"Fede e innocenza son reperte solo ne’ parvoletti."
"Faith and innocence are found only in little children." –Dante, Purgatorio 27.140
Preamble:
"Just one thought for the New Moon in Pisces, one lunation before the Eclipses: when you trust the light within, all is well…"
Wherever you have Pisces and early Aries, that is your fire. The New Moon, Saturn, Mercury, the North Node, Neptune, and Venus in Aries show where to surrender—then initiate—a beautiful square to Jupiter, opening 40 days of Venus retrograde… * A descent into the underworld. A part of you must die so something new can emerge. This cycle echoes through time—March–April 2017, 2009, 2001,1993. What patterns are returning?
*Get a personalized reading for the months ahead with me.*
(The full article follows below the paywall.)
(Another article where I take from literature + Cinema to convey the times we are living in—metaphorically, allegorically, as a bridge between the seen and the unseen.)
The Threshold of Fire and Fog: A Dialogue Beyond Time
(Perhaps you have been here before, though you do not remember. A bridge suspended over a place that is neither past nor future. A fog so thick it curls around your thoughts before they are fully formed. A fire at the threshold—not consuming, not punishing—only waiting. The hum of something old, something inevitable. And two figures speaking just beyond your reach, as if they have always been here.)
IF YOU APPRECIATE THIS CONTENT, LIKE IT, SHARE IT, SUBSCRIBE—DO SOMETHING! LEAVE ME A COMMENT! DON'T BE SHY!
IT’S TIME TO TAKE ACTION.
ENGAGE WITH IT—OR JUST READ IT…
DA: (He arrives as if stepping out of a manuscript left open too long. The dust of the journey clings to his robe, the scent of parchment and fire in its folds. He does not hesitate before the flames, only regards them like an old companion, an adversary, a gatekeeper.)
-I have walked through Inferno, climbed the terraces of penitence, and here—here—is where I must burn before I may pass.
(He lifts his hand toward the fire, the light flickering across his face, but he does not flinch. Instead, he smiles—something ancient, something knowing, as if he has seen this fire before, as if he has carried it within himself all along.)
-I once thought fire was an ending.
(A pause, the embers shift, listening.)
-But I have seen men who carried the fire within them, and they were the ones who built the world anew.
(His gaze moves to the man beside him, the one in the long coat, the one who watches more than he speaks, the one who has seen angels give up eternity for the weight of a human life.)
-Tell me, Image maker, do your angels still whisper to those who no longer listen?
Wim: (He does not answer immediately. Instead, he watches the way the flames move, as if the answer might be found in their rhythm. The cigarette between his fingers remains unlit, an afterthought, a relic of an action not yet taken.)
-No.
(He tilts his head slightly, as if listening to something just beyond hearing.)
-Not in the way they once did.
(His hand moves, a slow gesture toward the shifting city beyond the bridge. Its edges flicker, as if it has not yet decided what shape to take. Towers half-built, windows reflecting things that do not yet exist. A city in the moment before a dream solidifies.)
-The world has grown accustomed to silence.
(He exhales, though not from the cigarette—just a breath, something resigned, something unfinished.)
-It lingers here, in the not-knowing. But silence is a lie if it does not lead to a question.
DA: (He steps closer to the flames, his shadow stretching long against the bridge. He watches how the fire does not consume but instead reveals, like ink bleeding into parchment, forming meaning where before there was only emptiness.)
-And the question?
Wim: (A slow inhale, though there is no smoke, only air thick with the weight of something about to become real.)
-The question is not what reality is.
(He lifts his gaze, and for the first time, the fog does not seem so dense.)
-The question is where we are willing to make it.
(A pause, the hum of the fire growing louder. The bridge holds between them, a tether between two men, two moments in time, and the space where reality has not yet been written.)
(Beyond them, the city flickers again—less uncertain now, as if waiting for a choice to be made.)
(Dante looks past Wenders, beyond the fire, into the shifting horizon.)
DA: (His voice deepens, as if something stirs within him.)
“Ricorditi, ricorditi!”
-Remember, remember! Time and memory are the only currencies of love. You cannot hold them. You can only carry them forward.
-You speak of silence. But even silence is shaped by the hands that hold it.
(The flames flare for a moment, illuminating something unseen.)
-The world is not waiting for meaning to arrive. The world is waiting for men to carve it from the stone of their own action.
Wim: (A slow nod. The city trembles on the edge of form, waiting. The bridge still holds.)
-Then we must shape it before it dissolves into nothing.
(Damiel watches too, standing at the edge of the human world. The black-and-white of eternity behind him, the color of imperfection before him. He listens to Nick Cave’s voice, raw and guttural, vibrating through the walls of an underground club:)
-“Longing. Longing for a wave of love to swell up in me. That’s what makes me clumsy.”
From her to eternity.
(Peter Falk, trench coat worn at the edges, tells him about coffee and cigarettes, about touching a chair just to feel its weight. He tells him: Now it’s serious. Now, at last, it’s serious.)
(Wenders glances at Dante, the flicker of the flames dancing in the poet’s eyes.)
-Are you stepping forward, or are you waiting?
(Dante does not answer. He moves. The fire embraces him, and for a moment, he is only light.)
The Fog Rolls, the Fire Hums, the Bridge Remains.
Afterthought: The Art of Synthesis in a Dying Age
*(Perhaps you have noticed, dear reader, that in the past month, I have been using different tools to speak to you.
Not facts, not doctrine, but poetry, beauty, inspiration—for these are my main tools.
Astrology is a tool.
The movement of Neptune and Saturn is a tool.
Kalí Téchni—the skill of doing the right things—is a tool.
We are at a threshold, much like Dante, much like Damiel. One foot in the old world, one foot in the unknown. And it is our action, our human action, that will shape what comes next.
I have always worked like this. I gather—words, images, fragments of the past, echoes from history. I appropriate, reconfigure, destroy, rebuild.
This is the art of synthesis.
This is how meaning survives.
Only the will to act. Only the will to shape what comes next.
*HUMAN ACTION—the art of free will.*
Footnotes
1. The Fire That Refines – The last verse of Purgatorio 26, referring to the troubadour poet Arnaut Daniel, states:
Poi s’ascose nel foco che li affina.
“Then he hid himself in the fire that refines them.” (Purg. 26.148)
2. Dante’s Fear & Virgil’s Final Lesson – In Purgatorio 27, Dante hesitates at the final threshold. His fear is so great that Virgil must remind him of all they have endured together—including their flight on the back of Geryon, the monster of fraud (Inferno 17). This is the last time Virgil will guide him; after Dante passes through the fire, he must walk alone.
3. In Wings of Desire (1987), Nick Cave performs “From Her to Eternity,” a song of obsessive longing. The underground club scene mirrors Dante’s threshold—Damiel, the angel, watches from the edges of the human world, listening, yearning, before finally choosing embodiment.
This is fully realized now—a trinity of myth, cinema, and music, woven into a single threshold moment. The reader cannot remain passive—they must feel the fire hum beneath their feet.
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