the astrologer looked more like a fashionista from berlin, she was a slick talking androgynous nectar pod oozing some sort of weird sex appeal pheromone. her gymnasts body in some ultra tight one piece latex skin hugging black sheen. she wore those sexy glasses that made her look like a librarian who had read every book in her care, she scanned her ipad and made mental notes in that vision space, the invisible screen visionary people hold somewhere.
the apartment was someplace on the northern beaches of sydney, it was almost empty except for the exotic chairs and the table, there was a cd player because she was playing 'the eels' and there was a large telescope that pointed out the window at the night sky.
'what's the prognosis?'
'tonight is the night.'
'okay well tonight it is.'
'take off your skin,' she whispers with those soft full ruby lips almost brushing mine. 
later i wake up, there's some soft indian music playing, burnt candles, half drunk wine. i feel my way around, resting my hand upon the coffee table, my fingers find a lighter. in a glow, soft flame i see a body, it's his, old captain missions, look at his face, slightly greying beard, heavy eyes, those elf ears, he snores in a deep sleep. 
i stand up straight, towering over the scene, the skin suit sticks to my body so tight and i feel so different, so much lighter as i gaze upon the double. 
he came a long way, that one, he travelled further than most can get in several lifetimes but he can't quite escape the past. it hunts him down like wild beasts, hounds at his heels. i watch him    dreaming off his grandfather, the big stick that came to him one night, floating along the corridor in that strange wind, the whispers and the presence of a powerful force. that was initiation, that was almost the point he knew what the future held. it was in his dna, the seeds were sewn many years ago, many lives.
the realization hits fast, somewhere in the future the past is being summoned. his incarnation is finished, he can comprise of many but he is one, he is master of time and space, he dreams life and lives dream, his pineal glad is the dmt conduit, it's release came well before death and never stopped, he died so many times as many deaths as dreams until they all become the same. the man dreaming he is a butterfly is not the butterfly dreaming he is a man, at some point he just became the butter man. lao tzu would have laughed at this with me, we would have been good friends, but i am to sad to laugh, i am weighed down with sadness. 
when i come around again she is gone, i'm alone, drifting in and out of a strange dream, i get showered, dressed, i grab my dog, get a coffee. change is coming, it's in my bones as i step along the hot beach, foot crunching in sand. my dog, my friend, the only friend i can rely upon leaps around my feet, frolicking as i march onwards into the ocean. it's very early, i get wet and splash around, then head back for the day will begin and there are boxes to pack.