Slant

SUNRISE: January 17, 2018

January 17, 2018. Photo: Ariana Reines.

A NEAT GASH OF SUNLIGHT is widening across the sand. We talked late around the fire all night, trading origin stories. An Egyptian god spat into his hand and had congress with himself and made two sons. When things began everything was darkness and goo. A woman took a boat to heaven and got drunk with God and carried all his powers down to Earth. The feminine principle accidentally emanated a son then hid him in clouds; he didn’t know he had parents when he created us; there was much he did not know, in spite of his capacities as a fabricator, hence the world we now know and inhabit. Adam and Eve each came into a jar and waited. After a time Adam’s jar had a baby in it and Eve’s was filled with worms. The planets are the wheeling gears of some obscure machine. Ants led people up a reed that and emerged onto the floor of the Grand Canyon and that’s how life in this world began, but there had been three failed worlds before this one . . .

Maybe it’s mendacity that makes the universe expand, I wrote one time in Tasmania when I was freaking out. And I wrote, the sky is like a child’s cheek, delicately veined.

With so many planets in hardheaded Capricorn I intimate every kind of accusation against such fabulation. But I cannot live without wonder. It comes easy when you can see the stars. It’s weird to hide from the stars in cities, and then go to the Internet to get them back. It is like everything the networks and structures take from us, and then we feel lucky when, on occasion comes the privilege to buy back pieces of ourselves. I’m really craving privacy this morning. And down in the arroyo, enjoying it.

Venus moves into Aquarius at 8:43 PM EST; the Sun, Pluto, Mercury, and Capricorn are still surveying the lay of the land from on high in the palace of chronology and executive power—the young moon moved into Aquarius early in the ambrosial hours.

As the Sun’s time in Capricorn dwindles, a word about the mountain goat’s mysticism, often paid short shrift. There’s a lot to be said for climbing to a certain height, the better to gain perspective. There are things you cannot see when you’re down in the goo, in the muck, at the beginning of the world. Capricorn is often depicted as a goat crawling out of a seashell—he carries the memory of the sea, and likewise the memory of feeling, all the way up to the severe heights where he’s comfortable. There is tender pilgrimage behind the severity he’s known for.

Mama Cass, Mary Travers, and Joni Mitchell, “I Shall Be Released” on The Mama Cass Television Show, 1969

Ariana Reines is a poet & playwright. She astrologizes at lazyeyehaver.com.

 

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