Over at Gaiam Tv, my latest forecast for Leo, Virgo, Libra and Scorpio is about to break. If you haven’t seen my other videos on Gaiam, these are some of the subjects I have covered; The Real Birthdate of Jesus, Pluto in Capricorn, The Dark Side of Aquarius and the general 2014 Forecast. You can see these videos and more by signing up for free, ten-day-trial, by simply clicking HERE.
Jan 15 2014
The dragon’s breath hangs low upon the land and an unnatural chill grabs people by the throat, then the lungs. It settles there under the camouflage of thick mucous walls, morphing and mutating faster than the body can hunt it down and deploy it’s overtaxed, white blood cells. If flushed out, it finds it’s way down to the stomach, where it creates the swamp-like environs it can luxuriate in and remain just a step ahead of the body’s ability to eradicate it. It’s not your garden variety virus.
In the early middle ages, during the time of the great plague, people would witness something very similar to the sinister figure of death, the grim reaper himself, replete scythe. Now what’s interesting about these eyewitness accounts of the grim reaper, is that it was also reported that there was a mist coming out of the scythe. You see the scythe might have actually been an instrument of death.
In William Bramley’s, “The Gods of Eden” Bramley makes the case that when human spirit and achievement begins to reach some concrescence, that some type of plague, famine, or war wipes out millions of lives, either directly or indirectly. The Black Plague (and there were other plagues–see Byzantium) along with both world wars of the 20th century, the great depression, and other, massive broadsides against humanity have always pushed back on the development of the species. This can also be seen in the story of the great flood, which has been translated into numerous myths and tales across the planet. One of the most famous of course is the great flood in the “Epic of Gilgamesh” where Enlil has decided that the creations of Enki have become much too uppity and wipes the majority of them out.
As the first Full Moon of the year arrives, it illuminated the shadow of it’s opposite, the dark mass of seething, subterranean fury, yes, I am talking about Pluto in Capricorn. The full Moon in nurturing, life giving Cancer reflects back upon it. In essence, we can see the circumstances of our own demise being deployed via the massive, planetary dispersal of chemtrails.
The Full Moon in Cancer is instinctual. It knows without intellectualizing and as it gets closer in orb to transiting Jupiter in Cancer, it’s magnetic properties expand and increase. The Full Moon in Cancer is our emotional gate. It is the dam or horrors, the viscous swamp of the daily theater of the macabre where the homeless get beaten and tazed. It’s the unspoken embers of a race war manifesting in the cruel sport of the “Knockout Game.” If we haven’t completely lost our capacity to feel, if our heart hasn’t been cast in a silicon glaze by the pirate polymers and nano arrays, we are close to overflowing point, that’s if we can still summon the angels of grief in our service.
While I was on FB, I spotted this, a story about two planes spraying a thick amount of greenish fog over Miramar Beach, in California, a beach I used to run on when I lived on the coast.
In West Virginia, over 300,000 people have been deeply impacted by a spill, perpetrated by the ironically named Freedom Industries, which mistakenly dumped 7.500 gallons of a toxic chemical used to process coal. This had an immediate impact on the citizens of Charleston. It’s the power of the Full Moon in Cancer shining down upon the careless practices of a Plutonian agency. Chiron in Pisces is the toxic effluvia of fracked waters, our spiritual essence poisoned, our communities ransacked for wanton profit. If you haven’t noticed it, the gas, coal and oil industry is booming here in the USA. We used to go to third world countries and snatch their precious fossil fuels and ores without much regard for the natural surroundings, communities and lives. Well the United States is the new third world. Here in Texas, newly sunken oil rigs rise up in the suburbs, slurping up the crude, 24/7, gears turning, floodlights blinding, as if none of it is out of place. The residents have no recourse. They were shut down by a circuit judge, claiming that the oil company has as much right to the land as the home owners. Zoning is a quaint notion.
Read the tea leaves.
These are the operations of scavengers, the final front of industry in the US, where there is no future, no tomorrow, no planning outside of the Logan’s Run green zones, where Mercury lights will hum and glow in the silent dusk of American history. Outside, out there, the once sacred lands of the Nez Perce, Comanche, Arapaho, Algonquin, Hopi, Sioux and Menominee, the sprawling suburbs and the graveyards of prosperity are pumped and fucked out of the lubricious essence that glides across the tectonic plates.
This is what happens when jobs go away and the middle class gets a little too smart, a little too turned on, a little too hip and wise to the game. When that happens, out come the nearly opaque C-7′s laying down the checkerboard skies, the thick and gauzy drip of milky spew, the dripping jet flu.
The rubicons of trust, faith and good standing have been crossed.
To hear my interview with geo-engineering expert and chem trail tracker, Dane Wigington, please click HERE.
