Alas, the storm is come again!

Trinculo in Shakespeare’s The Tempest 2.2.20

The sun moves into the Tropical Zodiac Sign of Aries on March 20, 2019 around 4:00 PM — Happy Birthday! Sign up for the mailing list.

Horoscopes for 3.21.2019



Aries The Ram

When piloting a craft, one of the most terrifying comments?

“Did you feel that?”

When the captain of the vessel makes that kind of complaint?

I grab onto something, and get prepared to hang on for dear life.

“Did you feel that?


Everyone has a song. Over the years, my tunes have changed, and what I wanted for an entrance song, then, and now? Changed a lot. When I was younger, I never thought about it. I’ve heard this referred to as a baseball player’s “walk-on” song. I was thinking more long the lines of the wrestling shows, and the kind of song that would blare, as I emerged from a tunnel, about to battle with, well, whatever that stuff is. Never did follow wrestling too closely. This isn’t about wrestling, or any other sport, though. This is about themes songs and pageantry.

What would be the pageantry associated with your Taurus self? Would it be an arching guitar riff? Would it be a classical tune, recycled and up-tempo? Heavy metal? Hair metal? Anymore, I would use a slightly twangy, sort of country sound, imitation stand-up bass, simple drums, snare and top hat, tapping a pedantic 4/4 rhythm. The question, and this requires some research on the part of Taurus, what would be this week’s walk-on song?


It’s a balancing act, this week, in the Land of the Twins. Gemini should be learning how to effectively balance the work load, the play load, and the laundry load. Had to sneak that one in, about the dirty laundry because, regrettably, with this particular Mercury in Retrograde, there’s some Gemini dirty laundry that might be aired out. Maybe. Maybe not. Kind of depends, but there’s that threat. “Threat” might be the incorrect word, but long-lost data might surface, and it will seem like this happens at an inconvenient time.

There’s a kind discomfort that comes from having one’s dirty laundry publicly aired. However, as a Gemini, you should realize, by now, that there are no secrets. “Yeah, I have no secrets.” I do, but I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten them, now. Doesn’t stop the lurking, and that’s the problem, the nagging feeling, that sense, you’re forgetting something. That’s what this next couple of days carries, that sense of — it is just Mercury, Retrograde, in Pisces. Not bad. Maybe not all good, and possibly quite problematic for Gemini, but you’re aware of this, right? The trick is to aim for that balance point. That balance between work, recreation, enlightenment, and rest. Maybe some rest would do you good. Shoot for that balance between all of them.


The perfect example of this week’s weirdness, in the Moon Children’s sign? The little, slim books of poetry. Not exactly tiny books, but little slim volumes, usually buried at the back corner of a bookstore. Shakespeare, Literature Criticism, and Poetry Anthologies tend to crowd the shelves, but the slim volumes of poetry is where this week’s gems are found. The deal is with Mercury in its apparent position, against, and for, the Cancer placements. What this does, the real adventure, the way this works, digging around in those slim volumes of poetry? That’s where we find — exactly — what we need. Solace, brief words of wisdom, comfort, tragedy, love, loss, all of that. The comfort that is required? Takes a little digging to get to it. For me, I have shelf full of just such tomes, collected over years and years of finding, then discarding, works. The few I’ve heard onto, these are the few that I know, in times like this, I can pull one of the slim volumes off the shelf and modern poet, or classical, or even some post modern free verse crap, one, or more, of those little slim volumes of poetry will have the secret words to help me make it through the next few days. Buried in the back of the bookstore, ask a librarian, or I walk up to my own shelf full of solace. Whatever works. Dig around in the old poetry books. There’s solace, comfort, and encouragement, words to keep you going. Just have to dig in an unusual spot. It’s there. Gold. You’ll hit gold.

