Fishing Guide to the Stars starting 9.15.2011

“Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.”
Shakespeare’s A Midsummer-Night’s Dream [V.i.6-8]

Historical note: it is frequently presumed that much of A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream is based upon Shakespeare’s seeing the pageantry associated with the Queen’s visit to Kenilworth Castle in 1575 – Shakespeare would’ve been 11.

Virgo: Happy birthday! Good morning! Hope this “ides of September” is treating my goodly little Virgo friends well. If you will be gentle with me, I’ll return the sentiment. When I fished almost every day, there were a couple of fish I got to know quite well. When I’d caught them a time or two, or three, or seven — one in particular — six times, I got to be rather unceremonious about tossing them back into the lake. I’d unhook, grab a quick picture, and little guys slither back, usually from a three to five foot perch above the water. Not like the guys on TV who do the gentle release, wait and see that the fish is hearty and breathing again, none of that for me. I’m fast, tough, if it isn’t a keeper, let them go. Not always graceful or gentle. As a Virgo target, as a suggestion, as an idea, how about gently releasing the fish this week? If it’s not a fish, doesn’t matter what the project, but a gentle touch is required. I know, birthdays and all, but think: gentle touch.

Libra: This is going to sound like an ad, but it’s not. Guy approached me, not long ago. A Libra fellow. We chatted, he asked questions about what I do, he shot me an email, and looked at what I had to offer. What he said? “I just want a road map for the next year.” Here’s the deal, I have two sets of “maps” available. One, get an in-person consultation, or, as an adjunct, a phone reading. Personal consultation with me. That’s one option.

Guy met me, so he knows we can talk, at least I assumed we could. That’s one option for the Libra Road Map for the next year. Another option is a transit report. I sell them, as a matter of fact, but that’s not important. While the transit report costs less, it also requires the querent, the Libra, to read through and figure out what’s important, what’s not important, what days are optimal, and what does Saturn do when it aligns? All of that is in the report, but at over 100 pages, it’s hefty and there’s a lot of crap to wade through to get to the meat.

Scorpio: I was listening to an old friend, older than me, talk about that, “First car.” What was your first car? Most folks get a hand-me-down. I did, old family car. Not my first, second or even third choice. I don’t think that first car was anywhere on the list of items I wanted, ever. To be honest, I do have a slight nostalgic sentiment for that old vehicle, but that’s not what this is about. It’s about a Scorpio buddy, and his take. “Did you know you can fit a twin mattress on the floorboards of an old Checker Cab?” I did not know that. I’m guessing, apparently, his first car was an old Checker cab, Kind of cool, if you ask me. Early next week, you’re going to get a good and proper jolt. Blast from the past, message from the future, something. Possibly, it’s a jarring note. Like one of those air horns. You’ve been properly warned about the jarring note (Mars enters Leo), and with the substance of this week (Jupiter RX in Taurus), there’s a comment to make. Punctuation. I’d ask what your first car was. I’d also suggest that the twin mattress comment was staged, can you imagine how that would go over in high school?

Sagittarius: “They’re ‘granola fascist,’ you know?” Really. I never heard the term, “Granola Fascists” before. After too much time, in Austin, though, it’s rather apt moniker for many of my friends. Although, politically, I’m really pretty middle-of-the-road, after too much time in Austin, I tend towards green and liberal, and I recall an old McGovern button, from my childhood, had an “ecology” symbol on it. Earliest of the green parties? Maybe. First of the Granola Fascists? Not likely, although the dye’s been set (in green). I was looking for way to work with the flow, instead of working against the flow. I’m not advocating, especially for Sagittarius, I’m not advocating strident measures. A middle-of-the-road approach is best. While the granola-fascists have a very valid point about being green, like Kermit is quoted as saying, singing, “It isn’t easy being green.” As a Sagittarius myself, what we’re looking for in the coming week is that middle-of-the-road, some point between the two extremes, someplace where we can all agree. Starting point, middle ground. Shoot for the middle. We’ll miss, but that doesn’t matter, it’s all in the spirit of compromise.

