Ever walk down the street and notice that something small scurried across your walk way. Like a shadow, or a rodent, or maybe there was just something in your eye. It happens to me, usually at night, when the streets are barren and I’m rushing to the bus, a little moving person, with a snarling glare will flash its teeth at me. I jump to take a second look, and it was just a shiny black bag, tugging on a gate in the wind.
Today, I saw it again, this moving shadow creature, in the bright daylight, in the snow, as I was walking along Eastern Parkway to the Brooklyn Public Library from the Brooklyn Museum. Alongside the Botanic Garden gate, the monotonous flow of black bars clutching tight against the white snow formed a graying animation to my left side as I rushed to work. In an instant, quicker than forming one step affront another, the snow jumped out at me. There was no squirrel. Still walking, I surveyed the untouched bed of snow, a few branches sprung out, but no bird, no sign of movement. The place was still.
What does Saturn have to do with Spirit?
As a child, I always saw little moving things. I remember playing in dark corners, and avoiding other dark spaces, being led by small figures who would sometimes make me sleepy, and help me to fall asleep if I was nervous. In my grandmothers house, we existed in silences. She had always told stories of spirits; I had assumed that the spirits I spoke to were just babies to the adult ones that grandma saw. We cohabited space, the spirit world and the very still human world, in a quiet project apartment in Brownsville.
All of this stopped as I got older. The world sped up, life and body changed. The spirits began to subside, until my grandmother’s death. She transitioned, and I spoke to her, often. She came to me as a black squirrel eating a ripe mango on a grey October morning. She held me to sleep the night of my abortion. And when I was excommunicated from an organization, she sang me a redemption song from a bird outside my window.
Saturn and Spirit dance.
As soon as I turned 27, my world turned upside down. There was a missed flight to St. Lucia. Thinking I had lost all of my money, and the woman there waiting for me, I ended up in Jamaica, my feet in the ocean, and in my hands, a clay-carved image of my grandmother that I so clearly traveled the world to collect. I returned home to a fallen, then cracked bottle of duty-free Canadian Club whiskey, and bed bugs: six on my bed, five crawling up my wall, babies jumping out of my closet. That very same night, I fled and fell into the arms of a distant love and life-long friend.
Spirit. She will never allow me to stray from my path, but Saturn, well, he gets me moving, deciding, re-thinking, planning, active. Saturn challenges me to create questions; Spirit ensures that I already know the answers.
The story continues, but the point is to say that my new bed-bug free apartment is empty, and only counter-balances a heart-break. And, interestingly, I’m off whiskey…
As I share with you my story, I’d like to also share the stories of the co-authors of the book, Her Saturn Returns, and finally, I’d like to hear your stories.
Do sign up for an interview. Let’s talk Saturn. Let’s talk Spirit.