Light YearsIMore Like This
Time is a human construct ably abetted by the sky, the stars. We looked at the sky and decided to delineate day and night, to make them into two halves, when in fact they were just fine whole.
Prehistory – our prehistory – we were overwhelmed by the sky. Cave paintings and inscriptions are a myriad of hypothetical disasters, stars falling, bursting, chelating. For we saw the Milky Way in all its wonder, all white dust, blue light and rosy curls, a solid mass hanging heavy in the sky.
A girl has prehistory as well. Before she is born, before she is even the star twinkling in her mother’s eye, her parents meet. They fall in love because the stars deem them compatible. The mother, an Aquarius, full of intellect and dreams. The father, a Taurus, rooted so firmly in the ground that he has enough foundation to lift the world. Both are fixed signs, revolving around one another, becoming the binary.
The Kalahari have a myth: deep in the desert, a