Horoscopes by the Fishing Guide to the Stars starting 8.21.2014

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Hamlet in Shakespeare‘s Hamlet [I.v.185-6]

Horoscopes by the Fishing Guide to the Stars starting 8.21.2014

The (mighty) Leo: Really, there are only a few days of Leo left, then the Sun rolls into Virgo, but the tail-end of Leo? We have some big stuff shaking loose. There’s an approaching alignment, of stellar order, and then, as the Sun shifts into Virgo, there’s a subtle hint that it’s fall. Fall. Not so much here, as I’ve seen August heat and even, early September, be hot as blazes. So, no, that’s not the gradual shift. However, as the Sun slides out of Leo, best fire sign ever, and into Virgo, as this week unfolds, I’d like to draw your magnanimous Leo attention to just one thing. One article. One action, one item, a single point that needs to be addressed. Good or bad? Up to you. Avoiding the unpleasant, even though it’s still sort of Leo birthday time? That doesn’t do you any good. One task needs your attention, and my suggestion? Do it. Might not be your favorite, but that doesn’t matter.

Virgo: What I’ve been told, in California, it’s possible to get ticketed for driving car that enters a pedestrian crosswalk while a pedestrian is in the crosswalk. My sister (Gemini) got an alleged ticket for just that, apparently, the incident was caught on a traffic camera. My sister, my whole family with me excluded, is not known for probity in discourse. (#Justsayin’) If this tale is true? Even if it’s not true? The point for Virgo remains.

Where I live, despite my largely pedestrian ways, and despite the full weight of the law on my side, pedestrians around here are more likely to be targets instead of given a valid right-of-way. Look both ways and don’t count on a car slowing down, much less stopping, and, at best, the offending car might honk, flipping me off as it motors away. Targets. Unlike, say, California, where my family got ticketed for just entering a crosswalk. Local rules — always observe local rules. My fear, and the Virgo fear? I’ll come home from visiting family on the Left Coast, and I’ll step right out into traffic, incorrectly assuming that cars will automatically stop. The physics don’t work in our favor, Virgo.

Libra: How you get the message across is part of the weekly missive. How you dress the message, that’s the clue. It’s about communication, and no, this isn’t a weird “Mercury is Retrograde” allusion, although, after years of working with that one pain, I’ve learned a few tricks. One writer’s note, what that one person suggested, that the trick was to write all the words down, then pare away at what was there. Cut, excise, trim, tighten, remove the material that is not essential. That’s the secret. Get all the information out. Get the stuff that needs to be addressed, get that on the table top, the desk top, or just all in one directory on your computer. Something. Get all the data in one place. Then, as this week’s moon gets slimmer and slimmer, start to pare away at what’s already there. Remove the excess.

Scorpio: I’ve lived most of my adult life throughout portions of the American Southwest, currently on its most eastern terminus. Arizona and New Mexico come to mind, and I’ve seen this in both places, but the most recent was Souther New Mexico, right after a gentle summer rain. Not so much a gentle rain, but heavy downpour that lasted for less than an hour, and after that? The desert air smells fresh, clean, with the pine and creosote filling the scent receptors. There’s a hint of damp, and the tiny blades of grass, the long-dead weeds all turn green, if only for a day. I can almost see leafs sprouting, growing and then withering in a single day. It’s peculiar to the American Southwest, and the smell? There’s a chance, like the rain, like the smell, see, it’s the aroma of rain on the desert’s floor, that’s what I was thinking of. Maybe not seeing the rain itself, but you know it’s here. There.

Sagittarius: There comes a point where we have to realize it’s not the obvious one. In my first example, it was going to be about dating, but I think a fishing metaphor works better. No long ago, on this one lake, going for stripers and whites (hybrid bass), we trolled ever so slowly along the edge of a shoreline, more like gradually making our way towards a destination, but more like an amble. I think we were moving slower than I usually walk. That slow. Each time we’d make pass over this one, underwater “bump,” me and my buddy? We’d both get bit. We trolled back and forth, and every time it was in the one spot. I think the fish were getting smart, though, if we just sat on the one spot, there wasn’t any action. Only with the lines several meters behind us, slowly inching forward, did we get any action. I can suggest a number of technical reasons for all of this, but what it boils down to? It’s not the obvious one. My example, the trolling over the hump? It’s not the obvious one. For some reason, it only worked if we trolled. Not always obvious, but then, if it was obvious, we might miss it.

Capricorn: One of the biggest challenges that I face is the “sweetness and light,” my brand offbeat humor, and the uplifting nature of my messages, each week. I try to be upbeat. No darkness, no toil and trouble, no “This is how the world ends” missive, not usually. Won’t be one this week, either, but I was looking at a client’s chart, and wondering, “Did I miss a clue?” Client suffered a traumatic loss. In the astrology chart, though, there were no clues. I read it the way I would read it. Not really a warning, just a cautionary note. Not severe trauma, just a bump in the road, and my usual caution for Capricorn? Slow down. I’m Sagittarius, the sign that comes before you guys, so I don’t slow down, when I see that road hump? I punch the accelerator, and I hit the bump like a launch ramp, looking for escape velocity. I’m not Capricorn. If you’re reading this, and there’s a Capricorn Sun or Moon in your chart? Slow down. My Sagittarius zeal can be infective. Hate for you think that the bump, just up ahead, is a launch ramp. Take it like a launch ramp? You’ll surely crash on the landing. That never bothered me. I’m not Capricorn, not this week.

