I first heard of a Saturn return through No Doubt.
When I was 14, they released “Return of Saturn”. In one of the tracks, Gwen Stefani references the album title, singing:
The return of Saturn / assessing my life / second guessing
But I was an adolescent and -– like a lot of the more subtle poetry in lyrics -– it was lost on me. I wouldn’t hear it again until I read an article on Kesha’s current situation –- the sexual assault by the hands of her producer, the court battle to get out of her contract, the proof we still don’t get it as a society -– before I really understood what it was about. Continue reading “Saturn’s Return”
“Well, someone is looking chipper.”
She’s sitting on one of the larger rocks off to the side. A fellow hiker, one of the countless people you meet and effortlessly talk to and then equally as effortlessly part ways with while on the trails. I’m probably a quarter mile in to what is about a solid half mile of pure uphill rock climbing. I’m far enough away that she can’t hear my huffing and puffing (I’m assuming).
“Look at that smile. You look like you could go another 10 miles of this,” she adds on. Her pack is off and she is in the middle of eating. A break from the trail.
“Don’t let the demeanor fool you,” I reply. “My legs are absolutely pissed I’m putting them through this.” Continue reading “The Expressions We Make”
There is time to pause when coming upon a funeral procession.
Waiting in your own vehicle, the steady steam of little purple flags and highbeams and hazards passing you by. It’s a moment to reflect.
Music gets turned down when I come upon a funeral procession. I might be on my way to get groceries. Or to a class. Or to a meeting. For me, I’m going about a standard day. For them, they are bringing a loved one to rest. My morning’s agenda will bleed into the afternoon’s without much thought. I will forget most of what I do that morning, none of it really lingering. Their morning’s agenda will signal the start of something irrevocably different.
The funeral procession is universal. It spans cultures, countries, centuries & millennia. Somehow we have all banded together in this collective ritual. By foot, by horse, by carriage, by hearse. To the pyre, the temple, the gravesite. We travel single file to lay the dead to rest.
This morning, I’m on the other side. Now I’m the one in the procession, watching the cars that have to wait at intersections and streetlights. I stare at the drivers, the passengers. I see exhausted, impatient faces. Are any of them reflecting? Any taking that moment to pause? Will any of them go to the grocery store or the gym or work with a little more reverence? Continue reading “Procession”