I met him in the back end of a coffee shop, tucked away in a neglected strip mall. I was surprised to see a very old man slouching in the booth. His hair was sparse, way too long on top , combed over and a bit greasy. He was not interested in the engagement of any small talk. He was there , on time , to get down to the business transaction we met to complete.
The passing of the bright yellow binder , pages pinned together with metal slide clips cursive handwriting in paragraphs of blue ink. The key to who I was before and who I am supposed to be. Nineteen year old me looking for a path. My ego, dying for answers , I purchased words for $25 from a part-time hobby astrologer.
“Look here”, he said, “see this binder, it holds a window into your life at present and the many lives you have lived, female and male incarnations. You are governed by planets pulling you up and pushing you down. Take your time to soak in the insight these pages offer, take your time to soak up the sun , Ra”.
30 years on and I still have that bright yellow binder pages pinned together by snacks and time. I carried that yellow binder in backpacks , moving boxes, planes, trucks , cars and on foot. Between countless states and a few countries, reading the pages when I felt down or directionless , lost or unstable.
I read the yellow binder often as I am still trying to figure it out , much like all of us… piecing our threads , tying them in knots only to figure out how to untie them again.
The greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. -Nelson Mandela