The Leo

Perhaps if The Leo is a little less discriminating about certain choices? Perhaps if you showed a clearly contrary position of being indelicate? Perhaps if you were to lose some of the ice-queen characteristics? Whatever it is, there’s a hint “Patience is virtuous,” and I’m thinking, just might be me, but I’m thinking that a little less virtue from The Leo would be the way to go. Impatience implies lack of virtue. Be that as it may, this is a time to be a little less virtuous. Little less patience with those who fail to understand that The Leo is, indeed, “The Leo,” and needs — demands — to be treated that way. “We can make this easy or you can make it difficult. All up to you.” Borrow that line and use as needed. Your dosage might vary, but the idea is that The Leo can be less patient, and that gets us what we want, and here’s what makes this better: this gets us what we want, faster. Faster is better. Screw “Patience is a virtue;” be impatient. Be less virtuous. “Nope, ‘now’ isn’t fast enough. Wanted it yesterday. What are you waiting for? Move!”


Practice. Practice — practice — practice. The way I heard it the first time, “How do you play Carnegie Hall?” With that repetitive answer. The clue is that this is a situation that requires certain Virgo skills. You have those skills, but those selfsame Virgo skills need to be honed to a perfection. And how does one hone his or her Virgo skillset? See the refrain to this week’s stars for Virgo. Practice. Practice some more. There is no shortcut, this week. For me, this means standing in the driveway, last year’s fishing line on a reel, and a little dummy weight, repeatedly throwing, cast, trying to hit a certain target. Mostly, the target is in my mind, but I’m trying to limber up certain skills that are required for close-in fishing, coming up. Working the brush line, trying to get a bait snuck in and under the overhanging limbs. Bit of trick. How does one get good at a particular skill? Practice. Practice some more. Then, when I’m tired? Practice some more. This is easy to do when I’m invigorated, the trick is to be good when tired. How does one do that? How would a good Virgo accomplish this goal? I think you know the answer, right? If not? Practice. Practice — practice — practice.


Kind of an observed quality, but I tend to have a poor sense of direction. I can navigate by the sun and the stars, but that means I have to have a point of reference. In my wandering ways, started in my early youth and never changed much, one of the ways I get acclimated to place? I take a bit of wandering route. I like to walk. Sometimes short, exploratory strolls, and sometimes, like even now, a longer, more interesting hike — I can easily clear a half-dozen miles in an afternoon, and while I can stay super-connected with that electronic leash, I can also pocket the leash and tune in by tuning out. Which is part of the lack of a good sense of direction. I understand that I lack this — seen it in others — infallible way to navigate uncharted waters, but alas? I lack that skill. Now, over the years, so I can navigate back to where I started from? What I’ve learned to do is glance over my shoulder and take a mental snapshot of where I have just traversed, and get that image in my head, from the opposite side. Looking back, over my shoulder, so if I were trying to retrace my route, I would know what I was looking for. I would suggest leaving breadcrumbs, but in this day and age, the urban wildlife would eat the trail markers, leaving us, again, in Libra, bereft of clues about how to get home. Or back to the original starting point. Stop. Stop in your tracks, or, if you have an phone with an app for routes, mark the route. Something. Look where you’ve been, from the correct perspective, to make it easy to get back. Helps prevent a second, rather common problem with my navigation, “Did I just pass this way before?”


Iterations and permutations.

What we have to deal with in the land of the Scorpion.

Permutations and iterations. There’s a situation that is rapidly spiraling out of good, Scorpio control. There’s the hint that, a sense that, an essence that pervades, with Scorpio, “No! Not this one situation! Anything but that!” There’s always, and I tend to love the term itself, there’s always one mission critical — should we suggest, Scorpio mission critcal part to this, and that one piece? “No, that one!” The emphasis, the typical Scorpio energy will quietly implore, not really a loud statement. So is this the part, the piece, the linchpin, the squeaky wheel that is going to fail? Doubtful.

But with iterations and permutations, there is a subsidiary, an adjunct, a part that hangs off the side, or a mission critical accessory, some piece like that which changes. Can shift location. Can fall out. Can change colors. It’s not the end, nor is the start of something new, we’re just seeing some shift. Shift happens. Shows up, next few days, as permutations and iterations. It’s the same, only different.


