"Hear my soul speak
The very instant that I saw you did
My heart fly to your service."
Shakespeare’s The Tempest, [III.i.79]
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Pisces: Every year, around this time, for what seems like forever, there’s been one, a single, upsetting component in the Life of Pisces. And each year, as the Sun lines up with Uranus, I keep posting material that suggests that this out-of-the-ordinary event can be quite good, just not what is expected. I figure that’s really the hint in here, the unworldly aspect to this little planet line-up. Staid and conservative folks tend to approach this sort of energy with fear and trepidation while less conservative characters enjoy the totally random nature of the event.
What’s it going to be? Totally random and fun? Or an upsetting discovery you could’ve done without? What I’m trying to hammer home is how to approach this next few days, armed with the knowledge that Uranus — the unstable one — is lining up with the beneficial Sun (in Pisces). Rocks your world, now, how can you put this to best use? It’s like, as much as I hate to invoke the image, it’s like pugilist, a fighter, if you will, and I won’t, but there you have it, and that fighter — Pisces — has a choice.
You can stand there with your guard up and get pummeled by the planets. Or, you can be light on your feet, and avoid the punishing blows. It’s all a matter of adapting to change, and the oppenent that you’re facing is going to change his (her) plan in the middle of the fight. Fight fair? Whatever for, you’ll never win that way. Key element, though? Be light on your feet, for real, or in an allegorical sense.
Aries: Books excite me. Not every book, and I try to shy away from novels with lurid covers. But that doesn’t stop the cover’s appeal from working on some part of my visual acumen, triggering the "buy" response from me. I’ve found that reading a passage in the middle of the text is an important way for me to ascertain if the novel is something I want to purchase.
I wound up with one "critically acclaimed" text, and I was sorely put out with my purchase because, despite my best efforts, the style, the content, the substance, the words themselves, just bored me. Not to tears, but bored me nonetheless. Better than any sleeping potion ever concocted, I’m sure. Most evenings, I’d read a few passages, then drift off to sleep. I’d put the book back in the "to read later" stack, and grab something more exhilarating. More topical. Better wording. Superior action, adventure, something.
Eventually, that book, despite its critical acclaim, found its way to the used book store. Recycled. Maybe it’ll be a great find for someone else. Wasn’t much for me. But it’s a matter of taste. I also held onto that one book for a while, trying again and again to understand why the critics liked it so much. Personally, I think it was just clever marketing. Or someone got paid off, or something. Venus works like the lurid cover of a book, and grabs your attention. However, the Sun, still in Pisces, is like your mind, and like me, the style, the content, the way the words bump abruptly into each other? It just doesn’t seem to be working. I’d put the text away for a little while. Give it another chance. Later.
Taurus: "Hey, you’re that astrology guy," the truck slid to a stop right in front of me, "remember? I used to work at" and he named a particular coffee shop. Young man’s fleshed out a bit, and probably been more than a year since I’ve seen him. We chatted for a minute, I ascertained he was still involved with his lovely girlfriend, although, as a blessing in disguise, the two didn’t work at the same place anymore.
Then another vehicle pulled in behind him and got upset that we were stopped in the middle of the traffic lane in the parking lot. The caution isn’t about running into old friends, or acquaintances, the caution is about stopping in the middle of the traffic lane. That irritates other drivers. Never mind that there was plenty of room to go around us, or that there was no oncoming traffic, his Taurus self was parked, right in a lane of traffic, and some person behind him was getting all bent out of shape at that Taurus lad. Not his fault, not his problem. But therein is also the caution, about what you do — in our case — what we weren’t doing.
Gemini: I’ve got a Gemini client who goes to Hawaii, seems like at least once a year. Usually, in the winter time. And I can tell when that client is in Hawaii because I’ll get a cryptic message, "Whole bean or ground?" Email, instant message, sometimes on the phone, but it’s a simple question. Whole bean or ground?
I tend to regard the Hawaiian Kona Coffee as some of the most flavorful coffee I’ve ever tasted. Love the stuff. Can scarcely afford it, but then, wealthy clients tend to look out for me, in that respect. This game, though, it’s been going on for a while, 8 or 10 years now. And each time, my answer is the same, whole bean. I doubt that the client will read this. Tends to listen rather than read. I doubt that the question is important. But after the same answer, year in and year out, you would think that a Gemini would remember. Again, that’s a false assumption on my part. Given that Mercury is backwards, yet again, and given that life is just starting to emerge from our Mercury-inspired problems, don’t I repeat, don’t be afraid to ask the obvious questions.