Capricorn: First off, this is about comfort food. For me, I find comfort in a greasy plate of classic TexMex. It’s the original “fusion” cuisine, combining Mexican (Central American Native) cuisine with Ranch and Frontier elements, like BBQ, Beef, and various other animal parts. The other element is atmosphere, and a proper TexMex cathedral must have the correct ambiance. Varies, but I’m pretty sure it is related to a Spanish Land Grant, most TexMex places sport a “Last Supper” image, someplace in the building. Often, the image is rendered upon Black Velvet. One place it was done in hammered tin with gold leaf painted on the borders. This is a backdrop in my culture, and as I was trying to find solace for the Capricorn chart, I hit upon the idea of TexMex. There are certain trademarks that determine if the fare will fit the bill. Like, look for that Last Supper image. The other point about that image? Jesus was a Capricorn, you know.

Aquarius: For the third time in my life, I’ve found myself within earshot of a working mill. Not so odd, mills are the focal point of the agrarian industry that I’m familiar with. Working mills. There’s a special sound that they make, too, usually, I’m used to hearing this at night. I have no idea what the machinery is, or what it does, although, presumably, from the name, it has something to do with milling flour. Or locally, corn. There’s a funny, to me, off-beat syncopation. Thump, thump, slide. It’s three-beat with a pause. It has no rhythm. Sounds like a large piston in a compressed air tube, going up and ratcheting down. I have no clue as to what it is, but the other evening, walking past the latest mill, and hearing the familiar arhythmic beat, I almost caved to curiosity. That beat, the bump, shush, slide, bang? That’s the Aquarius pace. It has no rhythm. Can’t get the rhythm thing worked out. Then again, I have no rhythm and poor fashion sense. That’s not what this is about. I can’t get an even pace worked for the next couple of days, not for Aquarius. Doesn’t mean you don’t get your goal, just means it’s not done at an even pace.

Pisces: I’d like to think that my mother’s version of me, as a saint, like a dedicated monk, I’d like to think that it’s an entirely accurate portrayal. As a normal human being, though, it’s not even close. While I do endeavor to live in away so as to create the greatest good with fewest wrongs, I am human. I’ve done some terrible things in my life. You, as a Pisces, you’ve done some terrible things, too. We can’t go back and correct every wrong. We can’t go back and right every little mistake we’ve made. The other part of that, though, we can’t just issue a single, blanket admission of guilt and be done with it all. A generic, “Sorry, didn’t mean to,” that doesn’t work. This is a time, there’s cosmic signature in the skies, a simple way to correct some of this. Can’t correct every mistake. Can correct one. Can’t fix every issue. Can correct one. Can’t fix the fate of the worlds, but, you guessed it, can correct one. In the course of the next week, I’d like to suggest, just as an idea, based on the placement of the planets, I’d like to suggest you make an attempt, just give it a whirl and indulge me, to fix one past mistake. Could be a simple e-mail note, “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean for it to turn out like this….”

Aries: What does it take to get you engaged? What does it take to get you going? What motivates your fine, Aries self? What’s with all the questions? Partly rhetorical, partly, though, I want an answer. When I was a much younger man, there was but a single motivation that would work for me. Simple, straightforward, in my example. Sex. I can’t speak for anyone else, but that’s one of the drives that’s waxed and waned and these days, it’s not the critical element it once was. While it’s difficult to say that it was the prime motivational force, in what I’ve observed, it’s a big deal. Was a big deal. Not so much, not anymore. But I’ve been at this game a long time. Besides, that’s looking back at my own life. Let’s look forward in the Aries life. Prime motivational force? Honest question. Now, honest answer from Aries. Sex? Drugs? Rock and roll? Fame? Fortune? Pick one. Doesn’t have to be from list, either. Can be from any realm of your Aries life. The simple question is, what is the prime motivational force right at this moment?