Jan 13 2014
Sometimes realities merge with blinding clarity. Other times, there are fuzzy overlaps that induce eternal chuckles of delight. Occasionally they intersect with forehead smacking irony. I think I’ve just stumbled upon one of the latter.
Over the years, I’ve hung out with channels, consorted with friends and lovers directed by guides and master teachers. I’m pretty convinced that the closest I ever got to realizing such an etheric fraternity was being initiated into astral travel, rather violently, by the spirit of Ernest Hemingway. But I have little doubt that I am in touch with agencies far beyond my mortal ken, or I could not do what I do when I read for people. I am always amazed by the process and the soul dialog that ensues between myself and a client. But this is no high falutin’ discourse on the esoteric exchange of thought into matter, and yet some sublime hidden hand pointed me towards a metaphysical revelation that had me in hysterics. It involves none other than Jeff Bridges, birthday boy, Sagittarian; The Dude.
For some reason, I stopped everything I was doing the other night and re-watched “The Big Lebowski.” I wanted to see if the Coen Brothers were really just indulging in a So-Cal, BOHO, picaresque. In essence, was there anything deeper going on beneath the frothy head of a White Russian?
First off, from a strict astrological perspective The Dude is Sag. He’s avuncular, free-spirited, sloppy, non-judgmental, stony, whimsically ironic, philosophical and even political, sort of. In the true spirit of Sag, he fucks up, falls, and somehow lands on his wobbly feet again. Just when it looks like he’s toast, providence rescues the Dude, even if its just a temporary respite. Sag Bridges is spot on in his Sag-like practice of the “Tao of Dude.” But then weird layers begin to emerge. I kept asking myself, why would “Maude Lebowski” played by Juilanne Moore, who is also a Sag, born on 12/3, just one day before Bridges, 12/4, want to have The Dude’s child? In a strange bit of synchronistic oddity, their natal sun signs are almost exact. In the film they also share the same last name. Aside from the coincidence of both sun signs, what’s going on with the Lebowski/Lebowski, supposedly non-related birth connection? Are the Coen brothers hinting at the selection process of bloodlines in the Big Lebowski? Is this why Maude/Julianne Moore chooses him? Who is “The Dude” anyway? Read the rest of this entry »
Dec 18 2013
Revisiting Sananda’s Birth On 911, The Gemini Full Moon, Mandela As The New Imitation Of Christ, 11th House On GaiamPosted by: admin in Astrology, tags: Imitation Christ, Jesus, Mandela, One World Trade Tower, Satrunalia
When I was a kid, I had the most violent reactions to anything having to do with the Church and Jesus. When I was barely four, my mother took me to church with her mother and father and her youngest brother. The door of the church swung open wide. The swelling sounds of the organ hit me like a gale force wind. The light bled through the stained glass window behind the altar, where a man on a cross in supreme agony crucified my attention.
I screamed in terror and refused to go inside.
After some quick thinking, they thought I would be better off in Sunday School, below the church. I remember feeling the power of rebellion swirl and rise in me. I had no interest in Sunday School or anything associated with that church and wanted to be as disruptive as possible.
Fast forward, about four years later, we would drive down El Camino Real some days on our way home. There was an orthodox church there, replete with alabaster walls and cobalt blue minarets. Mary gazed down upon us as we drove by. Whenever we got close to that church, I would have a panic attack. I would drop to the floor of the back seat. I can still smell the rubber and plastic of the mats on our new Renault.
This fear/panic/contempt for the church and all things iconographic continued and got worse in my adolescence. If I went to a restaurant and there was a picture of Jesus on the wall, I would position myself so as not to be able to see it.
At summer bible school (I had to go with a neighbor and her kids) I made jokes during the service. When it came to painting stained glass bible scenes using water paints on the classroom windows, I opted for rockets and space. My friend’s mother thought I was the devil–I might have been. This continued up through my early twenties until I had what I called a conversion experience. It was classic in some ways; Dark night of the soul, extended downward and outward into the deep, glacial orbits of Sartre’s existential and empty alterverse, propelled by the rocket fuel of high grade LSD. It was the bad trip of all bad trips.
Somewhere around 4AM, I decided to pray for peace and sleep and to surrender myself to God in that moment. My soon to be lesbian girlfriend slept next to me, oblivious of my furious, psychic meltdown. Later on, I would reflect on this as my Gethsemane moment. It wasn’t that epic in the scheme of things, but no matter how hard I tried, she wouldn’t wake up and offer me any comfort.
But almost immediately after I sent out my prayer, I was asleep. In the morning, when I awoke, I knew my life was different–that it had fundamentally changed in a way that I couldn’t comprehend.
