Saturnian whispers and demasked desires

alone in Florence

1. Last night I dreamt of you and I think it was a rendition of the day I met you. you were quiet and distant, but our eyes still met gently. there was much commotion— people everywhere and problems were to be solved. but you were waiting for the moment you could catch me, and I, with helping hands here and there, impatiently waited for it too.

   I wake after five hours of sleep to find the moment never came. I’m left with an absence in my stomach and a drop of hope it will manifest in weeks to come.

2. I woke too, feeling the the wonderful sensation of being alive. Of being a powerful body. Last night I danced above the ancient city, the one that turned from pink to deep blue as the night went on. I danced with a snake along my spine, reveling in the feeling of pure feeling. I dove deep into the eyes of the others, I dove deep into the eyes of myself. I danced, awakening, awakening. I danced, and my fire rose up through the pillars of my being, emanting into open air. I’m sure it crossed the world, I’m sure it struck the mind of another. Time fell away, even from the dated terracotta roofs of the skyline. Everything was as it is, really, as we are— one.

3. He pulled my hand into the noonday light to show me the net of lines Saturn has cast over me. I thought he was bullshit until this moment— my hand shone into my own soul, a colour of pale yellow that I still can’t shake. Saturn is in my first house, whispering from the caverns of my pores and the nerves in my neck. It’s encroaching on me. I am being possessed by it, and I don’t want it to stop. I let it do it’s work on me, bringing me to new conclusions, bringing me to embrace my fears with a fervent hunger. Saturn, the shadow of the Sun, the Devil, the bondage that only asks to be broken. I accept your challenge a little more everyday, Saturn, like a young girl being taunted out of innocence.

4. And so I decide to dive first into every desire disguised by fear. That is my ramifcation now. Making this choice has lit up my intuition like sacred fire. I recognise the fear in my body, and if I can clock it as a yearning in disguise, I rebel immediately. Some fears I’ve had to place on the higher shelf, because I still pretend to believe the mask. I still pretend I can keep my pride if I look the other direction. I’m trying to accept the inevtiable shattering of ego that comes with an attempt to span the sea of desire before being properly fit for it.

5. I waltz from room to room, studying the tiny ivory sculptures and bronze amulets detailed with scenes of allegory. I smile at the hands that probably dedicated a whole life to shaping the petals of the flowers on the iron door knocker. I imagine their dirty fingernails, breaking saltless bread at midday to continue fuelling dire work. I pray to the patrons of the arts, who remembered beauty is a survival tactic, a regime against Death, even when the last breath is breathed into. Because of them, we were given the gift of the Renaissance. And I too, will die on the hill in devotion to Beauty. Beauty is our only hope. Without beauty, our kind would’ve been long gone.

6. I can’t tell if I’m admist change or if the change has been made. I suppose I can ask this question at any point in life— but some days it feels as if the dead parts of my brain have finally fallen off. Other times its as if they’re still there, teetering like leaves on the last days of Autumn.