"Forget this new-fall’n dignity
And fall into our rustic revelry
Play, music!"
Shakespeare’s As You Like It (V.iv.125-7)
Leo: Leo dearest: You enter, and there’s a table, and on this table, there’s a bowl with fruit. Apples, oranges, peaches and bananas. I want you to pick one type of fruit, your favorite out of that group, and hold that image in your mind.
Then, let’s find out what this means. If you picked apples, it means you like apples; if you picked oranges, it means you like oranges; if you picked peaches, it means you like peaches; and if you picked bananas, it means you like bananas.
Such a simple and obvious answer to a question. It’s like a girlfriend, asking me a question about something, and I’m sure it’s one of those trick questions. Leo, like me, you’re sure this is a trick question, depends on the flavor and shape, and any other host of modifiers and related lore, about the fruit you pick. What it amounts to, though, is that it is a simple question, with an even simpler punch line. No tricks. It is what it is, no more, no less.
Virgo: In Mississippi, "Ministers of the gospel are excused from jury duty." That’s the way I heard it, and that’s the way the judge told me it was worded, and we both chuckled. I suppose, a high priest or rabbi, those wouldn’t be excused, just "ministers of the gospel." Funny, no? It does reflect an archaic set of values that were born out of time when such legal guidelines were necessary.
I’m sure a "minster of gospel" would have a difficult time finding someone guilty if it meant the death penalty, hence a moral obligation to find not guilty even in the face of overwhelming evidence. Which, I suppose, gets back to the original point of the of the comment and alleged law. I don’t know I haven’t researched the legal constraints of jury qualifications in that state.
I upset people when I show up, "You’re a what?" End of my jury eligibility. Jury duty is necessary, and it’s an honor to serve. If the call comes, I suggest, unless you’re really a "minster of the gospel," that you show up. And outside of that one state? Even minsters aren’t excused. Probably not going to duck out on this, Virgo dear. Got some civic duty, just up ahead. And happy birthday.
Libra: By the end of these scopes, Mars, Venus and Mercury will all be in Libra. Most important is Mars; Mars is a touchy planet. It’s all how you handle this energy, that’s what’s so important. This never happened to me, so I’m making up a story — purely fictional — not reality at all — but this little tale will illustrate Mars in all its flavors.
Imagine that you’re cruising down the freeway, and imagine that some jerk pulls in front of you, you slam on the brakes, coffee gets spilled, and you say many bad words. Then you give that brainless moron a certain salute. A one finger salute that effectively conveys irritation and poor choices on the recipient’s part. Then, let’s say, a few miles down the road, you’ve been waving at this person for a while, and you get off on the appointed exit ramp and that person precedes you and then this leads to a verbal altercation and the police wind up having to break up a fight. Maybe you get to spend a few hours in the city lock-up for an assault charge. That’s Mars. Now, the obvious solution? Don’t flip the guy off in the first place. Since that’s going to be ignored advice? How about you don’t follow him, continuing to honk and salute? That’s Mars.
Scorpio: Route 66 is supposedly the "mother" road, as its history and the story of the US are intrinsically linked. The old Highway 66, and I’ve lived, at one time, almost at the very edge of the original route — just odd, that. So Route 66 is the legendary and fabled "mother road." cuts across the northern edge of the Texas Panhandle. Around Amarillo, though, another road crosses it.
The number is 87. The song is "87 Southbound," and it’s tearfully, angry song about love gone awry and fits easily within the country music pantheon. What piqued my curiosity, though, was 87, south (or north) bound. From up past Amarillo, down to Lubbock, then San Angelo, San Antonio, then, eventually, to Port Lavaca, that’s a mother road for Texas.
87 follows a diagonal line, from a not too major population center, through hamlets and tiny towns, to a huge place and then back to miniscule villages to finally dead end at the beach. That’s a mother road, cutting through some of the prettiest and most desolate country in the world. Prettiest, and desolate and in some cases, pretty desolate.
