It is “written in the cards” that we are in a longterm difficult process on
many levels, but it is more a new game rather than “the end”. This is all
undoubtedly necessary for our entry into a major shift in consciousness.
Much like the Tower card in the Tarot: an impending explosion that
will give birth to new beginnings and approaches, hopefully with
more cooperation, less egotism and eventual harmony.
We need the experience of the blasted tower, as uncomfortable
as it feels. We need the Armaggedon, and so we have created it.
But first we must understand where we are and move forward
without undue fear. It is largely fear and greed that have
put us where we now are. The challenges and effects are
on both individual, collective and systemic levels.
“As above, so below …”
And so, our entire Universe is exploding, expanding and being reborn.
when the moon is in Fresno
and the sun sets a purplish
haze over early-autumn skies,
the cold winds of Hell
breathe heavily against
the hopes of local heroes
and the women who made them.
farmers stare off into the fields
without realizing, and housewives
pull their young close to their
bosoms – suddenly and
intuitively they sense the onset
of a long and severe influence;
a time of hardship and hindrance
when the faith and courage of
more than a few good men
and women are put to test.
the carousel is out-of-control,
and in the whirlwind confusion
crops will fail, loved ones will
pass away, jobs will be lost
and the simplest of dreams will
be stifled by saturn’s blues:
a mocking nursery rhyme telling
of horror and despair, and sung
over and over again with endless
variations on the same cruel theme.
The Blasted Tower.
We’re all match-stick architects,
forever building precarious
structures to contain and conceal
our inhibitions and fears.
With disaster a constant risk,
it’s little wonder we’re
paranoid and fearful of the
flaming element of surprise.
But don’t bother looking
often over your shoulder
or crossing your fingers.
And you may as well trade in
the garlic and crucifixes for
worry beads because, in
reality, each of us is
but a walking time-bomb.
By the way …
do you smell something