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Capricorn III Sun - The Throne
Jan. 8th, 2025 11:23 am https://andrewbwatt.com/2025/01/08/sun-in-capricorn-iii-the-throne/
The warren of tiny offices and cubicles of Buckingham Palace, or the rows of desks stuffed into unadorned corridors in the Kremlin, or similar set-ups behind the Press Room at the White House or in the Party Congress building in Beijing... These are places where the plans of the powerful often get turned into written policy memos by fresh-faced interns and the nieces and nephews of oligarchs, and the up-and-coming party apparatchiks who launched the first Youth Party program at their high school when they were only twelve. True believers all, they think that doing the will of the seniors will guarantee their career trajectory forever. Sometimes they're right.
Most of the time, they're under the tired old gaze of a party line bureaucrat, a deputy chief of staff who's been a career workhorse for forty-seven years. Some people think he retired years ago; others are surprised he's not dead. Like Saturn whom he resembles, he wields the sharp scythe against any staffer who gets out of line, and for him the hourglass is always dropping sand. THere's never enough time, and yet — with youth and vigor to spend as he wishes, it all gets done.
Sometimes, though, at least once a year, the Sun waltzes in like he owns the place (hint: he does) — and sets everyone to bowing, curtseying, and kowtowing to his magnificence. He sets new plans in motion, regardless of what his usual deputy wants. And things change, not because anyone in the room wants things to change — but how do you say NO to Dearest Leader?
The warren of tiny offices and cubicles of Buckingham Palace, or the rows of desks stuffed into unadorned corridors in the Kremlin, or similar set-ups behind the Press Room at the White House or in the Party Congress building in Beijing... These are places where the plans of the powerful often get turned into written policy memos by fresh-faced interns and the nieces and nephews of oligarchs, and the up-and-coming party apparatchiks who launched the first Youth Party program at their high school when they were only twelve. True believers all, they think that doing the will of the seniors will guarantee their career trajectory forever. Sometimes they're right.
Most of the time, they're under the tired old gaze of a party line bureaucrat, a deputy chief of staff who's been a career workhorse for forty-seven years. Some people think he retired years ago; others are surprised he's not dead. Like Saturn whom he resembles, he wields the sharp scythe against any staffer who gets out of line, and for him the hourglass is always dropping sand. THere's never enough time, and yet — with youth and vigor to spend as he wishes, it all gets done.
Sometimes, though, at least once a year, the Sun waltzes in like he owns the place (hint: he does) — and sets everyone to bowing, curtseying, and kowtowing to his magnificence. He sets new plans in motion, regardless of what his usual deputy wants. And things change, not because anyone in the room wants things to change — but how do you say NO to Dearest Leader?
