A while ago I left all things civilized behind and headed off to the jungles of Costa Rica with a lover who was over a decade older than me. Apart from being a champion cyclist he was a tantric master, our time in the mountains of Rica were spent mostly naked and exploring all things carnal. No electricity, no roads, if he were to choose so I could have disappeared, melted into the darkness of the jungle and no one would have ever looked for me nor found me if they did.
Besides from being yogic in his abilities to rouse the Kundalini he was also a deeply intrinsic and spiritual individual who had something more than just a prodigious penis.
Olympo was also an expert in all things Avian, he was adept when it came to creatures with wings, his favorite the Northern Eagle. One evening whilst we were locked in our tantric dance he narrated the story of the rebirth of the eagle. Apparently when an Eagles reaches 40 years of age they are so weighed down by beaten and dirty feathers that their plumage becomes a thing of confinement, a grisly disarray of matted quills and tangled down, what was once the source of their power becomes the thing that impedes them and renders them vulnerable because they can no longer fly nor feed, they are as good as dead.
And so in a feat of tremendous tenacity and strength they land near the top of a mountain and proceed to pluck their own feathers, beak-full by beak-full, until finally they as bare as the day they were hatched. Then on surrounding rocks they repeatedly slam their beaks until they break and in this state of even greater vulnerability they remain for over 5 months until new plumage and beak are restored.
At the time I gave this beautiful bit of love making no real consideration, we said so much more besides, and the myth of the Reborn Eagle was put aside in the recesses of my memories of that time, a mnemonic chest of sorts that hold transpersonal treasures waiting to be curated when the moment is right.
Thousands of miles away on the other side of Gaia years later I sit by my small fire made from cured acacia and eucalyptus and watch as Selene rises sterling and perfect in the Southern Skies, convoyed by Jove with four of its moons on full display, chaperoned by Saturn who tonight bares witness to this celestial alignment during an August Full Moon.
All of the surrounding nature is silent as Luna ascends to execute her dance in the Heavens above. I hear little birds occasional chirp in the dark bushes behind me and crows muttering down in the Eucalyptus grove, but other than the occasional tweet everything seems to have given over to this heavenly display.
It is in this moment of stillness and quiet that I come to glean the full meaning of Olympo’s allegorical and cryptic tale. The myth itself, as any google search would attest, is exactly that, just a myth. But behind this fable, in that libidinous moment fired by the ecstasy of our breathes and bodily fluids, I overlooked one minute detail, it is not so much the story, rather the message hidden in the parable that must be heeded. Olympo gave up so many mysteries, however in the paroxysm of my carnal elations my treasure chest remains considerably bare, still when the time is right its treasures will make their way to this blog.
Under the Full Moon in this moment of divine inspiration the mysteries begin to unfurl and their messages take hold in the empire of my mind. Accompanied by the myth of the Eagle Reborn, I sit in solace with Jupiter and Saturn as the Light of Shaddai brings back what is mine: an understanding of true personal nature and the need for rebirth and resurrection, no matter how painful nor how mortifying it might seem.
Cradled in the arms of convenience and comfort we overlook the importance of transformation and transpersonal transfiguration. This metamorphosis is the pinnacle of Life’s reason but we maintain to live a life in complete and stagnant devolution for fear of the discomfort and pain that metamorphosis might bring.
I will not lie to you, it hurts. It hurts when the cocoon of your entire life raptures, when you realise the fallacy of your entire existence, the fact that your entire life has been centered around a lie, the lie that an antiquated and outdated system has imposed upon you, the fact that you might be a product of transient desires, values and prejudices, not all entirely yours.
These seeded desires and the dross of rotten fruit that is offered you as a certain way of life slowly enshrouds you, envelopes you, until like our legendary Eagle you cannot fly any longer. Similarly to our Eagle this happens around 40 for most of us. So what are you gonna do?
Most often we have no other choice but to continue in our dead-end jobs, our dead-end relationships, our inert and comfortable lives, wings clipped and bound there is no way out.
Why is it that we try to silence the raging fire that pecks at our sides and keeps us awake at night? Why is it we turn away at our screaming faces in the mirror, gradually avoiding our reflections as time goes by? Is it because we fear that we have no control, that there is nothing we can do to encounter the unavoidable? And what is the unavoidable? Old age? Death? The deep wrinkles under our eyes and around our lips? All of these things and no-thing of the above. The transition into our destiny has only one way, through the Pyre and into the Water, utter transformation and dissolution of all that is worthless and of no use. Death is one way to look behind the veil of change, there are others too if we are brave enough.
I can see Callisto, Europa, Io and Ganymede with my binoculars, its enchanting, the sky is so bright, how fortunate am I to be bathing in this spectacle? The Snake-Barer is dancing with the Eagle and the Swan rises.
For those friends still interested in what happened with my mother well nothing happened, nothing at all and that is the exact point, the things we seem to think are important, the feelings we hold valuable are just a lie, it’s maya all the way, all I had to do was let go of the things that did me harm, one of them happens to be her. That’s just how it is, another feather lost.
Another log on the fire. Sweet fragrant incense for you Diana.
The Kingdom groans under the weight of Humanity’s Vanities but change has to come.
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