30th return of Scorpio
November 21, 2011
Two days from the clarity of my birthday. Recovering from my first stage production, regenerating in Scorpio, every cell hypersensitive to my environment, to myself. Moods pointing me to rest, purge my consciousness of all I am ready to release. The last year. All the people that moved across my path, light shared through the openings between souls. The doors I write about, travel between realms, the changeability of circumstances, movement and growth. Sacred entries, secret escapes.
There were lessons this year, my numerological year of 8 — manifestation, achievement, miracles. Magic. The success to prepare me for year 9, ascension. Fulfillment of spiritual prophecy, the promise coming to fruition. What the Universe gives birth to, my hands are extended to receive.
Survival secure, but the world’s chaos multiplies. Throwing everything into reevaluation. Maybe it’s a year 7 for Earth. 2012 to arrive so soon, the very numbers seem to shake with anticipation. Rebirth.
Love is becoming deeper, more flexible and durable. I can feel the loosening, the quickening, the thickening of karma. Concentrating and dispersing time. We are almost still; it is as if the whole of humankind is meditating at once. Space is also dissipating as a construct — wherever consciousness exists, the cells experience fully from a distance all the ecstasy and suffering we are co-creating. The interconnectedness is now obvious, in plain view even to the blind. Too loud for any slumber to take place. The dead have been awake for so long, the living can no longer ignore the volume of their chatter. The veils have grown thin, pierced by the nails of the unborn fighting to arrive. We are giving birth to history; we are giving birth to Time.
Zaman. A new era. My father’s shortened name echoes against the languages it recalls. Meaning and sound hidden in a word’s root. If each present moment is erased to make room for the next, Time doesn’t exist except Now. Like power, depends on immediacy. Like language, only as effective as what is expressed. Like the body, cannot even leave the moment, is trapped in the constancy of transformation. Unable to ignore the miracles at hand in order to travel between notches on a manmade timeline.
Before, I existed too much in transit. Give me today.
© 2011 Tahminah Zaman
