Here we are again at the number 1/13 in a twelve-fold cycle, on day 37, Taurus 7° having thrice passed through the zodiac and, thus starting the cycle anew. So, little surprise we are arriving at yet another symbol of new order: The Woman Of Samaria At The Ancestral Well. I had to do some online research on this one to ascertain what it was all about. So, apparently Jesus, newly risen, not only appeared to this woman but he outright told her (I would play this with ironic false modesty) yeah, “I am he.” Now why this is so important is because she’s the first and arguably the only person he says this too. This is before he let’s on to his disciples—I’m back—but even with them he never really says it in so many words. You know our Jesus, always with the metaphors and parables. I so relate—pin in that. Now, apparently the Jews hated the Samarians for like evah. And this unmarried woman is meant to represent the fringiest element of her culture, so she’s not, like, someone official or vetted, Samarian-wise. Still, she is at the ancestral which connotes a deep tradition; get it? So here we have the messiah telling a traditional enemy of his people, and someone pretty out there within her society. Yep, I’m the Christ. I’m the new order, in effect; the implication being that she’s already disenfranchised from her tradition and thus pretty open to receive the proverbial good news. The breakdown of the old guard is already embodied in her non-adherence, if not disobedience, to the traditions of her own culture. So in her we have a willing recipient if not a convert to what JC has to say.

Dane Rudhyar puts it thusly: A new quality of being is revealed which renders the old patterns obsolete. Word. On first meditation I thought this oracle wasn’t going to resonate with me personally but it really does. First, I’m the fancy free Samarian babe at the well pretty much over not just the old-guard traditions of society-at-large at which anyone reading this blog would scoff. For there are more localized traditions, more recent ancestry in my midst that I can’t subscribe to and doesn’t really cozy up to me either. Some of you might relate when I say I don’t feel I’m all that readily embraced by my tribe. I’m not the person you trip over to talk to or have for one of your special dinners as a guest of honor. Mine is not the face that artists and photographers (and I’m talking friends and close colleagues) are jokeying to paint or shoot in portrait. People don’t hang on my every word or Facebook post regarding gentrification or gender issues. I’m simply not one of those people who are fawned over or petted or celebrated in any major way. It’s just not how others generally regard me, but for in very few instances, among my dearest friends, the number of which I can surely count on two hands. And that’s the way it is and that’s the way it’s meant to be and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Except…I’m also the other figure not mentioned in the wording of this oracle…

Surrounded as I am by golden calves who are endlessly being worshipped, invited, raised high, painted, photographed, and otherwise blown, many of whom worship, invite, name drop, paint, photograph, us-y and otherwise rim all the other golden calves in one big gilt bovine cluster fuck, year after year, amassing a deep well of mutual, group ancestral sychophancy, I (have decided to) emerge as an avatar of a new order. Yep, that’s right folks, I’m busting out as the new messiah and I’m really only most interested in revealing my truth, disclosing my true nature, to other people like myself who don’t give a shit about where everyone is going, what they’re wearing, whom their with and how many shows of validation they are receiving on Facebook for whatever gumball of an opinion or a snark remark has fallen from their overindulged, egocentric noggins. While most fatuous folks we know are lost in their orgy of pseudofame and delusions of power and influence, pretending to some pedigree and treating everyone like they’re some lucky servant whose role it is to dote on them, I’ll be at the well, if not the bar, hanging with a new tribe of goils who are not above fetching their own refreshment, thank you very much.

Like both the Samarian doll and my main man JC, I tend not to fit in with the prevailing tribe. Once upon a time, that might have bothered me; but now I’m so effing grateful. There really isn’t much in it, spiritually that is. Sure, you might have some fragile sense of belonging, but it takes up a lot of time and energy, all that worshiping and being worshipped. It’s truly dullsville. While being on the fringe has a sharpening effect on your psyche, such that one day you can wake up and enjoy the revelation and declaration that you are in fact gods’ gift to humanity, but you were just too humble all this time to go around advertising the fact. Except when you meet someone who is as unimpressed as you are by the heirarchies of worship in your midst, and all the middle men, so many middle men. And so many yes men. Meh, who needs it. Not me. I have nobody to impress. Who has time? What with all the money lenders needing ridding from the temples and all those in pain in need of healing, seriously I’m lucky I have time to stop and share three simple words with my lady pal over a ladle of some cool fresh H20.

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