Over the course of the following months, my life became very different. I meditated. I gave up drinking. I began to see auras. I astral projected. But aside from all of that, I became a better person and felt that a force loved me enough to change my life in ways that I had always wanted, but never had the strength to. My faith grew and with it, so did my sense of inner peace. I had always believed in the concept of God, but this was different, far more personal.
I began to read the Christian mystics and poets, especially the likes of George Herbert, Henry Vaughn and Richard Crashaw. Crashaw was a mad, catholic englishman living in Italy, whose poetry bordered on the surreal. I sought out Thomas Merton and Edgar Cayce.
In essence, I went from unrepentant and rebellious youth to a true believer, well as true as it was for me, because I don’t know of many christians who would have been interested in my out of body experiences or if they were, only from the perspective of saving my soul. I had lost my “Chrisotphobia.”
Fast forward, it’s 12/16/2013, the Moon is in Gemini and my latest video on Gaiam is hitting. I’m looking at the possible birthdate of Jesus/Sananda/Emmanuel of 9/11. Yes, I am looking at it from a biblical perspective, using a reference from “Revelation” that seems to correspond to the date of 9/11/-3. I’ve posted the chart here before, but here is the link to it.
Under the Gemini Moon we get to examine two, separate stories, or variants on the greatest story ever told. There’s the astrotheological version which is more empowered by the 12/25 date, where the winter solstice is celebrated as Sol Invictus and Jesus shows up as Ra or Apollo some other solar deity. He’s a play on Zeus (Jesus/Hey Zeus) or he’s a fictional character altogether, deployed by the Romans and another JC, Julius Caesar, as a future control system for a crumbling Roman empire.
So I wanted to explore a different narrative. On the Gaiam video, I actually compiled even more strange and compelling info that suggest that 9/11 is indeed a very important day.
It is marked by the Beatles very first single, recorded on 9/11/62 and the Beatles as we know them were formed that day when Ringo officially became the drummer of the band, replacing session player, Tony Sheridan and future postman, Pete Best.
There were five nuclear tests and at least four significant moments in the formation of the nation/state of Israel. There’s a ton going on, not too mention the mother of all goings on. There’s something deep and ritualistic about the date and if indeed a historical figure such as Yeshua Sananda was born on that very day, there’s been quite a few interested parties jumping on the current of that ancient and timeless circuitry.
The lads from Liverpool crop up again and again on the alter-timeline frequency. They’re massive players on 11/22 and JFK and they surface again on the 9/11 tip. If Sananda/Christ was born on 9/11, what better day to launch the avatars of the new age, the troubadours of group consciousness and the aquarian age? Now did some guys in pointy hats draw up a chart one day and say, “This is the day, we’ll start the Beatles?” Well, since they were likely cooked up at Tavistock, you never know, since Tavistock and MI5 have had all kinds of esoterica at their fingertips; from Crowley’s “Thelema” to the works of John Dee and Edward Kelly, to the rites of various lodges, to the arcane hyper-physics of the Nazis and the Vril, I don’t think we can entirely rule it out.
Perhaps, it’s also one of those mnemonic entrainments that happens when we celebrate a day over and over again, there seems to be an energy that becomes hard wired into the day itself.
What I tried to do is portray not just an alternate date and time, but to show that there was some deeper intelligence engaged in using the date to shape our current reality; 9/11, 11/22, codex magica, torquing, tweaking, twerking our timeline in a spiral of entropic decay, substituting synthetic values for sacred law.
Well. this year, 2014, the zenith of it all rises into the skies of lower Manhattan as the One World Trade Tower, the phallic spire of Babel on the Hudson pierces our consciousness. It’s the Year of the Tower (14) and now we have another meta-magical event that is assuming Christ-like proportions before our very eyes and that is the funeral/memorial service of Nelson Mandela, replete with schizophrenic signers, a cool new crest that’s chock full of kinds symbolic goodness, a flowing hyper-cube, and a larger than life Mandela statue, all in the run up to 12/25, the celebration of Saturnalia and the supposed birth of Jesus, which is now owned and occupied by Santa, the Falstaffian hybrid of Jupiterian largesse and the nasty old ways of Saint Nick, Nick of course being the devil, the symbolic intersection between Saturn and Jupiter, Satan and Jehovah.
So we have Mandela stepping into the chronological throne of a new Christ-ian figure, the man who was imprisoned by his captors because he was “fighting” for freedom and then when he was released, held no malice in his heart for his tormentors. Well, that is the tale that they would like us all to believe, but it seems as though Mandela was a bit more than that. At his heart, he was a communist whose sole goal and purpose was to do what communists do, which is overthrow existing regimes, grab private land and resources, demonize and terrorize the existing regime and install a vice-like grip on all communication, process and personal freedoms. It’s one of the great ironies of our times that the most progressive societies and communities have the most rules and regulations.
