It’s official. Saturn and Mercury are waltzing backwards and the sky has been doused by a cadre of water sprites dispatched from Triton. Did you know that Triton has an atmosphere? Did you know that unlike the other 12 moons of Neptune, Triton has a retrograde orbit? So I guess it had to reverse itself right into the first paragraph. The thirteen moons of Neptune follow the mystical sequence of 12/13. 13 is the 12 disciples + 1 and a fitting equation since we’re talking about the planet which rules Pisces. Speaking of which . . .
In just three days, Pope Benedict will get the hell out of Vatican City as quickly and as anonymously as possible. Maybe they should rent Robert Blake to play his double for the day, while Ratzinger jumps ship out the side door, dressed as an Italian ice vendor. It’s generally a bad career move to vacate before one’s time is up. Just ask Saddam, The Shah, Gaddafi and Osho. It ain’t long before you’re down and rushed off to some obscure hospital somewhere, only to never to see the light of day again. I suppose they can keep him around if the lights go out, kinda like what they’re doing with Sharon, preserving his psychopathic genius for the time when they can upload his marvelous malevolence to the exonet.
But this is not about darkness or screeds of injustice wrapped in cynical jest, lancing you with symbols, piercing the membrane of awareness, while desperately trying to wrest you from the trance. This is about remembering who you are and where you came from. With Mercury, the messenger of the gods flying in reverse, winging along the path of the Fisher King, it’s all about re-collection.
The one piece I left out of my Aquarian series, the one I’m saving for the e-book, is when Uranus and Neptune were in Aquarius on the eleventh of September, in 2001. On that day, the Moon was in Gemini as was
Saturn, firmly representing the duality of the day.
Mars, in all of its’s martial fury was in Capricorn and Black Moon Lilith was at two degrees Pisces, cast out of the garden of the Christian Age, while Uranus and Neptune in the sign of the rebel found their home in the nadir of chart, blistering our consciousness and for a brief period of time, drawing the world closer together through tragedy, united against a shadowy cave dweller, hidden somewhere in the remote regions of Afghanistan. You’re either with us or against us.
It was a “clear break” from the past, which enabled the United States to adopt a pre-emptive strike mentality. While the Kennedy assassination altered the timeline, it was in need of some serious bolting down and on the morning of the 12th, the day after, a new world had been born out of the rubble of asbestos and human dust. It was a world that was about security and not freedom. It was a world that would spawn color revolutions fed by the ideology of an Aquarian professor from UMass (Gene Sharp), who would supply the tactics necessary to stage, “democratic coups.”
We have to go back before then on the current of memory, back to a time when our humanity and the principles we did our best to embody were sacred. Back to a time where our values reflected the order and the will of heaven. Before they split the atom and the collective soul, we were whole. I’m not talking a chicken-in-every-pot, and a car in every garage (though you can stop there too), but somewhere in the recesses of our hearts, where every cell has within it the library of our spiritual genesis, wrapped and twisted like a knotted tale, waiting to be untangled.
In there, we know exactly who we are and where we came from. We understand suffering and joy equally, wishing none of the former, and inviting plenty of the latter. We don’t need wetware or synoptical nodes to jack us in or plumb our depths. It’s all there. From the fall of Atlantis to the rise of Yeshua, the story of our beginning and our end is encoded in the matrices of our blood. But just in case you forgot, let’s take time to remember, together, exactly who we are at our most compassionate, wisest, warmest, funniest, fullest and divine best.
Last night at the Academy Awards, the women’s bathroom was backed up and overflowed–a surreal symbol of Mercury retrograde Pisces getting played out–the true feminine denied. In case you’re not getting it, the holy mother was saying that Babylon is full of shit and her maidens are emotionally incontinent.
Aquarian, Seth McFarlane continued on with his cute little war on sensibility.
Michelle Obama dropped in of course, reminding us, yet again, that the Obama’s are at the center of everything, everywhere, all the time.
But this isn’t about that. It’s about poetry, music, the stunning grandeur of the planet, the last remnants of food untainted by alien seed or synthetic skies.
It’s about feeling safe in the night, with a lover next to you, knowing that in your heart of hearts, you lived your day exceedingly well and that a divine flame fills you both with a faith beyond death and that there is no room for fear of shadows, liars, murderers and thieves. We can respect the danger, but the love and the fear cannot co-exist.
This is what I am hear to remind you of during this Mercury Retrograde in Pisces, your rightful and divine place amongst the cosmos with the creator.
It’s funny, whenever trends start to peek, I’ve almost always gone in the other direction. I’m not sure if this is yet another manifestation of Chiron in Aquarius retrograde and I’m just staking out some contrarian terrain, or I’m sensing the collapse of one system before it crumbles and falls, but for whatever reason, I’m more and more aware of the space that goes against the grain of our times. That’s not to say that I’m retreating into some luddite fantasy world, yearning for 1950 all over again, but there’s an emergent sense of values and internal order that cohere to a different dimension that I’m often occupying in the flotsam and jetsam of pop-culture and bizarre exo-politics.
I can’t tell you how many conversations I’ve had recently with people who are pretty tired and fed up with the dominant culture, ramming, ramming, and ramming at the gates of their sanity and sanctity. From false flags to fake boobs, they’ve had enough.
There’s no going back in a physical sense. There’s no Plymouth Rock or event horizon stretching out into the infinitude of the western sky. Those places are gone. There’s only a way through the swamps of confusion and the terrors of tyranny. Somewhere inside, there’s a faint beacon that can take you home, if you have the heart to listen and follow it without fail. Along the way, you might meet others with the very same destination and if you do, know you are truly blessed.
For every injustice, do something good when you can.
For every slight, rejoice for the opportunity to wrestle with compassion and forgiveness.
We have to be bigger than our current milieu, because that’s just the way we were wired and somehow forgot along the way.
I wonder what’s making me feel this way. Maybe its Mercury retrograde doing the prompting of my puritanical Moon, in all it’s fullness, cresting my MC, conjuncting my Sun. Or maybe it’s the Biblical winds, lashing out at the landscape at 50MPH, conjuring images of near Earth giants whipping the atmosphere into an apocalyptic frenzy. Whatever the case, it’s reminding me, to remind you about your deepest spiritual strata. I hope it worked.
Speaking of reminders, Wednesday, I’ll have psychic medium, Sharon Johns on Navigating The Astrological Matrix, an appropriate person to show up when we’re all awash in the Piscean swirl. That will be Wednesday, 3/28 at 12PM Central.