As above, so below, as within, so without, as the Universe, so the soul…to it and from it again. Sunset, the old day dying. Sunrise, a new day dawning. As above, so below…the Age of Aquarius was upon us. At least for a while, anyway, horizon to horizon. Galaxies, heretofore, traveling away from us, were now running pell-mell across the hills—scattering like rabbits back into our arms. I could bat them with my eyelashes, then they’d recede into oblivion again. Right here and now, sitting on the grass, life was warm. The microcosm encompassed five hundred thousand souls clustered around me. I felt as if I were one with all of them. A warm feeling spread inside my chest. The macrocosm, hard and cold, the starry universe out there beyond the pale, kept us at an arm’s distance. Not so difficult to travel beyond Earth’s confines, though. The music and weed, the acid and mushrooms; all of it took us on rocket rides upward and outward—away from the captivity of this wondrous, blue spherical world we call Earth. Then we’d come back again, tunnel into the labyrinths of our minds and selves. Sunsets and sunrises rising and falling. As above so below. To it and from it again.
Saturday rapped her knuckles on the door of morning and whispered with a warm and muggy hello: I’m here, deal with me. The way I dealt with her was to grab the church key and crank open a beer, lighting up a freshly rolled joint courtesy of Haggis. In those days of sixties yore, beer cans didn’t have pop-tops and the best pipes were crushed beer cans with holes jabbed into them by a pick. We were all running low on sleep. The party the night before had lasted until it couldn’t