It’s been a strange 48 hours as Mercury is about to begin it’s cosmic role reversal. Think of it as one of those carnival rides that goes backwards and forwards, up little humps and rises, down again, with edgy banks in a classic loop. For the last three weeks, you’ve been hurtling backwards, trying to laugh while holding your cotton candy and root beer down and just when you hit that point of stasis, the bell rings and the calliope organ starts pumping out a different song and the whiplash kicks in. Now you’re moving forward again on the infinite loop, through space and time.
First it was the Super Bowl, and Katy Perry rising into eternity, the star of the new age, rising, rising into the Phoenix night sky. Then we moved onto the Grammies in the ritual season, which coincides with Clive Davis’ annual homage to himself. Just a few more revolutions before the breakneck reversal and the return to some semblance of linearity. Good luck.
On Saturday night, at around 9PM, I heard the incessant drone of a helicopter for hours. I know this sound. It’s like the bull roarer of an angry, lesser god. I used to hear it a lot in California, back in the dark days when I was going through my crazy, Chiron Return, but that’s another story. Let’s just say I placed that particular hum in the memory pool. It went on and on and on.
I went outside to track it and there it was, a dark shadow circumnavigating the night sky, as thick, white clouds poured in from the South. In the distance I could hear sirens wailing, the noisy commotion of crisis piercing the heavy, ambient hum. Something was off–something was wrong. I went back inside and climbed into the cocoon of night and fell asleep just after 1 AM. The still air was finally silent.
The next day, I found out that not very far from my house, Sawyer Flache, 27, father of two, was shooting streetlights out and the Austin PD called in the black chopper. An hour or so later, Sawyer Flache was dead. A bullet-to-the-head. The next day they are running the story over and over again, book ending it with news about Chris Kyle’s murder trial, which started yesterday. It was part of a strange, time loop, stitching the high strange together for our popular consumption. A moment of silence for Sawyer Flache, who left two, young girls behind, one year shy of his official Saturn Return. Sawyer Flache, tragically, ironically has become a member of the “27’s.” Who knows what drove you to snap, crackle and pop Sawyer Flache? Who knows if you will shadow that helicopter through the South Central, Texas night, like a ghost in space for night upon night to come. Here is your space Sawyer Flache, your moment of silence ((((((((((((((((((((((0))))))))))))))))))))).
The Grammies, like the Super Bowl, the Olympics and the VMAs are the portal through which sounds, symbols, sigils and spells are cast upon unwitting souls. And those of us, who are trying to track the trends of the holographic theater, keeping up with the script, clocking the players pay attention to these spectacles, new theater of the absurd. There was the Gemini magic act of Sir Faul McCartney and Kanye West. The Black/White theme is prevalent, an occult trigger, the reconciliation of opposites, the alchemy of flesh. They did it at the Super Bowl, going two ways, once with Lenny Kravitz (Gemini) male principle and Katy Perry and then Missy Elliot (Cancer) the feminine.
Faul and Kanye weren’t alone in participating in the sonic arcana.
Madonna was there, channeling the “Scarlett Woman” aka Jack Parsons “Whore of Babylon.” Later in the evening, Beck, a Scientologist would win best album, introduced by Prince (Gemini) looking a lot like Sai Baba. Beck was bum rushed by the aforementioned Gemini, Kanye West who now claims that the voices in his head told him to do it.
Scientology was founded by, L. Ron Hubbard, who was 1/3 of Jack Parson’s magical trio of the Babalon Working. And there Madonna was, dancing hand in horn with a legion of hard bodied demons, channeling the Cult of Minos, the minions of the minotaur. The song, the utterly forgettable, “Living For Love” is supposedly about Madonna’s broken heart, dumped by a matador. It’s a lot of bull. It was as Satanic as it gets. The love song she was singing was for the lord of the underworld himself, not some Spanish guy in a funny hat, super tight pants and a sequined cape.
If we go back to her massively occult, Super Bowl performance, Madonna was the personification of Isis. The Isis imagery was thick three years ago and lo and behold, who’s terrorizing the planet? Who is Obama ready to go to war against? Was it predictive programming? Or were they generating the psychic force to summon a demon army?