The trick is just a pinch. In this example, I was thinking about a certain spice, and I use it for its metaphysical properties as much as its health and wellness (medically proven) properties. Just a pinch, though, is all it takes. I finally caved in and started using a small measuring scoop, because, my old and usually reliable “eyeball method” has started to fail, not due to the eyesight, but the way I was just sort of guessing and having it be a bit too much? Just a pinch, all it takes. In this example, the miracle cure-all is cinnamon. But this could show up as any number of spices, or other condiments, in the Sagittarius oeuvre, and must be adjusted accordingly.

Also: as a Sagittarius, yeah, why go for just a pinch when a half a bottle or maybe even the whole thing would work better? Sure! Which gets us back to the astrologically minded suggestion for Sagittarius, just as a mindful moment. Just a pinch is all it takes. Might be a lesson we have to learn, over and over, but this week, I’m reminding us, all we need is a tiny pinch to make the spice effective. Just takes the tiniest little bit.


There’s a certain acerbic, intellectual attitude that helps. Let me think about that. Or, you think on that one. Rather than action. Which I tend to implore and endorse? Like, “Please take some action now?” Instead of that? Let’s pause and think about it. There’s nothing that can’t be helped without a good pause. A moment’s reflection.

Stop and think about it. Stop and think. Think. Consider, ponder, be introspective, but pause and think about it before jumping. At the end of this horoscope, there will be that reminder, and the question is, or will be, “Didn’t think that one all the way through, did you?” As one person recently suggested, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them think.”

Yes, therein is the problem. The data is there, but have you done a Capricorn cogitation on the topic? The data is all there, but have you weighed all the options, all the permutations that might be possible given the variables that are present? Did you think about this part — over here — might interact with that distant piece — over there? I know they don’t directly touch, but like some kind of elaborate transaction or contraption, yes, they are all kind of related.

Think it through.

Save yourself pain, later, bethinking it through, now. Or not. Your choice, but not thinking has less than wonderful results.


Old, forgotten lovers and flames? What as once, and might never have been? Too funny, the other morning, in Austin, I ran across a familiar face. Hadn’t seen her in years, literally. Many years. Her hair was dyed and streaked blonde, highlights and all. Our eyes met, I got the dull, vacant glance, and she was busy running a restaurant, I was with a date, and it was brunch. I was just amused, and I intrigued. First, I wondered what had happened to her, having dropped from my radar as I drifted south and west.

This was a person who always moved with a certain kind of class, always belied her roots, and now dyed her roots, too. Casual, tasteful attired, the clothing was casual yet expensive. Hadn’t seen her in years and years. On her left ring finger, there was a sizable chunk of real estate, one large stone surrounded by a host of lesser stones. Probably cost as much as small house. Maybe even a medium house, I don’t know — looked expensive. She never was a real desire of mine, just admired from a distance, we worked alongside each other for a couple of summers. Explaining the connection was too tenuous and reaching out was a bit much, as the situation dictated. A fun, brief blast from the past, as a reminder. For Aquarius, as a reminder, let the sterile past stay in the sterile past. Yeah, that was then, this is now. As we passed each other this time? No recognition in her eyes?

Aquarius: Let it alone. It’s better this way.


I miss the mist.

Too much time on the lake, and what I seem to miss the most? The mist. Cool spring mornings, like recently? The lake’s water is warmer than the ambient air? Looks like smoke on the water, as the mist rises up. Heading out to fish, the other morning, I noticed that there was “patchy fog” in the lower lying areas. Wisps of mists. Not a big deal, really, just a reminiscent remembering of elements of my past. Recollections and such.

I miss the mist.

The mystery it imparted, the forced silence, sense of solitude, the way sound seemed to carry sounds across the surface of the water as lone oarsman stroked through the dawn’s apparent lack of light. Later this week, as this horoscope gets a little older, as Pisces feels a little older, pause and miss the mist. Or whatever it was, that touchstone to the past, and look towards that future because, sure as can be, that mist is going to burn off the higher the sun gets in Aries, now.

I still miss the mist. sig file sig file for appearances

“Nothing runs on automatic.” – L.W. “Bud” Shipley, Jr.

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