As I was looking through your chart, I was thinking about the West Texas desolation, the rolling shoulders of the Hill Country, and, of course, fishing along the coast. And Scorpio, who seems to be forgotten at this moment. I figure, you’re like, at the tip, or the top, or whatever you choose to call it, up in Texline, where 87 crosses into Texas. Remote, lonely country. Press on, because eventually: Scorpio winds up right next to the water. Where you wanted to be.
Sagittarius: I was an ex-pat Texan living in the southwestern state of Arizona, barely more than a territory. Lived out there for seven whole years, completing a university degree. Seven springs in the high desert. I saw the spring rains make that desert bloom exactly once. I thought about that, seven years out there, and one spring rain made the desert bloom.
Just once in seven years. Long time. Not a lot of water, nor a lot of rain. The red rocks are pretty enough, and the big cactus that is imagined, it’s really like that, for sure. But I didn’t get to see it bloom but once. To be sure, it was an awe-inspiring visual image, the whole valley, rimmed with red cliffs and purple peaks, deep green carpet with scattered flowers? Very nice.
It’s a long, hot summer, still sort of summer, still kind of hot, and still, not a lot of rain. In the Sagittarius vistas and along the Sagittarius by-ways, there’s going to be a rare bloom event. Like rain in the desert, that one time I saw it in Arizona. I’ve seen variation on this many times over, here in my native Texas. The late summer crops are just hitting, and there’s still another round of winter hay. Like that single summer in Arizona, though, there’s a simple point that hits soon enough. It’s a bright spot. Makes us realize how hapy we should be about the green.
Capricorn: Would you like a quick glimpse into your future? Want to know what’s happening in about 6, maybe 8 to 10 weeks? In Capricorn? With Capricorn? Around and to Capricorn? That’s what this weekend and the next couple of days, even after that, that’s what this is all about. It’s like a little, quick preview, sort of like a trailer for a movie? Like those previews, the ads on YouTube and Google Video, at the movies, and even on TV? That’s what this is about?
There are rare snippets of your future, small clues, hints, juicy parts, and the best part? The "almost but not quite" ultimate scene? You can see it now. That’s what this is all about, too, just quick shots at what the next 8 to ten weeks will hold. There’s a problem, too, and I know I’ve bemoaned this point in the past, but it’s even more apparent now. Ever notice that the trailer for a movie is sometimes better than the movie itself? That’s what I would worry about, if you have to have something to worry about, that the movie trailer, the quick clips that are supposed to define your coming months? Want to make sure you’re not getting all the best parts now. Like those movie trailers.
Aquarius: Take a step back before you plunge head-long into a new project. I know, it’s supposed to be a good time to start something fresh, but I’m wondering about that, just a little. I guess it depends on how far back you step. Are you jumping back three, six, even a dozen paces to get a good (panoramic) view of the situation? Or are you just leaning back a little, like us old people, trying to find that focus range for weak eyes, but too proud to wear reading glasses?
Sort of a tough call, is it far enough back to get a real, clear and full coverage image of what is happening? Or are you just trying it out to see if you can get a quick focus on some fine print? See? The trick is to step back a dozen paces.
Saturn and the Sun align, briefly, and that means it’s time to use that to get a more full image of what it is that you’re working on. Working with. Working for. Get a better, over-all image. Doing so makes it a lot easier to map out want direction you want to take next. Me? I used a Google Map (image) of a favorite fishing hole, and in one picture, I could see there was an underwater drop-off. Didn’t show up otherwise. See? Aquarius overview, grand scale.
Pisces: The fast-approaching Sun and Saturn alignment is like a little weight on the gentle and delicate Pisces soul. Poor dear. There, there. Well, that’s about all the sympathy I can muster at this moment, although, let’s be honest, I was trying.
Pretty hard for the Pisces. And this isn’t all about feeling oppressed, down and out. But that sure feels like the way it feels at this moment, and I can’t change that. You do have my sympathy, to a certain extent, but alas, I’m about the only person who will genuinely feel sorry for you these days.
Watch the eyes, listen to the tone of voice, and you’ll hear that patently false tone, "Oh, we’re so sorry," and it’s more like the person is just reading a cue card, and not doing a good job of reading the cue card at that. With Saturn on the opposite side of the wheel, there’s a heaviness, in your soul, in your bones, in the every day interaction with people, and that’s what feels like it is dragging you down.
