As summer has ended I felt it incumbent on me to invite you to a thunderstorm which is scheduled to take place inside my trousers as well as relate to my fellow Lightpilots some of the highlights of this past summer, in this, the
Post Apocalyptic Renaissance. This was White Rabbit Season, when we could say “White Rabbit!” upon awakening to activate
unconscious forces of magick and in where the slow motion trainwreck that is life on planet Earth at this point in Post-Time both shocks and awes anyone paying attention. Accessing the Divine. Lighting up like a firebombed motorcade. Becoming the oracle. Heralding the new foundation and learn to surf
the cool lava which even now fills the mould of this exalted collective spiraltechnic thoughtform. The least I could do was be magnificent. Reaching through the television haze and strangling my archetypes. They were beginning to wonder if they’d ever feel my hands around their throats. If I succeeded, all the rats will wear jewellery. The trees will be raked of lizards nightly. No one will ever go hungry without a permit. Skyscrapers will be
renamed cloudsnaggers. Giant maple keys will come spiralling from the sky to cut off the heads of the Evil Ones and delight the children. Pussycats will climb willow trees to eat the cicadas, but the cicadas’ wits will be sharpened by this and they will never be caught, their wings will sing forever until they evolve beyond us into the supercreatures of the new millennium (meantime, we put them on our flag). Horses will get birthday cakes. Punches will be thrown out of windows, showering spirits upon those living below the party line. Nightcaps will be dislodged an hour later on holidays, extending daylight for the revellers and looters. Aperitifs will be served in the deserts and a pair of teeth will be served in the desserts. I will say no more on the subject.
BUT IF I DID NOT SUCCEED, an era of dark depravity will reign, such as you’ve not seen since the mid-70s or so. The tails of your chihuahuas will droop. Caterpillars will not turn to butterflies but instead grow to monstrous size and lie rotting on our thoroughfares, tying up traffic in the Grape Vine and stinking to the heavens. The elderly will wear hotpants. No one will ever know what time it is, but all will have the sense that it must be getting very, very late. Forget-me-nots will be renamed what-the-hell-are-these-things. The Beast of War will ravage the globe, and there will be nothing on TV except reruns of curling matches and infomercials about wheatgrass grow-kits. Chickadees will fornicate with badgers. Car alarms will become contagious, a single incident setting automobiles squonking and whooping for miles. It will become impossible to get a decent sandwich anywhere. The denizens of Hell will walk the earth in pink lycra gymsuits, their Walkmans blaring Vivaldi. And moths will eat your pillows. Equinoxes usher in the autumn and spring seasons, when life’s seasonal rebalancing occurs. We can invoke appropriate rebalancing for this next quarter, as we celebrate the Autumnal Equinox. You needn’t dress in any but the most perfunctory manner nor bring any crickets
(there will be plenty of those!)In her maturity Libra’s vision expands from her early romanticism to encompass a love so balanced that the beloved is not placed higher than the lover, and selfish ego concerns do not motivate the relationship. Lover and beloved, friend and friend, are equal; their needs are not in conflict or bargained over but pooled and shared openly in Libran trust. Libra loves her friend as she loves herself, for she knows that the breath of Maat, the Cosmic Consciousness, flows equally through one as through the other. By the way, I can see the dunes from the third-storey window of my cabin, and they are
absolutely still – not a grain moving – at this time of year. A few weeks ago, transiting Mars was squaring Jupiter in the chart of the of 2011 Kazuo Hirai, Shiro Kambe, Shinji Hasejima crisis in Japan — when a flurry of news stories appeared about the Fukishima reactor. One featured a shamefaced confession by the plant’s directors, who have been lying through their teeth for two years
straight. Enough of them are working around the clock to uphold the brutal vision of misery, the current temporal quotient of suffering, despondency, and total abject dread. Now they were confirming that the amounts of radioactivity detected in surrounding groundwater have increased steadily since the meltdown. The official story now matches up with what residents and investigative journalists have known for a while. As the plant has been leaking contaminated water into the
ocean, the truth has been leaking into the collective mind. Pluto governs plutonium, of course, and Uranus uranium. It took a quarter turn of Jupiter (widespread dissemination) for the information to fully break through the crust of humanity’s denial.
The sky is reverberating with the events of two years ago, and so are the Japanese people. On the day Uranus (protest) stationed, July 17th, there were huge anti-nuclear rallies in Tokyo —
the largest that nation has ever seen. Not known for being politically demonstrative, the Japanese public poured into the streets in the hundreds of thousands, demanding an end to the nuclear industry and the resignation of Prime Minister Yoshihiko Noda for having enabled the cover-ups. Mercury enters its Retrograde Shadow October 3rd. when it reaches 2°29' Scorpio, forming the echo chamber that will bring events in
threes. What we say and the connections we make now, both internal and external, take on more significance as part of a
cleansing process.
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