If I look at my life from a “by design” view by putting a “by design” model over it, such as qabalah or astrology (pre-modern) or any systemization of the archetypes (planets that correspond to gods goddesses and the archetypal characters universally present in the world’s multitudinous variety of myth), I am astounded to find myself a character-type. 

Before initiation into Saturn, I only had the idea of him as a cruel old man who eats his children and has a single friend in Mercury as well as some strange fuckery with Venus. Grumpy af. Definitely goatish. 

After initiation, I see Saturn as something that was entirely alien and entirely hidden to me before, but also as familiar as a warm embrace. I plainly see Her. All throughout my life have blown her warm breezes. She is my home. That’s where I’m headed. It’s anything but dark and dreary - perhaps it is though a rather serious and somber place, reflected in the glint of a golden dawn’s rays just crescenting above a tall forest’s edge, giving a glittering glow to granite tombstones spread across an ancient field of rising mists, each stone etched with names and dates of births and deaths of bodies below, each having been born of woman.

Until I reach the other shore, I have this understanding to hold to. The dumb beast has been graced with a small portion of understanding. And the knowledge that she is present with me, in all my seeming wandering. It is her that guides. It is as well she that blinds the Black Brother, though she takes no joy in doing so. 

I am grateful that along with Odin, the price paid for wisdom was only a single eye. And I know now that the effort of our part of the work is to release. To drain our blood into the Cup. The ego is a poorly crafted lie with as much utility as a plastic banana in the desert. Why do we hold so deathly tight to it?