I am an astrolabe
I am made of symbols. The sun at the moment of my birth, in winter, announced, the magicians would say, that I would sail along the cliffs, little challenged by the sirens, rather solitary and chained to a rocky mast on a makeshift boat like an old poet not knowing how to steer.
Venus, perched high in the sky, bent over my cradle and gave me a voice, a fiery sweetness, a desire to know everything through the senses. Asleep in his waters, Mercury has usurped the solar throne, pulling the strings. I possess the images, the cerebral drugs of a daffodil monk. Saturn in Capricorn, it is serious. Jupiter in Sagittarius, accompanied by the Moon, is swelling, exploratory tides. Mars in Gemini makes me a puppet, a jack-of-all-trades, and Pluto, oh the Mysterious, makes me volcanically attracted to the deep eyes of certain humans. I can listen, heal, be sad, and sometimes be happy.
I am made of the movement of the planets. We are all made of it, each one possessing, despite what the scientists laugh at, a melody that we are free to sing or not. We govern our destiny as we navigate on an ocean of possibilities and randomness. We can’t do it with this free will that lets us believe that the small, enormous forces of the universe do not affect us. We must listen to the geometry of the past, the shape of the stars and the sky. The reality, empty and full, is vast both inside and outside of us. Our atoms and quarks would have travelled in the heart of some stars and plasmas. Our soul, our inner voice, would dive tirelessly into the soup of the ancestral fields. Who knows?
The closer we get to knowledge, the thinner our wings become and the more they melt. The more we discover, the more we are lost and amazed. The older I get, the less I fight, and I leave the floodgates of my existence wide open. I am both afraid and brave, sad and serene.
Perhaps someone is calling me; perhaps destiny is holding out its arms to me. But my body always seems to be blinded by promises that are too young. I am woven with the unshakeable archetypes that sculpt Saturn, Neptune, Pluto, as well as my father and my mother.
It’s snowing right now. A new age air fills the room with its uncertain moisture. Our symbols are our orchestra; they keep transiting around us. I am the song of my birth. My duty is to learn it by heart, sing it in all possible tones and modalities until the end, and then leave the composition to another sailor. The great sleep will be upon me one day. Is it anguish or peace?
