On a clear, cool September morning six years ago, the Sun’s rays lit up two towers hundreds of feet tall. They were mirrors that reflected the morning sun, tall sheets of mirrored sun and sky, reflected rays bouncing off the sidewalk below. One spot a fully lit shaft of light, the space next to it cool and shadowy. On the top of each tower you could look for miles over the river and almost hear the waves hundreds of feet below. At your feet, birds, eager for the first morning crumbs of bread, and the earliest waking insects, squawk and pick and strut, scrambling for the bit of breakfast that would soon disappear under the horde of later-comers. The early breeze sends a cold chill around the shoulders and neck. It’s just about always cool up here, close to the sky and far from the street. It’s only hot at noon, and even then, not as hot as the pavement below. Soon they will disperse, perhaps hearing with ears more sensitive than ours, a bigger louder bird coming. They lift off to smaller places where the food is more plentiful: the parks, the streets, the sidewalks. Behind you, you can almost hear the clatter of plates, and below, the noise and traffic.
In a few hours, all dust and ashes and smoke and memories.
Now six years later, we shiver again at the still raw, shadowed memories of that day of inexplicable horror. Even if it were 100 degrees on the morning of September 11, 2007, we would feel the chill, as if the ghosts of 3000 unavenged dead rose from the concrete around the still empty site and became visible.
And we now see that there is an eclipse on the Sun of that horrible day, and wonder what will become of us now. Shrub has picked at the wound of our collective horror and fear, waving the corpses around like a talisman that would ward off criticism. The dead are not dead in his world, they are the convenient boogeymen to guilt and shame us into compliance. He cries not a tear at the losses, cares not a whit about their families. Guiliani dances too on top of the graves of the inconvenient dead. Like a widow who shames her children with the image of their dead father to get them to give up their dreams of independence to stay with her, they forge the chains of guilt and loss to get their way.
Osama has shown up a few days early (are we really sure it’s him anymore) to taunt-not us: but his old childhood friend Bush. It is to say to him: you are not the man your father was, or I am. We are but spectators in this giant psychodrama, good only for bit parts. In Osama, he gambles on an empire that would redeem him. But nobody in the real world wants that, least of all the people who have dreams of their own of independence. For Bush, he dreams of the opposite: reclaiming the Middle East like the Crusaders. Both dreams, dreams of the past reborn-a past that everyone else has rejected so long ago.
Besides the eclipse, what else is going on astrologically at the errily appropriate time of 8:45 am edt compared to six years ago?
Neptune inconjuncts Venus and Sun-Neptune/Sun suggests we are still not quite getting the whole story about what happened, we are trying to deceive others or ourselves about what is happening to this event. Venus/Neptune we still are not quite sure about
Chiron/Jupiter inconjunct: Chiron represents the wounds of the event that need to be healed, but the attempt to heal through money has led to its own tension that is unresolved. Benefits from the attack have been misdirected
Saturn trine Mars: Finally some constructive action will be taken today regarding 911-perhaps some mention of rebuilding the towers.
Uranus trine Midheaven: Liberation of the public perception of the event-independently seeking meaning and control over it.