But it’s clear that Mandela’s death in the ingress of Saturnalia, the worship of Saturn, home of the Kabaa, is the next iteration of the displacement of Christ as the new cosmic-mythos. From this point forward, the world will celebrate the life of imitation of Christ, Mandela.
This fits into the Gemini duality of this full moon as well, the archonic displacement of one mythos on the energetic spine of a previous one. And here is where it gets interesting, you see, Mandela is in some respect displacing Christ in the new, cosmic mythos that is being implanted, just like the uber-phallic stake in the ground at ground zero, ground zero of course being the symbolic destination of the alpha point, the new beginning of the new age, these two events are connected. And what we are witnessing is not without precedent as we were given the 12/25 birthdate as an overlay for pagan celebrations, so that the remixed version of pagan rites, of eating the body and drinking the blood of their new savior, would be more readily accepted by the masses and thus easier to led into their pen of newly adopted belief systems. It’s happened before boys and girls.
It’s a challenge being an astrologer with a POV and I always have to be somewhat circumspect in how I parse reality as it’s based on my own conditioning and predilection, but I have been on this planet long enough to actually witness the world evolve along these lines as I predicted it would at the turn of the last century and while I continue to chart the esoteric entrainment across this plain of material existence, I’ll do my best to vet my sources within and without.
So what does the Gemini full moon mean at this time of year, when the Sun is aligned with the Galactic Center? How does a schizophrenic sign language interpreter who sees fallen angels while signing gibberish next to Obama mean? How does the alter-version of Mandela as the new Christ at the crest of Saturnalia affect it all? In my estimation, we are at a point in our conscious awareness of a bifurcation of reality, a split between two, separate worlds as the gulf between two poles of soul drift further and further apart in the vastness of space. One reality will offer up everything you want or need and something approximating a socio-techno paradise on Earth where poverty, war, illness and discrimination are eliminated, but with one, unique catch. The individual as we know it will be obsolete and the will of the individual would have to be subsumed by the greater will of an overriding body of enlightened beings who rule through a series of strict laws and values. The other reality has far less rules and structure but also lacks the creature comforts of a green paradise and the inner dimensions and real spiritual values will have to be exercised as not just luxuries of the mind, but as survival skills.
One world looks and feels like a hollow, new age wet dream, the other more rooted in something that is outside the boundaries of any type of social definition. We can already see this peeling away in some ways as disgruntled Silicon Valley execs are starting to plan their own societies apart from the one they are currently living in and hauling in millions.
Peter Thiel has his own version of water world he’s working on and he’s not alone. Larry Ellison owns Molokai and is playing the role of Dr. Moreau. The tech demigods just want to do things their way without all that niggling, government red tape. They are symbolic of this split in reality.
From West Virginia to California, there are rumblings of succession, not as states as a whole, but swaths of communities who feel as though their type of lifestyles are no longer congruent with the system that is supposed to represent them. While they don’t have the same fundage as Thiel and Google’s Larry Page, the sentiment is roughly the same.
When I looked at the alternate birthdate of Sananda, I did so with the idea that the 12/25 date was yet another manipulation of our consensus reality and if indeed the date was 9/11/-3, then was that date throughout history was manipulated as well and to what affect?
Christianity is on a deathwatch and for some people, I can hear the shouting and rejoicing already as I type, but religion will not die. Leo Strauss, the head neocon realized that Marx’s great mistake was exorcising religion from communism and as a result, the latest version of communism/socialism is inclusive of Islam. Islam will be the new christianity of the new age.
I hope the 9/11 birthdate will at the very least tease your curiosity open and prime you to ponder what could have been and still could be without the mis-interpretation and perversion of the original message of love and compassion while living close to a great and universal source of wisdom on a very personal basis.
Happy Saturnalia and Sol Invictus.
You can get a free, ten-day-trial at Gaiamtv and view the episode of the 9/11 birth of Jesus and more by simply going to the 11th House and sign up for it.
Dec 13 2013
Leaving Denver was very different yesterday. The Rocky Mountain dump that was just beginning when I left last Thursday night was melting and the Green Shuttle shot across the glistening toll road like a rivulet of grace, gliding towards DIA where of course the talk about the underground city and all things occult associated with DIA came up. We talked about the crazed blue horse that greets everyone upon their arrival, a true nightmare, eyes glowing in the high winter sun, crazed and apocalyptic.
