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  • Our daughter was born on January 2nd, at 8h41 PM. It was an astrologically auspicious time.

    She breathed air instead of liquid for the first time then.
    I was allowed to use my camera inside the surgery room.

    We called her Beatriz. Like her older brother, Gabriel, she also has a secret name. It is secret, so I cannot tell you.

    Above and around that surgery room, the tropical sign of Cancer was rising in the horizon, and the Moon had just entered Taurus — her exaltation — a few minutes before, making an fortunate conjunction to Jupiter; both in the 9th house, near the Midheaven. According to the ancient astrologer Firmicus Maternus, this configuration grants the ability to receive the messages of the Gods in dreams and visions.

    If she had been born just a few minutes earlier, the heavens would have been totally different. But that decisive moment is now frozen in photographic film and in her natal chart.

    One of her great-grandmothers is an Austrian lady also named Beatrix, my wife's maternal grandmother. It is said to be a name which portends fortune; someone who brings happiness.

    Our own Beatriz is blonde and very delicate, very feminine.
    She even has long nails.

    It is also said that fathers and daughters are often in love with each other.

    Dante's love Beatrice was his guide in the beatific visions of Paradise. It is said that they only met twice during waking life, each time separated by nine years. After the first meeting, Dante carried his courtly love for Beatrice for his whole life. And after their second meeting — a fleeting glimpse of her in the streets of Florence — he was visited by dreams and visions. "Behold, a deity stronger than I; who coming, shall rule over me", he wrote.

    Lying in a small, uncomfortable sofa in my wife's room in the hospital, I am confronted by the mundane details of nurses, tiredness and a bad pillow. I cannot sleep, and my inner time is much more confused than Beatriz' wonderful and symmetric natal chart.

    I hear many quiet hospital noises in admirable detail. It seems I am the only one awake right now. Maybe a baby in the nursery also keeps his eyes open, looking at unfamiliar, strange forms. Unlike him, I see letters and imagine a fabricated world outside, beyond my immediate experience. I take note of whatever rambling thoughts come to me, weaving my own romanticized version of the facts.

    In a few hours my Beatriz will come again to this room to drink her milk and let me glimpse — half awake, half asleep — upon her angelic face.
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