The Write Thing

August is a month of renewal in my personal calendar. It may be because the end of the month signals a new year of my life, a sort of willing or unwilling rebirth that will hopefully come full circle in the next 12 moons.

Virgo, an earth sign. Supposedly, natives are known for their perfectionism and meticulousness, as well as their ability to keep their feet on the ground. An acid and sharp critic tends to reside in those born under the influence of Mercury. Interestingly, the four elements mark astrological signs in sets of three. In a single human being, diverse combinations of these elements often reside, but…can they co-exist?

Logic would indicate that they can and they do. Earth and water, for example, would make a good combination, as long as water is not overdone and a marsh suddenly traps the feet of the intrepid wanderer. Air and fire are trickier, although a soft breeze is always welcome to calm a unwilling spontaneous combustion. Fire is a challenge, indeed. Once, while I was indulging in a stalwart defense of my fire friends Aries, Leo and Sagittarius, somebody just shared a good word of wisdom with me…

“Honey, fire signs can light a fire, but they have no idea how to keep it going…”

Poor little fire creatures, I thought. They are really so much fun to be around though…Earth-based creatures like me tend to function relatively well with fire-born people, impatient and quick-tempered, yet as transparent as cellophane in so many ways. Actually, most of my friends are either Aries, Leo or Sagittarius, and love itself has knocked on my door carrying a torch a couple of times as well. I think I have a right to say something in that department, and it would be all positive….well, or at least I’d like to remember the good times.

However, my root element is earth, mutable and yet unmovable. Earth supports the beings that grow on it, hiding part of them underneath, providing the nutrients for life to exist, grow and, sometimes, persist. In a curious way, earth both reveals and it covers, and sometimes it is difficult to tell. Its changes can be imperceptible, requiring patient observation before transformation becomes visible. Earth is normally ready to work and be worked on. However, its inherent lack of mobility leaves it more vulnerable to the other three elements. After all, a fire, a drought or flooding can all result in death.

It must be the reason why when earth meets its equal, there is a mutual, unspoken understanding. There is some degree of patience, enough to dwell on the gradual possibility of growth rather than a quick idealistic flight of fancy. And yet, passion is there, deep, intense, vital…because all the elements are about life and death, but your element is  your equal and you know it.

I have found you, my equal and my love. I am in my element.

Two weekends in a row of birthday parties. First, that of a dead man whose work is universally acknowledged among the greatest in world literature. Barrio Norte, Buenos Aires. Selected crowd of guests, some of them rather prominent. My role was to accompany someone else, which is rather interesting when the milieu is foreign. It helps to create impressions and, I must confess, I sometimes can thrive on that. It is external passivity taken to the most active internalization of surroundings, people, manners, behaviors and — of course — food.

I like these gatherings where people really do not have a purpose to be there, but they are. Some were there to celebrate l’anniversaire de l’absent whereas most simply wanted to pay due homage to the hostess and continue to be in her radar. A song starts to play as the party draws to a close and the moment to cut the cake arrives: Pink Floyd’s The Wall. The man apparently liked it a lot, once more confirming — as if it were necessary — how simple literary genius can sometimes be. White cake, white frosting with a touch of coconut and dulce de leche, really good, even while I did not have any, only indulged in watching my valkyrie eat her small piece. And off we went, having mingled with a variety of characters that ranged from the most ridiculous to the most interesting (the last group, unfortunately, was rather scanty). The hostess preserves the tradition and the memory of her love for that man unblemished. He probably would have enjoyed the irony of death as he was being wined and dined in absentia.

The weekend after. Las Cañitas, my own birthday. I went through the details, the organization, and enjoyed it, for the first time in my life. I recognize my own behavior as a sign of growth. People I love and cherish, people whose friendship I value with a certainty that only deep feelings can award, were there to laugh and cheer as the day progressed into the shadow of its own cyclical renaissance, leaving me with a new definitive number from which I should be drawing a life for the next 365 days of my existence. I have plans, I am being born again into and out of myself. First inside, where it all lies. Then outside, to enjoy the world, breathe life into a wiser soul and thank the mystery of existence for shining some light along the way, and bringing her to me in her splendor. It really feels like happiness.