A Journey Through Time

 

From Scotland, London, Japan, passing through the Celtic world, I travel amidst sounds and sensations. Me and my Lilith, anchored in Gemini, in a sextile to Jupiter, right there next to my natal Mercury.

God, the source, lemon water, the light, the available energy—whatever you want to call it, but for me, it's all gods and goddesses, divine fathers and mothers, watching over us, they welcome me in these voices of Celtic folklore and whisper to me things of the future. I share the beauty with you. As for the supposed coffins of my body, yours, I've known your intentions for a long time, I know I'm stalked, I've known your strategies for so long, you hideous jackals, where ignorance thrives, no lesson learned, not even God, and I sing alone, inside, lulled by the music of the sky, while I spy a pair of birds on the roof set back in front of me, orange breasts and black feathers on their backs. One of them is female and pregnant. I photograph her, call her with my faint whistle, and tell her I know why she doesn't fly. She's tired, heavy, and hungry. She carries a few bird eggs in her belly and remains, at that end of the roof, where the aluminum trim offers her protection, while others fly away and return to where she is. I know she's female and tired. I sense her passion pressed against her slender breast and distended belly. I can guess the great night that is coming, when she will lay her eggs, near the chimney and the roof gable.

I should have been an ornithologist in another life. And in another, still, a bird. Because I feel their breath between my pleura and my bone structure. Because I feel their anxiety. I am one with them. Any creature that sets out to study me, it's as if I become it, a part, an atom of me, becomes a creature alien to me. Mars is in my third house, which is a fantastic number, the number of communication. Tremendous things are associated with birds: music, songs, peace, rumors—not because they are given to them, but it is often said that when a flock of birds gathers together, they "curse" about each other's lives. That's how ignorant humans are. Birds have become associated with this pejorative jargon because when birds debate, they make themselves heard, as if arguing. Birds debate communities, food for the collective, forests cut down by humanity, or springs to quench their thirst, shade that can be welcoming in the heat. Birds build. Nests. A better sky. And I'll tell you about their lives, about the paradise it will be to be born a bird and conquer the sky, to seek food, to defend their young from predators, such as all those larger than them, from hawks, to seagulls and eagles, to humans and large animals. Even a cat can be a predator. The largest I know is human, uses rationality to harm its peers and suffers from primary envy, the initiatory impulsiveness of the dawn of humanity. We have not yet crossed the threshold of emotional poverty, the richness of sad devolutions and lessons refused to learn.

Peppermint, melon, kisses, and fresh water. Flowers and sunsets of full moons and gibbous phases. Heartaches are cured by working on yourself. We shall meet. For a painful lesson. Mine, to acknowledge with great sadness your poverty of feelings, yours to coordinate my flight.

Yes, I am a bird, and when I take flight, I ascend. And I become one with them. I travel through time. I am from here. I am not from here. Here I am, half human and the other not. As the centaur Kiron finishes his march in Aries, in a little while, I will swim to the shore and go to the towel, to play another chord in D major. As for you, ragtag little sheep, pay attention to Saturn, the rigid teacher, in retrograde, hand in hand with Neptune. What have you been doing to each other? That these planets, together with the personal and other transpersonal ones (Pluto and Uranus), will revise the plans of the past months. We will all return. Jupiter in my 1st house, and I feel like I will "swell" in this supreme flight with the all-mighty. Father, give me your musical peace.

I'm only afraid the sky will fall on me. Or maybe not. Corruption and ugliness will be exposed fractures of your intentions. You will reap Caesar's reward. Birds are like carriages; they will always roll, like dogs, they will always bark. And those who were seen dancing were considered insane by all who could not hear the music. Nietzsche.

Love is humanity's greatest glory. Without it, we are niente. And now, yes, I turn up the volume, helping myself and my mother to an improvised sandwich with tomato, ham, egg, soybeans, fries, ketchup, a slice of cheese, and half a glass of panaché each. Salute.