Astrology is neverending.
How could it be otherwise?
With time marching on like it does:
Spiraling ever forward, outward, onward.
Where are we coming from? Where are we going?
Not even astrologers can answer these distant questions;
the ephemerides not having been written,
the calculations uncalculable.
There are experiences of visions:
both within and without, while star-gazing. Voices, even.
What’s that you say, Mercury? Communicate more directly?
What’s that Mars? Make things with my hands to move the anger
along. What about you, Venus? What do you say?
Play with the pleasure with which we’ve been provided?
Absolutely. I’ll get right on that. Thank you, planets.
Thank you, Gods.
Internalizing the external or exteriorizing the internal.
It goes on and on and on and on and on.
It comes from forever and some amazingly bright
and dark, distant past. Some origin mysterious.
Some ultimate unknown.
What can we really know, anyway?
The color of our eyes when we cry.
Compared to the sparkle in our spirit when we’re happy.
Plants who’s flowers laugh at the sky and tickle the bees.
Rocks who wait patiently to tell their stories, little bit by little bit.
Astrology is neverending. Just like the mystery. The magic.
And no one can know everything.
Not even astrologers.
Tue, June 28, 2016 11:40pm