The driver told us that when they hoisted the horse’s head upon the torso at his studio, it fell and struck the sculptor of the beast (Luis Jimenez) in the leg, severing his femoral artery, whereupon he bled to death. That was on June 13, 2006, when the Sun was at 21 Gemini and Pluto was at 25 Sag. So we have a Sun/Pluto opposition. Duality. Strangely enough, Sag is slightly dual as well, being half horse and half man and all. The Femoral Artery starts right at the lower part of the hips, upper thigh, where the sacral region descends downward into the lower torso, which is where our “lower” nature resides. So the head of the horse, symbolic of it’s thinking capacity severed it’s creator off from his instinctual, or animal self. Flipping the script with Gemini curiosity and deftness. The thighs/knees also rule Sag.
We then talked about the other creature on the east side of the airport, a large statue of Anubis, keeper of the dead, guardian of the underworld. I suppose if you were to have a deep, underground base, you might want to have Anubis presiding over it’s safety and security. Interestingly enough, you can’t get to the east side of DIA now, since they are building a massive hotel and and convention center at the mouth of it, just past the indigo night mare. So now the upper part of DIA is becoming more and more like a city itself, with each passing day.
BE LIKE WATER
Once I entered the belly of the beast that is DIA, I descended downward into the entrails of the TSA, where our identities are masticated, our personal belongings broken down and our bodies passed through the electromagnetic colon and we come out the other side, reassembling our various pieces of scattered matter back into form. Only this time it was much different for me.
I entered the line and there was a woman asking me to touch a small, blue screen. I did. And from there we were either shuttled into the left line or the right. I thought this was very odd. Why didn’t they just say go to the left or the right? Why did we have to swipe our digits across that touchscreen? Well, my best guess was that this was a way for people to get used to offering up their fingerprints for TSA as the next level of security measures are about to kick in, which always means more technology, more personnel to run them, more money for training, etc., etc.. It’s a cash calf at this point.
So the right side of the line was a little station where they were checking palms for explosive powder. Another fun little sideshow on your way to someplace else. For some reason, they weren’t that interested in reading my palms for their explosive potential. I got straight to the front, while those on the left were still snaking their way through TSA’s lower intestines. Not only did I get to the front, fast, I even went through the old school scanner without taking off my shoes, removing my computer or belt. It was like it was 1989 all over again. Once I slipped through, on the other side, people were getting the pat down and the feel up. Luggage was deconstructed and strewn upon grey, plastic tubs. it was like I was operating in a separate reality–not that I am complaining mind you.
When I got back one of the long time listeners to the show sent me a rather extraordinary email, which I am sharing with you in it’s entirety, right here. It was in response to last week’s show with Andrew Norton Webber. Andrew is a proponent of drinking nothing but distilled water, but also Orine, or what most of us call, “urine.” It was a slightly controversial show as some people couldn’t swallow the concept of drinking one’s own pee. But someone could and did. Here is what they wrote:
OK I was totally haunted by last week’s show. I mean it really got to me. So I read The Water of Life on Saturday and I was absolutely lit up by the info.
I’m a healthy person and haven’t had any significant health issues but every time I go to the doctor to address an issue, I’m given another prescription. I was becoming slightly alarmed looking at the 4 pills I take every morning – allergy, heartburn and two different ones to manage menstrual/menopause symptoms. I didn’t want to be a lifelong pill popper for every symptom that came up – it just didn’t align. I’m in touch with my body enough to know I can ask for inner guidance for healing so your show was timely even though I spent most of my time listening with my mouth hanging open:)
Sat night after reading the book, I decided to start the next morning but to get an idea of the taste, I did a couple of drops under my tongue and rubbed some onto a tooth that I had been nursing with salt water rinses. The jolt I got was immediate. My mouth tingled and actually wanted more! The spot where my abscess was shrank within 10 minutes and the “buzz” I got kept me up for hours into the night. When I finally slept, I dreamt of drinking my water and pouring it over me from head to toe.
I got right up Sunday AM and drank my morning brew! I also saved some and have been using it on my skin. Robert, I’ve taken to this like I’ve been doing it for years! It’s the most natural thing I’ve ever experienced.
This morning, I did not take one pill. Normally, by 10a my heartburn is alerting me that I’m late and I’m going to be sorry if I don’t do something quick. Nothing – all good. My allergies – zero symptoms. I didn’t take a pill for my hot flashes last night and had a peaceful (read: dry) night. At work we had a lunch meeting today and since pasta with red sauce was on the menu, I went and drank another cup just for reinforcement and I sit here writing to you 2 hours later with no trace of heartburn.
I have talked to NO ONE about this. I don’t know anyone who can handle it. Of course now I recall old people saying things like “pee on it” when talking about bug bites and stings but I don’t recall anyone saying drink it:)
Four days of this and I’m all in and can say the changes have been immediate and well worth the initial discomfort of imbibing from your loins. I look forward to what develops as time goes on.
Once again, I write to thank you for what you do. This is a life changing decision. I mean I really feel like this changed the trajectory of my life.”
