direction of Sagittarius—my Ascendant sign.
That corridor is where the comet’s signal entered our sky.
And as it moves, it threads through the Ophiuchus band—the outlier constellation of serpent medicine and regeneration.
Magically, my Neptune (9° Sagittarius) and East Point (19° Sagittarius/Ophiuchus band) both sit squarely inside this Ophiuchus corridor.
This means my Pluto–Neptune signature isn’t just inner work—it’s activation work.
The Ophiuchus layer anchors the cosmic codes in my body.
Like the comet itself—an interstellar outlier—Neptune in Ophiuchus marks me as an outlier soul:
drawn to regeneration and resurrection
wired for mastery of life force energy (serpent/DNA codes)
healing through confrontation with poison
bridging death and divinity.
Ophiuchus souls aren’t meant to conform; they’re meant to be the bridges.
Every time I publish, speak, or stand in authenticity, my East Point at 19° Sag/Ophiuchus band broadcasts higher voltage. The right people feel it as awakening; others may resist. Either way, it activates.
This is why the comet’s arrival in my sky on my Solar Return feels like more than a coincidence. It’s a mirror.
The Interstellar Mirror
3I / ATLAS—almost pure carbon dioxide—breath from another world.CO₂: carbon + oxygen.
Structure + spirit.
Solid + gas.
Form + breath.
Maybe that’s what this activation is: a reminder that even exhalation can be holy.
It comes from a cold, distant region—far beyond our Sun’s warmth—yet it flares bright as it nears the inner planets.
Isn’t that the journey of healing itself?
Emerging from isolation, igniting as we approach consciousness.
That this comet brushed Mars’s orbit on the exact day of my Solar Return feels like a cosmic underline.
Mars rules the battlefield; Pluto rules what rises from the ashes.
Together they mark the initiation: the warrior reborn as healer.
Living It Out Loud
Since those nights I’ve felt quieter, slower, more inward.
Sleeping more, dreaming more, talking less.
I told my father I’m not working.
I told God I surrender.
Some mornings I wake with melancholy, others with peace.
All of it feels like part of the same download—installation, integration, embodiment.
I don’t claim to know what 3I / ATLAS is activating.
Maybe fascia as antennae.
Maybe memory in muscle.
Maybe just the courage to rest.
The Ongoing Transmission
This piece isn’t closure; it’s a snapshot mid-transformation.
A record of how the psyche, the body, and the cosmos conspire to rewrite old code.
A reminder that healing really is the battlefield—but also the cathedral where new life assembles cell by cell.
I’m letting this story breathe,
letting the meaning reveal itself in divine time.
The comet came; I listened.
The body spoke; I wrote.
Read if you feel signaled.
The White Screen
For those who feel the signal and want to trace where this began,
I’ve created a page called White Screen
the origin point of this unfolding story.
It’s where I first began to see beyond the visible light,
where this language of codes, comets, and consciousness took form.
If 3I / ATLAS is the messenger, White Screen is the moment the message met my eyes.
(If you’re reading this by email, links may be disabled — simply copy and paste this URL into your browser: www.divineholisticnutrition.com/white-screen)
If any part of this touched something inside you, I’d love to know.
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For the lineage and beyond,
Karen Di Gloria 🧬
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