Now, if a person, or a place, or most likely, an inanimate object that has emotional attachment is present, and maybe, you’ve thought about this, it’s time to let go of the weight? I’d consider the Sun/Saturn alignment, fast approaching, that’s a good time to let it go.
Aries: I was in line at a store, maybe a fast-food restaurant, I’m not sure. A fatherly figure, a young dad be my assumption, was overheard, "If you do it again I’m going to make you go sit in the car, all by yourself." And that’s what I’m going to tell my Aries. If you’re not good, you’re going to feel the full wrath of my, the full wrath, well, of something.
The full fury of my wrath? Right, like I sound like a mean one, don’t I? I can tell you’re scared, right? You are, aren’t you? Yes sir, that’s me, Mr. Intimidation. I get a sense that this is lost on most Aries, but the sense is you’re dealing with an authority figure, like that kid and its dad. And the authority figure has the power to make you sit this one out, if you don’t settle down. Mars, followed by Venus and Mercury are leaning heavily on you. Just this once, when faced with a threat from a larger, taller authority, maybe heed that suggestion.
Taurus: I forget where I was going, or even the setting. I think it was a plane, but might’ve been a bus or a train. The attendant, a middle-aged male in a uniforms of sorts, he told me to relax in the fine Corinthian Leather seat, made from fine Corinth Leather from a slaughterhouse in Corinth, Texas. He drawled a might, as he spoke. I figure, poor guy, he’s made that joke so many times, time and again, like three or four times in a single day, he must get tired of it. Not fun anymore.
Running jokes like that, they are funny, for me, the first time I hear it. After the second or third time, though, it gets thin, then it’s all nothing but annoying. Has to be a lot worse for the guy delivering the lines, too. Corinth, Texas is just outside of Ft. Worth. What I didn’t know was the term, "Soft Corinthian Leather," was first used as a marketing term, when, in fact, the leather was a from a plant in Jersey. Which is a long way from Corinth, Greece and even further from Corinth, TX. Which brings this week’s trivia session to a close.
I’m kind of thinking, though, about that term, used, lost and reused, later? Corinthian Leather? Back, about thirty years ago — roughly one cycle of Saturn — an ad writer came up with a term that has lived on. Rue the day? Enjoy the late limelight? Either way, the message is clear about terms that used, then somehow become a part of the greater subconscious. Careful with the Taurus words, they could be repeated in, like, 30 years.
Gemini: I’ve found one the greatest crimes against humanity, in a general sense, is the action of inaction. Failure to act when all that is required is a simple action? Failure to do the right thing? Failure to lift a finger, much a less a whole hand, to help? When is the act of helping, sometimes is less than the trouble to avoid lending assistance?
Stepping around a problem — especially in the coming week — causes more trouble than trying to avoid trouble in the first place. It’s simple, really, it was easier for me to hold the door open for an older lady entering the same establishment as me, less trouble than dashing in and trying to cut her off. The way it worked, my simple act of kindness gained not only the elderly lady’s approval, but as it turns out, she was meeting her daughter. Do the math, right age, that daughter, right looks, too. Added advantage, in the long range view, to know what she would look like in the future, the daughter. While my simple act of kindness was not predicated on prurient interests, that does serve to prove a point about how a simple act of kindness can be more beneficial than not acting nicely.
Cancer: I’ve been waiting, and I’ve yet to see — better yet — hear this: A Mariachi version of the classic, "Freebird!" Laugh if you will, I keep thinking some local musicians with a sick sense of humor will tackle Freebird with an accordion, strings and bass, and the clear vocals, the mariachi groups are arguably famous for.
I just love the idea.
Next time I’m in a Tex-Mex place, when the strolling musicians, either in true Mariachi outfits, or just a strolling band of older gentlemen in Guyabera shirts, either way, I’ll offer five bucks for Freeebird! I don’t have my hopes up, though, although, the image is certainly worth the price. Now that I’ve thoroughly distracted you with the thought of Mariachi Band cranking up Freebird, consider some other distractions.