Needless to say, I was a little blown away, but it got me to think about Chiron in Pisces and Neptune in Pisces and perhaps the alchemical mystery behind all of this. If Chiron is the activator of shame and perhaps guilt, then perhaps this statement might shed a little light on this taboo subject. I was fascinated by the possibility that there could be some healing properties associated with redeeming one of the most irredeemable of our body functions. And with Virgo as the back end of Pisces, there might just be some real knowledge here, streaming forth into our consciousness.
Dec 12 2013
The Moon is dissolving into newness above DIA (That’s Denver International Airport for the record), it’s Sagittarian vibration casts an emotional expansiveness across the skies. My breath freezes slightly in the air as I negotiate with the ground transport jockeys. It’s $100 from Denver to Boulder, standard fare. I am eagerly greeted by a young guy who could be Ethiopian, maybe Eritrean. He quotes me a price and it’s a little steep. I sit down to to dial up some kind of shuttle service and am put into the eternity of muzak purgatory. While I’m waiting, he comes back to me with another person looking to get to Boulder. Suddenly, my fare just got sliced in half.
We get in and I find out that he’s Eritrean. We’re listening to some shit, Celine Dion Christmas song and I ask him if he has any music from his country. He seems surprised but says, “yes.” “Do you want to hear it, ” he asks me. Let’s see . . . Celine Dion or something, anything else? The latter wins 10 out of 10 times.
He jacks in his phone and starts cranking out the sounds of GG, one of Eritrea’s rising stars. It’s rhythmic and propulsed by light, frothy synths, but the chordal patchers and fills are unusual, and the 80′s electronics sound oddly avant-garde amidst the galloping polyrhythms. I always engage cabbies, no matter where they are from. They’re usually some of the most informed and worldly-wise people you’ll ever run across. Most of them are from other countries and they know hardship in ways that most Americans can’t even begin to comprehend (Just wait until you hear Lino’s story).
After Gigi, he puts on this live recording from a club in D.C. The beat is relentless, not so much hypnotic, but driving, almost beating you into the submission of trance. The singer chants above it, over and over and over again. It’s exotic, yet the unchanging monotony of it is not for the average ear. I can’t decide whether I like it or not. It’s a minimal and raw recording, not really helping the listener go deeper, not being seduced by reverb and slick filters. A lone sax sqounks in the background, repeating the endless beat ever-so-slightly. Then, about 3/4′s of the way through, something miraculous happens. The sax player finds an opening in the music and explodes into a wild frenzy, part Maceo Parker, part Albert Ayler, it’s pure genius and launches the drowsy monotony into outer space. Of course it’s like life. That’s how it’s supposed to be–the endless cycle of repetition resolved by a joyous and furious type of catharsis. It ends and there’s no more sound, just silence.
We make our way into Boulder and this is how it begins.
Hours earlier, I was at Austin’s airport, snaking my way through the watchful eyes of the TSA. They have drug and bomb sniffing dogs now roaming through the check in lines. This latest, um, improvement for our security resembles Gaza just a little more with each, tweak to the system.
When I’m in these lines, I always try to get the less invasive, old school scanner, instead of the arms-in-the-air like you just don’t care, x-ray shakedown. I really thought I had it this time; Goods in the tray, computer on the belt, shoes off and just when I’m about to step through I get moved into the see-all-cylinder. I opt out and go for the pat down. It’s my choice–not theirs.
The social stigma of the pat down is subtle and perverse–it’s supposed to be. It’s been ingrained in our brains that this is what happens to criminals when they get arrested and it is in public, which theoretically lends itself to a type of soft humiliation, but then again, that’s all part of it too. They ask you if you want a private space, but I’d rather be out in the open. Saturn, transiting my 12th House doesn’t engender me to feeling all that warm and fuzzy in the confines of a private, TSA screening room. So it’s out in the open.
I extend my arms proudly. They’re my arms and I love them. I pass of course, but the mental yoga in that moment is a unique experience. Why don’t more people do this I ask? If we all opted out, we would put such a flood on the current TSA system that they would have to revise it. But there I am, alone, palms extended upwards towards heaven, getting groped for the sins of the sleeping. It’s okay, I just wish I could be groped by a member of the opposite sex. Saturn in my 12th hasn’t been great for my social life.
I’m here in Boulder at Gaiamtv, spreading the gospel of astrology on the 11th House, my new show. It’s a strange experience in some ways. It’s what I have been working towards most of my life and I feel slightly disembodied, like I am observing my own experience from a level of bemused detachment. Is this real? Am I doing this? Do I really have anything to say? Jay Weidner’s there and it’s always great connecting with Jay. I found out that he’s a longtime Niner fan like myself and we both worship at the feet of Bill Walsh.
