I wake up on the morning that is the start of never going back to the office again. I am retired. The farewell party, such as it was, is over. They said, ‘don’t be a stranger’; they meant ‘don’t be a pest’.
The treadmill has been switched to ‘warm-down’ mode; now there is more time to do things other than the daily habit of going to work and the question arose of how to fill in my days now? Spend a lot more time with my neighbours? I had known the old darling living alone on one side of me a long time. She regularly came over either to tut tut about the state of my roses or tell me about the strangers who had recently started to ‘appear’ inside her house and annoy her. Her intense face and very detailed descriptions of these shadowy strangers were very compelling as she asked me to go over and shoo them away. But she farted while talking which made it hard to maintain composure. Eventually her family came and took her away, the new owner rented it out and it’s just not the same anymore. The neighbour on the other side hasn’t spoken to me in thirty years, ever since I told him I would shove his hose up his arse for him. It was all from a little misunderstanding about my Saturday afternoon hobby of filling a 44-gallon drum at the bottom of the garden with household rubbish and dead leaves, throwing on a bit of motor-mower petrol and becoming lost in the primal experience of flickering flames and clean, white smoke wafting into the ether. He was a health inspector for the local council and was never off duty. Apparently I was in contravention of some by-law that designated the time of day by which all 44 gallon drums had to cease operations. It was not as if I was body-painted and dancing naked; I was just lost in the mesmerising timelessness of the experience. Anyway, things got a little tense, he asserted his intent to bring out his hose to enforce his will; I offered a little colonic irrigation and then he stormed off without so much as a “good evening” and never another word spoken between us in thirty years. Subsequently he painted a red line on the path between our houses, along with a written note attached to my car’s windscreen on which he assured me that the red line was the closest to his house that I was legally allowed to park. A suggestion of backing his trailer into my car, should I venture over the line, was not to be taken lightly. Presumably there are no council by-laws about painting red lines on the footpath. Other than that, he went about his day whistling loudly as though I didn’t exist, which suited me fine. Ironically, when he lost that job with the council he set himself up as a firewood merchant. Funny old world.
So it would appear that I am sliding ever more quickly into the life phase of reminiscing and passing on my wisdom to the next generation (insert laugh/cry emoji). I read that we are moving from the Age of Pisces, the fishes, to the Age of Aquarius, the water bearer. I do have to say there does seem to be a cosmic shift in the world these days and the words of Abe Simpson come to me: “I used to be with ‘it’, then they changed what ‘it’ was. Now what I am is not ‘it’ anymore, and what ‘it’ is seems strange and scary to me.” So before what ‘it’ used to be is totally forgotten, with the risk that the lessons to be learned go unlearned, someone should write a few things down about the end of the Age of the fishes and I am just the man for the job. I am a thoroughbred Pisces, born in the Age of Pisces under the star sign of Pisces under a new moon with Pisces’ ruling planet of Neptune in retrograde. I am Pisces royalty, therefore it is my story to tell. No longer having a staff lunchroom to express my well-founded opinions about things, and with that being a very limited audience anyway, I gave thought to putting to good use a blog-site gift that turned up in the Christmas stocking my daughter presented me one yuletide morning. My very thoughtful daughter never resorted to socks & undies. I could fill in a few days writing down everything I have tucked away in bookshelves and cupboards over the years about politics, religion, astrology, aliens and other assorted Pisces subjects to finally start sorting out what’s it was all about. So, let me throw a few lumps of coal on the fire, pull the cork from a 12-year-old single malt, get a nice warm glow both inside and out and start writing.
This era, the Age of Pisces has been designated in history as A.D. Anno Domini, the year of the Lord in confirmation of the impact of the birth of Jesus Christ on the evolution of mankind over the past 2,000 years of homo sapiens’ 200,000 year history. Significantly, this designation has, over the past 200 years, been slowly replaced with the initials C.E. Common Era. These essays are my interpretation of the big stories of this era.
References & acknowledgements:
It would take months, even years, of intense hypnotic regression to track down all the articles, videos, documentaries and books from which little nuggets of information lodged in the corners of the attic of my mind over the decades. However, acknowledging writers, scientists and thinkers of this Common Era who I think have most influenced my thinking and stirred my imagination in these matters over the years, and whose books I still keep in my library for reference:
Chariots of the Gods: Erich Von Daniken
Genesis Revisited & the 12th Planet: Zecharia Sitchin
Our Cosmic Ancestors: Maurice Chatelain
Zealot: Reza Aslan
Sapiens & Homo Deus: Yuval Noah Harari
Holy Blood Holy Grail: Baigent, Leigh & Lincoln
A short history of nearly everything: Bill Bryson
Communion: Whitley Strieber
Magicians of the Gods: Graham Hancock
Dictatorland. The men who stole Africa Paul Kenyon
Red Sea Spies: Raffi Berg
UFOs & Nukes: Robert Hastings