My brother Michael William Nixon and I were like Apollo and Artemis.
Brother Sun and Sister Moon.
He was a healer, dancer, and singer born on the cusp of the Spring Equinox 3/19/62, a Piscean Tiger.
The synastry between our natal charts made him a mirror of the visions that I get from the Deadly Realms. I have Poseidon sitting on my Ascendant and Neptune in my First house creating a focal lens for the spyglass I see multidimensionality into the past and future and parallel 'nows'.
When he enlisted in the Marines, our communication lines were tenuous because of the 'secrecy of government communiqués' simple, hand written letters were censored. Phone calls were impossible; he was in the Pacific Rim. When he moved back home, I found him in a sleeping bag on the floor of my father's living room. I was so relieved to find him safe; I jumped in the sleeping bag with him!
He told me he dreamed of me in sexy lingerie, beckoning to him, to make love to him. By that time, the deadly astrocytoma had been boring into his brain for at least 12 years.
Although we were young, beautiful, healthy and in love, that would have been THE WRONG THING TO DO. He was very lonely and needed his big sister to be his counselor again. OH dear, time to pull back. Yet all summer long, he kept making advances! He was showing me his new band, The Grateful Dead, dancing and singing, he was a Casanova in his own right, had plenty of girlfriends, what was he going on about?
As the priestess of Apollo, I refused his advances...did he curse me with always telling the truth and not being believed like a proverbial Cassandra?
He eventually found his 'soul mate.' An older woman, of course, born in a Dog year that captured him like a caged Tiger. I asked him about this 'true love' that forbade him to associate with his bosom buddy, our cousin Bual. He described that love like finding someone in 'your foxhole so that when the enemy trips your guard wire, you know someone has your back.' Pretty scary, huh? You can't tell me, the caged Tiger didn't get traumatized by my father!
But I digress.
Or do I?
There are layers upon layers of consciousness in dimensionality in every communication,
every symbol,
every emotion,
every event,
each passion,
each shift in awareness that affects the membrane of what we perceive as the passage of time and the treasury of memento.
What is past is water down the falls and is already being consumed by others. What is yet to come hasn't come from the shies as yet. Go to the flow and go with it.