The production team is impeccable, a mix of refugees from New York and network news (Fox, Glenn Beck) and newbies fresh out of college. I’m here breaking down the 9/11, 3 BC chart of Jesus/Sananda. After the shoot, I’ll go back to the hotel, watch MNF and then stumble upon a History Channel documentary on the life of said Jesus. Hmmmmmm.
Jesus/Sananda gets a very bad rap or no rap at all these days. He’s either the end times Rambo or he’s just another Sun god, or he’s just a marketing/control meme created by the Romans. It always surprises me how readily people are willing to throw down their faith and love in a half-monkey/half man, or a half-elephant/half man and it’s rarely, if ever questioned, but the thought of following or devoting ones self to a man who embodied the undifferentiated spirit of God/Creation and demonstrated it on a moment-to-moment basis is thought to be considered a weakness or a superstitious construct for those unwilling to face death and the uncertainly of the existential void. Maybe it’s the Sag Sun burning a hole through the prism of my first house, but I am intrigued by this dismissal of the divine by the hands of the modern Pharisees.
While I was doing more research on the 9/11 birthdate, again, I stopped at the Summer of Love to revisit Pluto in Virgo, Neptune in Scorpio and Jupiter in Leo, all three aspects which were very prominent in the chart of Sananda, 3BC.
Shortly after the Summer of Love, there was a spate of films dealing with the life and times of Jesus, from the musical, Jesus Christ Superstar, to Zefferelli’s straight, epic portrayal, starrring Robert Powell, to another musical, Godspell. The early 70′s had the Doobie Brothers bearing musical witness on, “Jesus Is Just Alright.” It was in the air, seeded IMHO by the Summer of Love and the return of those three, key planets/aspects. By the time 1973 rolled around, the Jesus vibration was humming. Jupiter and Neptune were both in Sag and the devotion was coming through on stage and screen. Unfortunately the dark side, as it always does, had its shadow play in it as well. Jim Jones, the mind controlled asset of the CIA had a very different type of devotion he was cooking up in the jungles of Guyana.
.On my way back to the hotel on my first day, I was picked up by Lino. Lino was one of the Lost Boys of The Sudan. If there is a God, then Lino is the living embodiment of it in ways that people cannot comprehend. In short, here is his story; Lino was just six-years-old when civil war erupted in Sudan. He was with his parents and the rest of his family when they got caught up in an ambush with deadly crossfire. At just six, Lino was separated from his parents and had to fend for himself, like many of Sudan’s lost boys and girls. Shortly after he lost his parents, he was on a truck headed to Kenya and a refugee camp, thinking that things might be okay, thinking that they might work out and that’s when the truck his a land mine. It was the loudest sound he had ever heard. Time stopped. When his hearing returned, he heard screams and saw blood and body parts everywhere. Mildly wounded, he survived and grew up in Kenya, at a refugee camp.
Lino eventually applied to live in the US and was accepted. He is first stop was Syracuse in the summertime. He loved it until it snood and when he first saw snow, he actually though the world was ending. Even after he was told what it was, it didn’t comfort him all that much. He didn’t like being cold. So he eventually made it to Boulder where he drives a cab, not just any cab, but a brand new, Prius hybrid. He told me how much he has to pay for gas, take care of repairs, etc., and he made a choice to go all in on the hybrid because it saves him money. He also told me that he actually re-united with his lost parents a few years back and is now married to one of the lost girls from Sudan that he met in Boulder. She is studying to be a nurse and it’s their goal/dream to return to the Sudan and start a clinic to help the people of Sudan. He told that every day he wakes up, its a miracle and he feels blessed to be alive and by doing so, wants to share the blessing with others. Lino is a living testament to magic of love, faith and the miraculous. I’ve been on this bandwagon lately to re-christen as it were, Jesus/Sananda as an Aquarian symbol, not just a relic of the Piscean Age. I believe that was the original intent of his incarnation, to illustrate that the entire universe is flowing through us and that the power of creation is on our lips and fingertips, every single moment. And it’s through this, in some ways, spiritual anarchy that we can self-assemble in an elegant fashion, without the prime directives of “Common Purpose” or “Agenda 21.” It’s through the lives of people like Lino, that this is illustrated so clearly, if we have the time and patience to seek and find.