During Super Bowl Madonna was teamed up with CeeLo Green (Gemini) during the Super Bowl, but the light and sound were pure Lucifer. Her Grammy turn at XLVI. My breakdown of it was one of the most popular posts on my site. You can read more about it HERE.
In the Super Bowl that followed, Super Bowl XLVII, it was Beyonce’s turn and while they didn’t peddle the same level of esoteric, in-your-face, fag-haggery, if you watched very carefully, you could catch the same Bull symbolism strobing beneath Beyonce in sheet flashes of silver light. The Bull, is of course Taurus, but it is also symbolic of the Sirius/Orion cluster of stars, which is in the constellation of Taurus.
Sirius is a binary star, meaning that there are two stars that operate in union with one another, hence another level of the interpretation of the dualistic nature of these rites. It is a calling forth of the twin stars, Sirius A and B, as well as Castor and Pollux, the other celestial twins, representative of Gemini, which are located roughly on the other side of the Equatorial Plain from Sirius A and B.
All the way across, on the other side of the galaxy lies the Galactic Center. Terra is cradled between Sirius A and B and the GC.
Our own Sun is in a binary orbit with Sirius A and B, and right around July 4th, is conjunct Sirius A and B. does that date sound familiar? The United States was officially founded when in conjunction with Sirius.
It is generally acknowledged that the Freemasons call it “The Blazing Star.” What’s ironic is that it’s barely visible to the naked eye.
It was said that Isis descended from the heavens and gave birth to humanity and that she was the mother of all that is. The throne of Isis became the official seat of all royalty. What we are seeing in the Grammies is a passing of the torch of sorts. From Madonna (now whore) to Beyonce as Isis, mother of fertility, the mother of all life, the divine feminine as a portal to the origination of our creator gods. It doesn’t matter if Jay-Z is cheating on her ass. It doesn’t matter if she looks like she’s on Beta Blockers and cheap wine at a Knicks game. None of it matters to the personality called “Beyonce Knowles” because it’s what takes up residence inside of her during the ritual space that is purpose of it all.
For the duration of a song, a medley, a concert, a video, she can be Isis, incarnate. In fact, there are even rumors that she was never pregnant at all and that “Blue Ivy” isn’t even her child. So in some strange, and angular way, it was a virgin birth.
From the red hues of Satan (Madonna) to the silver luxe of Lucifer (Beyonce) we see the infernal energies of ancient deities, absent fathers, and naughty uncles linked as one, reformatted power over this world. And it was also a passing of the torch as Madonna is a Leo and Beyonce, a Virgo. Regulus, the fixed star of kings and queens has recently gone from Leo to Virgo–a very rare occurrence for a fixed star. It is also a celestial/terrestrial passing of the torch. These are just a few of the secrets of the Grammies and the ritual relationship between Madonna and Beyonce.
Meanwhile, the Brown/Houston family agonizes over whether to pull the plug on brain dead Bobbi Kristina Brown. It is three years today that Whitney died. The macabre symmetry is almost too much to comment on.
Failure to launch?
It was Groundhog Day, just the other day and it took on a new meaning, a perverse twist in it’s cruel tale of six-more-weeks of Winter as Punxatawny Phil noticed his shadow. That’s the gift for noticing one’s shadow. The universe is like that at times and yet it’s honest and true. Just because you can see and identify your shadow, it doesn’t herald the arrival of your own, personal Spring. No, you have to slog through the ice and razor sharp wind to the face just a little longer. Ya gotta pay your shadow dues.
But this Groundhog Day has the dark and surreal spin of the rinse and repeat cycle that is becoming all-too-familiar with the likes meta-events, like the Olympics and the Super Bowl. As my previous post noted, Bobbi Krisitna Brown lies near the borderlands of consciousness, her breath mechanically moved, coma, medically induced, found face down in her tub, early last Saturday morning.
