September 17th, new moon in Virgo, the halls and roundtables full of smoke and sweet-smelling perfume await the entrance of fidgeting, flip-flopping, pleasure-seeking politicians. The pregnant silence reflects choices that need to be made, but propaganda clouds our judgement—the judgement of the spokespeople of the good. Lurking through layers of international bureaucracy are charcoal monsters and patriarchs sounding their last death rattles. Those who seek to choose joy on behalf of the world must confront their respect for the old Fathers, and for the perceived majesty of hierarchy, if they wish to genuinely act on behalf of the good & the beautiful.
At first, instead, rose-colored glasses are handed out on silver platters. Seeing through them yields a sentimental homage to all the antiquated propaganda for Authority, nesting in the thrill of pleasing the forefathers. Nutrition Facts labels appear on every object and being, a caricature of this clinging to bureaucracy. But at a certain point, we realize that these ladders of apparent concern for wellness neglect to disclose their sources: the autocrats filtering their final cries for their world through words of honey.
It’s at a moment when a toothless crone, who rides a unicorn, invites us gleefully to touch the horn of her steed, that we glimpse the sacred script of choice within the many circles of the horn itself. The message is that the faculty of choice doesn’t reside in poisoned bureaucratic ladders, but in the act of peering into the many layers of possibility through “the connecting point between your desires and anything in your world that enchants you.” The answers lie not in a satellite rigidity that manufactures splits, but in the imagination of the possible.