Nov 22 2013
Returning To The Scene Of The Chironic Wound–Kennedy Fifty Years Later–11th House On Gaiam–Dwight Loop On FARPosted by: admin in Astrology, Awakening Dreamers, tags: 50 Years, Chiron In Pisces, Dwight Loop, FAR, Fisher King, Grail Cup, JFK
It took me quite a long time to notice something I should have, as an astrologer a while ago, to notice. Fifty-years-ago, when JFK was murdered, the Sun was at 29 degrees, Scorpio. It was one degree off of my ascendent (28 Scorpio). In basic, astrological parlance, the event itself would have an impact on my life. I was just three when it occurred and I wasn’t aware of the actual event itself, but I was tuned in, literally to the funeral. I was in the hospital and I had my tonsils removed. I remember seeing the funeral motorcade on the black and white television perched in the corner of the room. I asked my mother what was happening and she told me that, “the president had died and it was his funeral.” The whole memory itself is cast in a monochromatic light, just like the cathode projection perched up high in the corner of that room. The hospital of course, is the 12th House, the space of mystery
My instincts from as early as I could remember questioning the Kennedy assassination was that the official story was a pack of lies.
When I was young, the main man behind untangling the Kennedy knots was the New Orleans public defender, Jim Garrison. Garrison, I tonically was born on November 20th (192i). 11/20 is also the same birth day as Bobby Kennedy and just two days off of the fated assassination. Garrison’s natal Sun was at 27 Scorpio, just 2 degrees off of the event. His chart was dominated by Libra. Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and the TN in Libra pushed his need to pursue justice, which led him to his main witness, Clay Shaw.
Garrison used a controversial technique to get Shaw to spill the beans–he hypnotized him. With Mercury in Scorpio, it’s actually fitting. Shaw claimed that the CIA had a role in the assassination. Garrison was also the man responsible for getting the Zapruder film. Just as an aside, Bill Cooper once told a group of us that the Zapruder film had 16, key frames released and that the French had had it in their possession and were blackmailing the US with it. But that’s a different rabbit hole.
When Kennedy was killed at 12:30PM, CST, Chiron was in Pisces, in the first house at 10 degrees. This is incredibly important for a number of reasons. The first is, is that Chiron is at 9 degrees Pisces currently. In essence, we are experiencing the Chiron return of the death of JFK. Right now.
Pisces is associated with Jesus and the Piscean Age and all of the attendant symbolism that goes along with it; compassion, faith. unconditional love, wisdom, sacrifice and resurrection. When Chiron is in the sign of Pisces, we re-enter the wound of the Pisces, and we explore these themes, both individually and collectively. When Chiron is in Pisces we lose faith. We question the existence of God.
One of the mythological expressions of Chiron in Pisces is the tale of “The Fisher King.” The Fisher King is connected to the Grail cycle, but is not necessarily Arthur, however. Galahad, Bors and Percival were the knights charged with the quest of finding the Holy Grail. The Fisher King is impotent, suffering from a wound in the leg/groin. He is unable to walk. The land is fallow. Crops do not grow. The waters become stagnant and poison. The kingdom is not just in despair, but the infertile and the masculine principle is impotent. Until the King Fisher is united with the grail, which will restore the promise and vitality of the kingdom.
In the presidential Camelot, Kennedy was Arthur. The Fisher King was added to the Arthurian legend by the French, medieval writer, Chretien De Troyes. As time has advanced, Arthur and The Fisher King have at times merged. This can be seen in John Boorman’s excellent re-telling of the Arthurian legend, “Excalibur.”
The Kennedy assassination is widely considered the mother of all conspiracies, the Gordian knot of truth in the 20th century and the one upon which a number of conspiracies have been piled on top. Hack through or untangle Kennedy, the dangling threads lead to Vietnam, MK Ultra and even 911. But even if they aren’t followed through the filaments of history to their core, understanding what happened and pulling the covers back on the Kennedy cover-up, could be the one event that would restore order and faith to a planet mired in the decrepit vapors of the wasteland. From Fukushima, to Gaza, to chemtrails, to depleted uranium, to elections stolen, towers fallen, the widening gap of the haves and have nots, the world descends deeper and deeper into the wasteland. Chiron in Pisces is the Holy Grail for the Fisher King and Arthur too. The loss of faith for an entire planet took place fifty years ago today.
11/22 is also the day I will make my debut on Gaiamtv with my solo show, “The Eleventh House.” I’ll be producing four-shows-a-month for them starting next week, but my first entry is in the can and in fact, it has to do with JFK as I expand upon my alternate timeline theory and “The False Aquarian Age.” In it, I look at events and astrological aspects and tie together how history wasn’t just altered but launched us on a parallel track of time. You can watch the preview and sign up for Gaiam here at; The Eleventh House.
Today, on the Friday FARcast, I’ll be joined by Dwight Loop. Dwight is a good friend and a longtime Kennedy researcher. He’ll be part of “The Kennedy Assassination: 50 Years Under A Coup. We’ll discuss what happened at Dealy Plaza fifty-years-ago today and some of the conspiracy theories associated with the event. Catch us here at 12:00 Noon, CST and lets dive into the Chironic wound together.