Who am I to question, who am I to doubt the True Light of the World working His purpose out? Before the bright lights of Heaven, before anything could be, through that formless void the Spirit of Truth did see.
Genesis 1:1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. 2. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. 3. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. 4. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. 5. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day. KJV
John 1:1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2. The same was in the beginning with God. 3. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. 4. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. 5. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not. KJV
Many assume Aquarius is a water sign, mainly because the name means literally ‘water’ (from the latin Aqua), and the glyph represents dual flowing waves of some medium.
A more elaborate symbol of the sign is a figure pouring water from a jar, the ‘water bearer’, or ‘water carrier’, further underlining the assumption that Aquarius is a water sign.
No Water In Aquarius
But Aquarius isn’t a water sign; the name and the glyph are kind of metaphorical, showing a way of working, a process, a methodology, rather than something definitive. Aquarius represents a free flowing process, an openness, perhaps something like the world wide web, where in theory at least, information en masse is available for all to assess and discern using their own wisdom.
And what does a water carrier do? It’s not so much the actual medium of water that is important. Anyone could get a drink of water if they so wish. But the water carrier symbolises pouring out for all, being of service to the many.
Hopes, Dreams & Wishes
Aquarius is the fixed air sign. The medium of air is to do with communication, mentality, sociability. But how fixed can air be? Perhaps one way of viewing it is concentration. A concentration of air is like a strong wind, or maybe a fresh breeze to blow away the cobwebs, in preparation for something new, fresher, better.
Aquarius is the second sign after the winter solstice, when the sun appears to stop and begin to move northward again. Capricorn begins the process, like some earthing or crystallisation, laying firm foundations, as befits the Saturn rulership of that sign.
The Great Teacher Saturn
So Aquarius is also ruled by Saturn (not Uranus, in my opinion), but it’s a different side of ‘the great teacher’. Saturn plans ahead, systematically with ideas, and with Aquarius this builds for the future — the hopes, dreams and wishes of mankind, upon the materialistic foundations of Capricorn, for the coming spring in the north, the fall in the south, as the sun moves relentlessly northward.
The water bearer’s energy is powerful at present and change is on its way. Not the violent, revolutionary change of Uranus, but the instigation of ‘plan a’ of the ages — the beginning of a ‘golden age’ which we are blessed to witness.
Brigid, we parted one February, an ending for us as the swelling of spring began. Your name was not Brigid; the Irvines were lowland Scots, after all, but you resembled that Irish princess with the auburn hair, the green eyes, that cover of the paperback you had lent me which had entranced me so. What is it about chemistry? Or is it music, the way cello and violin complement one another? Does the body reflect the soul, or is flesh mere pretense to mask the true intention? Things are clearer now — weren’t we in love with love? So much easier to bear than with each other, where loss, pain and misery are set off, the ticking time bomb of this duality. And I didn’t say… but I saw you the other day, older, wiser, a family of your own but with the same look in your eyes, so green. Brigid, though decades now separate us, I am glad of our anonymity, the memory of what love might be.
I must have strolled this ancient shore, leaving no footprints in the sand, seen the infant sun spill his light over jagged horizons, the glowing Moon ascend into sparse sky to ride the assembly of stars, a firmament at once remote and intimate. If you talk in eons — I see in seconds; new life’s struggle to be born, a fossil falling to the sand from a cliff’s crumbling edifice. For as I exist at the beginning so do I persist until the end, though I am not made of stars, I merely follow the word and the breath.
By the hard side of the shore, abutments jutting out into raging waves, I paused, an incessant gale buffeting my puny frame.
Dark promontories primed me through sea mist; they caught my gaze, my historic sense, like the herring gulls circling, riding the howling wind.
I sensed you there, your sea-grey eyes staring into nothing, your soft sing-song voice of the Borders, ready to spoil me with sweets, port and lemon clutched in your wizened hand.
Somehow you were left in this nebulous place, our collective cries screaming “mother! mother!” — plaintive calls unheard in an entangled realm of souls, given over to the elements.
Ciscography 