(Kona Peaberry, mild to medium roast, in case I wasn’t clear, whole bean.)
Cancer: There’s a place in San Antonio, I think it’s called El Toro, a taqueria that used to be a Taco Bell. In Midland, the place — I think — is called Taco Hut, used to be a Taco Bell. Another one in Midland? Sunshine Donuts. In South Austin, of this I am sure, it’s Texicalli, and it used to be a Taco Bell. Same architecture, and the corporation probably divested themselves of unprofitable locations. Can’t blame them for that. But entrepreneurs have gone in, leased or bought the space, and turned it into a viable option that does, indeed, seem to thrive.
I don’t know, other than the South Austin location, about the economics. Are you a Cancer Corporation, unloading stores that don’t perform? Or, better yet, are taking advantage of some space, a location (or place, or even an item) that someone doesn’t see as profitable, turning it around, and making that place (item, thing, whatever) into a strong performer, thought a little hard work, and perhaps, some Cancer creative construction? Got an opportunity, a chance to make a go of something — something somebody else has abandoned.
Leo: Mythology is important. Plain and simple, it’s the stories we tell, the stories we tell ourselves, the stories we tell to other people, the polite fictions, and what these tales symbolize? That’s at the heart of the Leo at this moment. It’s all about the stories we tell. I have one Leo friend, and when she starts out on an explanation, she has many dramatic pauses. Timing. It’s all about that kind of timing, and watching the yarns we weave together into tales that are symbolic, if not exactly factual, about what is happening in our lives.
I’m particularly drawn to the Leo tales these days because there’s an element of fantasy, an element that suggests ties to other realms, and there’s an element that doesn’t seem too grounded in consensual reality. Not that this is a bad thing, either, especially not when you consider who’s making this call: me.
But that element of the fantastical? That element wherein the story departs from reality? That’s a caution. Sometimes, it helps to alert folks that your smirking, toying with the listener, or perhaps, the improbable scope of the tale itself should suggest that there’s an element of fiction therein. Despite the influence, you can be quite persuasive, but the caution is to make sure that the listener knows what’s going. Like my friend, his name is not Bubba, usually ends just such a bit of mythology with the dry disclaimer, "No shit, true story."
Virgo: There’s a pile of papers in one corner of my desk. There’s an ad ripped out of a glossy magazine. There’s a page from an advertising circular for fishing poles (on sale now). There’s a gardening note. There’s a scrap of paper with some hideous scribbling on it — my handwriting — that I can’t make out. At the top of the page, there’s a symbol for Virgo. That means I had some note written about Virgo, a witticism, no doubt, and some kind of help for the Virgo’s future. Or maybe I was waited on by a Virgo. Perhaps it was something else.
There’s a gift card for some coffee. Always a favorite. There a glue stick for pasting material into a scrapbook. I tend to save cigar bands, theater tickets and backstage passes. But at the top, as always, there’s that Virgo symbol. The problem we’re facing, Virgo and me? We can’t put our finger on the meaning of the rest of the hieroglyphics. What was the message? It’s like that message, right here, on the desk, right in front of you, only, you can’t make out the chicken scratch. The lines and squiggles, they resemble characters from an alphabet — only, it’s not English. Nor Spanish, not French, nor Latin. Might be Greek, but I would recognize those characters, even if I couldn’t decode them. The message though, for this week? It’s clear. We’re not out of the Mercury Retrograde cycle yet. The fact and datum is available, only we can’t decipher it. Yet.
Libra: I was launching into a typical, for me, long-winded explanation as part of an astrology process. I started to explain one item and the client interrupted me, I know that. So I paused, then I resumed the explanation, starting over again. But I know that, intoned the client again. It’s all a part of a process, and to understand where we’re going with the chart and the reading, we have to understand where we’ve been. Then too, I like to hear my own voice from time to time, and I’ve honed this particular delivery to a comical yet useful form. Or so I would guess.
