Sagittarius Rising

I had an 8:30 appointment to keep at the hospital. I was beginning therapy at an outpatient day center and my intake was this morning. I had been in the program before for a couple months and but was discharged a couple of months ago. When a friend expressed concern that I had been hospitalized again, I joked with her that I was like an old FORD pick up truck. You just have to take it to the shop a lot. I am quintessentially high-maintenance.

Waiting for the bus to go to my appointment was like waiting for a sign. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I wanted to go have coffee with the man of God at his diner. A kid was waiting for the bus alongside me in heretofore silence. I broke it by offering him a couple of cigarettes for the use of his selfone, mine being very poignantly dead. The boy obliged. The man of God was not yet at the diner.

If I were going to go back into the outpatient program, I wanted to pick up right where I left off with the therapist I had been working with before. I didn’t want to have to waste time explaining myself. I wanted to arrive in context. I soon learned I had underestimated my notoriety with the program staff.

I was stuck at the intersection of Wabash and Lombard waiting for a bus at 7:30 in the morning, stuck at the intersection of wanting to flee from the program and wanting them to accept me with open arms at the hospital for who I was right now. I boarded the bus suspended between the opposing energies. "Be patient" kept going through my mind, but it’s hard when you don’t know what you’re waiting for.

The bus hurtled along at a couple of dozen miles per hour. I sat on the window seat on the left hand side of the bus, my right eye focused intently on my blindspots. A harmless old koot of a man wearing a Marines ball cap sat across from me in the seats that ran along the front of the bus facing the aisle. He was struggling to be heard by a woman who was standing near the front. As I got caught up deeper in my own internal dialogue, I noticed the commotion of the bus settle down significantly.

I felt very aware and I thought to check in with my body. “Poor Sacrificial Body,” I thought. I wondered how to get the mind to take it easy on the body. A new level of awareness reveled. The body craves incessantly, its demands insatiable; that is if we are to conceive of the mind as being the mere substance of ego-driven thoughts and the brain as part of the body. I wondered how I were ever going to burn up the ego. A brief silence ensued. It’s not the mind that won’t quit. The mind is a tool just as the body is. It’s the message that won’t quit.

An intense warmth shot from the base of spinal cord to my gut. I was riding a wave, no…

Hearing a channel. My mind and body were in complete service. In tune.

A voice said,

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

My abject silence and slight trembling being a sufficient affirmative response, it continued uninterrupted:

YOU DO YOUR SOUL’S BIDDING.

I am a prophet, I thought to myself. The gray of the day started to melt a little, literally, and the sun warmed me.

WHO’S STOPPING YOU?

What’s stopping me?

EXACTLY. EVEN IF IT MAKES YOU INSANE, EVEN IF IT MAKES YOU SICK, YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO.

I’m not crazy! I shouted in my head, relieved and excited.

NO, YOU ARE. AND YOU’RE GETTING SICK.

I started to write. I started to write as fast as I could, once again, trying to record a conversation with God.

The last thing I wrote before I got off the bus was in response to God, but He was wrestling for control of my hand. I wrote:

“Oh, I’ll live.

I just gotta get through the next five years.”

I tried to write "few" but my hand jerked. I wrote “fwe” and I drew an arrow underneath, signifying to switch the two years. Looking at it now, I can see it looks like “five”.

I just turned 27. It’s the year 2009.

And the prophecies and visions just keep on coming.