Bobbi is in the Bardo of dreaming life, caught between the slipstream of this world and the next. I have visions of her looking down at her semi-lifeless form, now as close to free as it gets, yet still tethered by the silver cord. In that space of time, she’s living out eternity as a ghost in her past. She’s an interstitial satellite whose consciousness is everywhere, including right here, right now. Could she have also been an angel on Super Bowl Sunday? Continue reading “Bobbi Krisitna As Angel (Pisces), The Chart, Malcolm Butler (Pisces) And The Super Bowl Miracle That Might Just Save The World”
I was going to write my annual, pre-Super Bowl post, get into the various aspects and signs of significant players and coaches to determine who the winner might be. After last night’s troubling news surrounding Bobbi Brown, Whitney Houston’s daughter, I am less inclined, nor do I really care about the sporting significance of the game itself. Sag Russell Wilson is on the cusp of American mythology. I haven’t seen a player with for all intents and purposes with as much supernatural ability since the likes of Joe Montana. Embedded in his name are some very intriguing elements.
Russ = Red. Red is the color of Mars and Wilson is part Native-American (maternal side) and of course there are shades of “Redskin” in all of it’s political incorrectness. Ell = Light, but it is also Saturn. Russell is the God of War and the God of Time. His last name is Wilson. Wil = Will (again a manifestation of Mars) and son, which is “The Son” aka “The Son of God” and is also “The Sun.”
Ironically, I just watched “Sunday In New York” two nights ago on TCM, starring Jane Fonda, Cliff Robertson, Rod Taylor and Robert Culp. Fonda (Sag) tries to seduce a stranger, Rod Taylor during a brief visit to New York, while spending time with her pilot brother, Robertson. Her boyfriend and soon-to-be fiance, Robert Culp (Leo) enters the fray. His name? Russell Wilson. Oddly enough, Wilson as aforementioned is a Sag, Tome Brady, a Leo.
Wilson has some serious ancestral magic in his corner. Based on that alone, I like the Seahawks in this one. 33-27.
But that is not what this post is about. Early, Saturday morning in ROSWELL, Georgia, Whitney Houston’s only daughter, Bobbi Brown was found unconscious in a tub. She is now in a medically induced in an Atlanta, hospital. Deaths in and around the Super Bowl, aka “Superb Owl” are becoming more and more common place. Last year on the eve of the Super Bowl 48, Phillip Seymour Hoffman was found dead due to a heroin overdose, which initiated us into the the “Year Of The Horse” and all of the Neptunian/Horse symbolism of 2014. Katy Perry (Scorpio) caps it all off with her halftime appearance, which will no doubt feature her illuminist hit, “Dark Horse.” She’ll be joined by Lenny Kravitz (Gemini) in a real time duality ritual of light/dark, male/femaie.
Bobbi Brown is a Pisces. Here again we encounter the Neptune/Trident symbolism and the tub is transformed into a watery coffin (Pisces). It mirrors not only her mother’s death, but also her brush with death in a tub, just after Whitney (Leo) was likely ritually sacrificed before Clive Davis’ lifetime achievement award.
Just days ago, Idina Menzel stated that Whitney is her inspiration for signing this year’s national anthem, since Whitney was the wart siren in 1991, as the US had just invaded Iraq and MLK’s birthday. Menzel is a Gemini (duality) with a Leo Sun.
This is Super Bowl 49, which breaks down to “13” and is the death card in the major arcana.
The symbol of Atlanta, where Bobbi Brown is in a medically induced coma, is “The Phoenix” and of course this Super Bowl is being played in Phoenix, Arizona. Both cities are at the 33rd degrees parallel.
Add into all of this one of the largest displays of stealth, force, security and power ever assembled at any Super Bowl and we have a potential, major event on our hands.
Let me repeat, Bobbi Brown is a Pisces. Her middle name is “Kristina” which is the feminine version of “Christ.”
All of the Piscean/Neptunian symbolism of the past year is symbolic of the death of “The Age of Pisces” which must be sacrificed to usher in “The Age Of Aquarius.” And what is today? 2/1. The first day of February, the official month of Aquarius. If Bobbi passes, that means that the only person left in the Bobby/Bobbi/Whitney story will be Bobby. Guess what sign he is? Aquarius.
I talked about this at length in my episodes detailing the life and death of Jack Parsons, and “The Babylon Working” at Gaiam.Tv last year. I’ll report more back after the game.