I suppose I should commit the explanation to print as well, but I just like to hear myself. So there’s that. But this is all about the process. The way I’m looking at it, life in the land of the Libra is really doing pretty good. And that’s part of the process. I know that, intoned the Libra, yet again. Don’t be afraid to cover a little background material in order to keep moving ahead. I know that, intoned the client, yet again. Take stock of where you’ve been, pay attention to the supposedly spurious details, and then move forward. Going to be a good time.
Scorpio: I tore a page out of the ubiquitous in-flight catalog because there was an over-priced product I was interested in. Perhaps a less expensive facsimile? Maybe I could hammer something together myself? On the backside of the page I tore out, there was another item, and I clicked on that product’s website, which led me to another site where there was splash page I liked. Something artistic in the way the colors pranced across the screen. Which, in turn, generated an idea for a sound clip for the weekly audio file. The whole process took close to an hour, and all the while, I was very aware that I was supposed to be working for a Scorpio scope. That’s just the way I work, sometimes.
It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. Since, nominally at least, I’m the boss, I don’t have to justify my waste of time. It did generate a good clip, as well as spurred and spurned a set of ideas. However, during the whole process, I kept turning over certain facts in my mind, Mars-Neptune-Mercury-Chiron in Aquarius, full moon heading towards quarter moon, and the impact of all of that? And then Mercury just starting to get right with himself? It’s all about distractions, and the creative way those distracting elements impact our Scorpio ways. Personally, I think the world would be a better place if the other signs would just leave Scorpio alone. You’re not wasting time, but the process and route won’t be clear to other people.
Sagittarius: I’ve got a picture of me, holding onto a black bass (Micropterus salmoides), and the comments usually run along the lines of either "nice fish," or "poor fish." First off, fish don’t have pain receptors; therefore, I’m not hurting the fish. Second off, The fish was out of water for less than a minute, got a lungful off air, then got splashed back home, so everyone is happy.
Fishing is kind of random, kind of luck, and kind of skill. A little of each is required. Sagittarius has the luck now, and Sagittarius should be skilled in at least one area, too, and Sagittarius will catch — something — fish, foul, or food. One of them. The purpose is to be engaged. One cannot catch a fish without a line in the water. I suppose it can be done, but still, I’ve found that having a line in the water helps. Second, the intention must be clear, what do you want? In my case, spurred by the picture, the point is to catch fish and release the fish caught, unharmed. Don’t be a bad guy. Bad fisher-person. One of those.
Capricorn: I tend to write for a seven-day span, and yet, I was looking at the Capricorns’ chart, and I was wondering, could I stretch this to ten days, just for you? I think I can. It’s all about preparation and anticipation. Getting ready to roll, then moving. Change is underfoot, but what kind of change? Of that, I’m unsure. Not that it’s bad, either, just different.
The Capricorn conundrum stems from the concept that you guys are in a situation wherein you don’t want to be bothered. Don’t want to be disturbed. Don’t want to be shaken, folded, or stapled. In order to get ready, though, I’d suggest a little activity is called for. I keep two "suitcases" packed and ready, at all times. I’m not saying that there’s travel in the immediate future for Capricorn, but what I do, I store stuff, clothes, toiletries, and so forth, in the suitcases, and some work-related material, always ready to fly at even the hint of adventure. Plus, from my perspective, it’s easier to leave certain items in the packs, ready to roll. That way, when I get in a rush, I find a certain amount of order, already in place. No thinking, no lists, no worries. So maybe you’ll discover that you’ve got a trip, an adventure, just around the corner. Prepare now — thank me later.
Aquarius: Hot oil, hot grease, warm spring nights with the evening sky filled with the scent of lavender and fried foods. There’s something special about that, the scent of hot cooking grease. I can catch the smell as I pass a certain hamburger stand, sometimes one of those little road-side taco huts, and very occasionally, there’s that hint of the early spring lavender, just starting to bloom. Hot cooking grease, I’m guessing, three hundred degrees or more, and something frying therein. Mars.
Lavender? Mercury no longer retrograde. And, as is its wont, Mercury and the lavender are blooming a little early. Freak occurrence that has more to do with the local weather than anything else. But freaky weather and the smell that is reminiscent of the state fair midway? That’s what this is all about. There’s another item, also, and that’s the caution, too, and that’s the caution that accompanies the hot vat full of dangerous cooking oil. Careful. While I enjoy its aroma, and what that smell promises, carnival rides and so forth? The grease itself can burn. I’m not saying that you’re going to get burned, but I would be careful with hot subjects.
