Goodbye 2020 - What Does the Age of Aquarius Have in Store for us?
With the arrival of the winter solstice on 21 December, we entered the Age of Aquarius. Not being interested in astrology, this revelation didn't particularly affect me, but ever since that day, the song ‘Age of Aquarius’, masterfully performed by the powerful voice of Marilyn McCoo of ‘Fifth Dimensions’ and part of the memorable opening of the film Hair, directed by Miloš Forman, has been ringing in my ears:
When the moon is in the Seventh House
and Jupiter aligns with Mars
then peace will guide the planets
and love will steer the stars.
Curious, I read from astrology experts that, as Saturn entered Aquarius on 16 December, followed closely by Jupiter on 19 December, this double planetary transition into the sign of Aquarius ushered in the Age of Aquarius, or rather the dawn of this age, because the alignment will still be repeated for centuries to come. In addition, Saturn and Jupiter were joined on 21 December, forming a grand astral conjunction that only occurs once every 20 years. It seems that all the conditions are in place to welcome an annus mirabilis, in contrast to the nefarious year we are leaving behind.
I thought I would comply with this widespread desire for serenity by watching again the film ‘Hair’, a remake of the Broadway musical of the same name. And, in it, I found the positivity and hope that we need now. Although it was produced more than forty years ago (and the musical eleven years before that), Hair is ahead of its time in dealing with issues such as war, drugs, bisexuality, interracial relationships, and the rejection of monogamy (issues that were considered taboo at the time), as well as feminism, racism, the power of youth as it gains its own voice. The Age of Aquarius represented, in 1968, the individual's desire for emancipation, freedom, creativity, peace, and – in this case – rebellion against the war in Vietnam, in addition to the already mentioned positivity and hope (at the end of the film, the appeal is to 'Let the sunshine in', as the song says).
In Hair, the two main protagonists initially seem at odds with each other. Claude Hooper Bukowski (played by a very young John Savage) is a boy from Oklahoma – who may well be a descendant of the Joad family from Steinbeck's novel ‘The Grapes of Wrath’. He arrives in New York to visit the city briefly before being drafted into the US Army and leaving for Vietnam. George Berger (played by Treat Williams), is on the other hand a hippy for whom nothing in life seems to be an obstacle. He hangs around Central Park with his group of friends, living in the everyday dimension of ‘getting by’ as well as the unreal dimension of psychedelic drugs and maintaining a positivity that sustains him in every situation.
Claude and George meet, clash, share drugs with the group in pursuit of a girl bored with her life of privileged wealth. They even end up all in jail and get out thanks to a ruse by George. Then, for Claude, the dream ends, and it's time to enlist and go on his 'mission', one that George and his group of hippies don't support at all. From the military base in Nevada, Claude sends a letter to the rich girl he has fallen in love with. She tracks George down and, as a group, they set off on a 2000-mile journey from New York across America. The ending is a game of missed coincidences, and it reminds us how our fate can be reversed in a matter of moments.
2020, in its uniqueness, conveyed precisely this message of unpredictability. Despite the repetition of 20 and 20, in this year we have learned not to believe in repetitions, in doubles. Everything is always changing, everything is evolving, and expectations are not helpful, because they can easily be dashed. This concept has been well known to Buddhists for 2563 years and to all of us since we were born, but we still struggle to accept it.
This new virus has spread quickly, following us in our intercontinental, interregional, urban movements. To too many of us, it has taken family members, loved ones, friends. It has extinguished any hope of getting rid of it quickly, as it did with the SARS epidemic in 2002. It has put us to the test, unable to find a remedy for our fragility. Above all, it has given the word 'travel' a new meaning. No longer the physical journey, only the inner one.
As I prepare to welcome the new year, stranded in Hong Kong, I think about what a trip to my country would mean: a two-week quarantine on arrival in Italy, followed by a regional lockdown, and a 21-day mega-quarantine on return to Hong Kong, which must be spent in a hotel, plus three Covid-19 tests to be repeated over the 21 days. It’s quite unthinkable to travel now.
We are all 'in a cage', subject to more or less rational restrictive measures, all aimed at containing the virus. Hong Kong is still teeming with life, but after 6 p.m. the restaurants close – the bars have been completely closed for some time – and any opportunity for social contact has been suspended. The first machines distributing free do-it-yourself Covid tests (giving the result in two days) appear in the MTR, and people prepare for the vaccination campaign, placing their hopes and expectations once again on this miracle that science has produced in a very short time. It is a disconcerting semblance of normality, and one has to adapt to that too.
Snowy landscape near Varese, Italy - Photo Credit: Laura Vescovo
In the meantime, here it is hot, too hot in this cursed winter, and I enviously admire the photographs of the snowy landscape sent to me by my Italian friends, who are also mostly shut in, unable to enjoy it fully, but nevertheless gratified by such beauty. Many of us think that, under normal circumstances, we would have welcomed this tender white miracle that makes everything more beautiful and silent, on the top of an Alpine mountain, waiting for the New Year. Now we are 'happy' to at least be able to see the snow, even if only on photographs.
We try, despite the pain, the losses, financial troubles, and the depression that has affected many during these dark months, to keep our feet on the ground (or in the snow) and we thank - in addition to science - technology, because despite everything, it has allowed us to communicate with our loved ones, to not remain in total solitude, to resist, to study and learn, to take online courses, to become creative, to think in an unconventional way. In a word, it has allowed us to reinvent ourselves.
Is this, then, a sign of the Age of Aquarius? Resilience, moral and spiritual strength, creativity, the need to maintain optimism, self-confidence, and above all, the willingness to get involved? We find ourselves leaving our comfort zone and accepting alternative occupations and ways of living that we would never have considered before. What we used to take for granted no longer has any value now, it has lost its rituality. Just getting on a plane to fly over the city and land in exactly the same place has become exciting for many. Only a year ago, the plane was a bus that would travel the highways of the sky and, overnight, dropped us off on enchanted islands where winter was summer, or on snowy slopes of fairy-tale landscapes.
At the moment, it is still rare for us to go out (wearing our masks) to meet family members and a few friends, and in our forced solitude, we find ourselves making inner 'journeys' that should give us balance and optimism. Journeys that allow us to appreciate what we have, and the important ties we were 'accustomed' to. Each of us makes these journeys in our own way: meditating, writing, reading, playing music, studying, pursuing a variety of hobbies. Hopefully - as in the movie's case - the Age of Aquarius will bring us a new sense of community, acceptance, and appreciation of each other as well as greater respect for our mistreated Mother Nature.
Let's wish each other a "Happy New Year" without too many expectations, but with the desire to welcome each day as a harbinger of new possibilities and unexplored opportunities.
A beautiful quote from the book 'When Things Fall Apart' by Pema Chödrön, teacher, author, Buddhist nun, and mother, reads: ‘Life is a good teacher and a good friend. Things are always in transition, if we could only realize it. Nothing ever sums itself up in the way that we like to dream about. The off-center, in-between state is an ideal situation, a situation in which we don't get caught and we can open our hearts and minds beyond limit. It's a very tender, nonaggressive, open-ended state of affairs.’
Link to the article in Italian language, published in ‘Ciao Magazine’ here