Aquarius: The perfect way to work this week’s energy?

Find a puppet. Could be real puppet, a hand-puppet, a sock-puppet, an elaborate marionette, or even a fun ventriloquist’s dummy.

Any of those would work. I’ve often thought it would be fun to set a small child on my knee, and we’d pretend that the kid was the dummy, and that would work just fine.

Find a puppet.

Pisces: Ray Bradbury, early on one of my favorite authors, spent $9.80 to write his (breakthrough, breakout, breathtaking) novel, Fahrenheit 451. It was written, allegedly, on rented typewriters at the University in California; 25¢ per hour. Apocryphal anecdote, I could find no cursory supporting evidence of the authorial trivia. Still, makes for good conversation as it is a timeless classic. At least two or even three movies have been made from the novel, sort of depends on how you count it. There was talk of another movie, coming up but I don’t keep up with literary gossip like that. Still, rented typewriters? Sort like an early computer lab, be my guess. This is about carefully picking and choosing. This is about making careful selections. This is about what you do to get from here to there. This is about the tools you use. While I don’t think you’re going to rent a typewriter, as, I’m pretty sure a number of the Pisces don’t know what a real typewriter is. I used to have one, but it was surrendered to a buddy, for his collection. Tools, all about the Pisces tools. Which tools will you use? What’s easiest available?

Aries: I teased the symbolism a little bit, trying to get to a deeper meaning of what this next few days means for Aries. “Transferable skill sets.” This is about analogies, metaphors, and scalable systems. This is about doing one thing, “Over here,” and, then, “over there,” performing a similar task. Not exactly the same, and that’s where we run into trouble, because, I suggested these were similar, but not the same. More than one Aries has been troubled, like, “That one is red and this one is blue, I can’t do them both the same way!” Yes, actually, you can do them the same way. “That’s a Toyota truck and this one is a Ford,” and oddly enough, both have ignition keys, accelerator pedals, brake pedals, gas gauge and speedometer. Not precisely in the same place, but close enough so that it — so that? So that — oh just figure it out! Similar. No, not the same, but close enough. I seek similarities, not differences. As an Aries, try my way. “The Ford drives just like a Chevy?” And that drives in a similar manner to the GMC which kind of like the Toyota. They are all trucks. Similar — no, not identical — but similar controls. Look for the similarities because this about transferable skills sets.

Taurus: Every time I see folded hands, I think of yoga chicks, and I hear, usually in my head, “Namaste.” Completely off track, know what the terms “Namaste” loosely translates as? “I bow before you.” I used to use the Elizabethan signature, “I beg to remain your humble servant, and etc.” Same meaning, in my mind. So I see folded hands and that means, to me, “Yoga chick.” I like the yoga girls. Tight yoga pants, loose fitting tops, hair up in a yoga bun, yes, all stretched, toned, firmed up, yes, we like our yoga girls. Guys, although, most of the participants I see are female. There’s a fresh, healthy glow the yoga folks have, too. So folded hands, that spins me off into thinking about yoga chicks. Which is totally different from my most recent experience with folded hands. Buddy of mine, his daughter, folded hands to her means prayer. Pray to the baby Jesus. Totally different meaning for same gesture. Or not a totally different meaning but as far as my buddy’s daughter is concerned, for right now? Totally different meaning. This is a simple gesture, and while I’m conversant with both meanings, it varies greatly from person to person. With the astrological stress being placed on Taurus, don’t misunderstand a simple gesture. Or, in the case of my buddy’s daughter? I just bowed my head, put my hands together, and joined her as she prayed to the baby Jesus. Namaste.

Gemini: I caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the inside of a girl’s arm. “What’s your birthday?” Usually, and in this case, my first question. The tat was a penny-farthing bicycle, intrigued me greatly. Sort of odd symbolism to have as a permanent marker. Subsequent investigation led to bicycles, and coffee shops, the life lived on two-wheels as both a sport and a passion, hence the symbol. As a tattoo, though, for a Gemini? Have to think about it a little longer. There’s an urge for an identical, or similar, statement. Want something permanet, something indelible, a token gesture that can’t e erased, for ever (and ever.) The bicycle, especially, like a penny-farthing bicycle? That was better than this week’s best brand of pedal power. What was favored last week, last month and last year? Not so much anymore. So if it’s a permanent answer, like a tattoo, do like the girl with the bicycle tattoo. Do something memorable, but make it arcane enough that it conveys across the greatest number of meanings. It’s all about symbols that carry far beyond the current state for Gemini. Girl with the bicycle tattoo, that’s our example.

Cancer: This is a week of “balsamic moon phase” for the Moon Children. Children of the Moon? Born under Luna’s influence? Whatever. I captured the essence of the balsamic moon phase in another location, as a text-book type of entry. However, the more I examined the planets and their influences in the coming week, maybe next five, seven days? It’s like we have a week-long “balsamic” moon phase. Mostly this is a pile of planets in Leo, the sign after you, and then, too, there’s the thought that this is a time release some of your emotional load. Let a few things go. I’m in favor of that. Between now and the early part of next week, make that list. Go over it this weekend. Get ready for the start to a new phase, when Virgo kicks into gear. Here’s the deal: make a list. Gather the stuff. Don’t do anything, not yet.