Journeys into the bright world

I had now reached the point where words and ideas jump into the mind unbidden. In this state it seems to be possible to think of more things simultaneously than would normally be possible. "Eyes, eyes that mesmerize…eyes, I's, I-dentifies with the eyes." The letter "I" was the stanchion of my being, standing upright between earth and heaven and directing my gaze both ways at once.

"M.M…that's Marcia Moore, but its also Meta-Morphosis. If I could rejuvenate myself, manifest my true face, then people would be so impressed that everyone would want to try this love medicine. They would learn to care for one another in spite of themselves. The quest for the fountain of youth: it's the only desire powerful enough to make them drop their petty fears and criticisms and accept this gift. It would be the perfect answer.

Perhaps I was becoming like a queen bee, fed lavishly on the royal jelly of ketamine for the sake of the whole hive. But I didn't want to be the only queen; I longed to invite the rest of my kind to the feast so that the whole world might be properly fed. It seemed strange that a longstanding legend maintains that the bees were originally brought to earth by visitors from the planet Venus. I was also struck by the fashion in which the bees build their honeycombs at sixty-degree angles. Was this because they have a special link with the bright world? I sensed the Venusian quality of their penchant for flowers, the sweetness of their product, their elevation of the female principle insofar as they are ruled by queens, and felt grateful that God had created them.

As always, there was more input than the rational mind could sort out. For the first time it dawned on me that these cross-connections of ideas were the higher level equivalent of synesthesia-one more step upward toward the realm of perfect unity.

Rejuvenation! The thought was now beating at my brain. To accomplish this goal it would be necessary to reprogram the cellular intelligences of the body itself. We all know that every human being is a full-fledged godling in the manifold universe of his own flesh. Within this microcosm every minuscule inhabitant is compelled to defer to the decrees of the one governing overlord. But at the same time we are demiurges-imperfect deities who may also instill chaos into those trusting tissues, muscles, and neurons of our long-suffering organisms. If we who are responsible for the welfare of the hardworking multitudes laboring in the caverns of the body do not give them cause to trust in us, how then can we be so presumptuous as to pray to some bigger God who rules the heavens, and in whose judgments we as cells within the body of humanity must likewise trust? Can we humbly beseech Him for favors which we arrogantly deny to those who are equally dependent on our caprice?

Still gazing into the mirror I saw that if the work of regeneration was to proceed I would have to establish myself as the goddess of my particular universe and as the fashioner of the archetypes by which its indwellers are obliged to abide. For too long I had been locked into a Saturnian archetype of growing old rather than into a Venusian archetype of abiding youth. To what extent might it be possible to in-agurate a new dispensation?

The usual background whir was louder now. It sounded like a drill. My eyes were at the point of that penetrating shaft, drilling a fresh archetype deep into the mass consciousness of my own body cells. As the drill bit spun round and round it seemed to be boring in the words, "Oh make my universe beautiful, happy, fragrant, friendly."

Ordinarily, so trite a phrase would never have impressed me. In my softened condition, however, the affirmation was being stamped indelibly upon the ethers of my world within. All at once it seemed clear why so much emphasis is place on the word of God. Words are the archetype makers. It was high time (pun intended) to start manufacturing a new gospel for my own body. Etymologically the word gospel means "God's spell." Ah yes, I was learning more about magic every day!

Because astrology is the language of archetypes I was receiving ever more astrological input. It now appeared that the issue of rejuvenation was one of harmonizing Saturn, the "ancient of days," with Venus, goddess of beauty. Saturn is the natural ruler of the plane of concrete matter, whereas the gifts of Venus come from our planetary alter ego. Nature, associated with Venus-ruled Taurus, regenerates herself yearly in accordance with the Saturnian time cycle of the Sun's circuit through the zodiac. Staring at my mouth in the mirror it struck me that physical attractiveness derives much of its appeal from the smile which shows the teeth. Yet teeth, skin and the underlying bone structure are Saturnian, as is the power to endure. No wonder Saturn is exalted in the Venusian sign Libra. Venusian beauty comes largely through the exercise of Saturnian determination.