Taurus: Very early in my career, at a time when I was more interested in chart software than what the chart wheel said, I listened — in awe — to another astrologer. Great riches, foreign travel, and love, more women than I knew, all of that was predicted by my chart. I kept thinking about how none of that promise ever materialized as I looked at Jupiter (retrograde) in Taurus. Many promises. Little short on delivery. Instead of making vague and empty promises about foreign travel, great riches and true loves by the bucketful? How about a leavening agent? Know what that is? How about, I’ve seen this before, how about, as a Taurus, you take one step, one single step in a direction towards one of those goals. Which one is it? Travel, riches, relationship. Pick one. Then figure out what’s the next step that you, the Taurus, has to take to make it happen. What gets neglected in too many chart readings? Action. Predicated on the querent (Taurus) taking some kind of action to make it happen. Pick one, as all three will be overwhelming. Then take but a single step toward realizing that goal.

Gemini: Shortcuts. What this is all about. Shortcuts. One of the great epics of modern literature is by James Joyce, Ulysses. At one time, it was considered the most influential novel of the 20th Century. Not sure now. I undertook reading it, then got sidetracked and then had an idea. Before I was going to tackle it a second time, I would find some lit crit about the topic. Literary Criticism. In the library, I asked if they had Cliff Notes. “On what?” Ulysses. James Joyce. “Well,” the librarian brightened, “if there was ever a novel that needed cliff notes, it would be Joyce.” Novelist, that needed notes, and yes, I know. Never mind. It made her day she pointed me to stuff on the 5th Floor, Reference, and I got sidetracked. I like libraries. I never did find what I was looking for, but I did find what I was supposed to find. I tried several different books of essays about the novel in question, and that’s not what this is about. It’s about shortcuts. There is no shame in looking for the Cliff Notes version of a texts to help flesh out the details. You wouldn’t believe what I found in the Cliff Notes for A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream. Shortcuts: as a Gemini? Use them.

Cancer: After years of capturing digital images and publishing them on various forums, I’ve found that there’s a peculiar shade of blue we have for a our South Texas sky. I’ve caught it a number of times, and I’ve been quizzed about ti, “Digital manipulation?” No. “Tweak the colors? It’s so, well, blue.” No. Nothing, Just hit the “take a picture” button and then post it on the various websites. No big deal. The sky is that shade. It’s a function of stormy weather then a clear weather and then a high-pressure front swoops down and blows everything out of the way. In my mind, the weather “washes” the atmosphere. Launders the air, leave it that clear, deep, intoxicating blue. Blue sky, real, or metaphorical, is coming to Cancer. Blue sky. What this about, just as soon as Mars leaves.

Leo: We’d been flats fishing on the backside of the great coastal barrier island, think South Padre. Warm fall afternoon, got hot, really, more so than I’d like, but it was okay. In the afternoon, clouds scared up and started to threaten rain, as one turned into a squall line. When we’ left that morning, the bay was smooth as glass, but by the afternoon, there was some chop. It was a tricky ride home with a cooler full of fish. I as thinking about that last, 15-minute ride back. There was no comfortable place on the boat. Not in the front, the thin cushion on the cooler not enough padding, nor standing alongside the center console, as the waves were just the wrong size. Then, too, the bay itself, with shallow waters and tricky cross-currents, the tide and the wind, all makes for a confusing set of conditions. In this next week, Mars enters Leo. I couldn’t stop thinking about the chop on the bay. Rough, not overly so, not dangerously rough, not the biggest waves, and be honest, it was probably walkable from one side of the bay to the next, none of it is deep water. That’s not the point. Part of the idea I was sitting, and I kept wondering if my spine was being pounded and compounded. As I stood up and moved around, though, movement, searching for a comfortable position — remember — cooler full of fish — I know that good fishing and bad weather goes together. Leo: good fishing, rough travels. Thank Mars.