How use doth breed a habit in a man!
This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods,
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns:
Here can I sit alone, unseen of any,
And to the nightingale’s complaining notes
Tune my distresses and record my woes.
- Valentine in Shakespeare’s The Two Noble Kinsmen 5.4.1-6
Horoscopes for 2-11-2021
Happy birthday. Got that out of the way. There are two sharp astrological events, actually astronomical, but I interpret this via astrology, so let’s call them astrological events, and those two events are bookends to an otherwise — relatively — calm time. Aquarius life is bizarre as it is, and the added emphasis of the weekend events, plus a serious coating of valentine crap on top of it all? None of that gets smoothed over easily. No easy way through this one. Those bookends? Think about that. They are heavy, stalwart, I use chunks of polished granite, and those serve as heavy stoppers to the week. One is now, one is later, but all in the week. The heavy stoppers, the bookends? While not totally immovable, they are almost “fixed,” and as such? Relatively immobile object. Good to pile books against, which was what I was thinking about, as a container for data. That’s the days ahead, happy romantic holiday, etc. Astrological bookends serve as a guides to the week’s frivolities. Aquarius bookends.
This week requires compartments. For many long years, I toted around an antique roll-top desk. It was an original “Rail Station” desk, mail slot on one side, so mail would placed in the desk, with the top down, then delivered when the stationmaster unlocked the desk. 19th Century, period piece. Lock never worked for me, and I didn’t care. What it did have was dozens of cubby holes, mostly letter-sized, and I would keep scraps of data stored in each spot. Inbound bills, stuff to pay, material I was working on, rolling papers, the list goes on. The idea of the desk, though, with all its storage and organizational cubbies?
The Pisces mind needs those kinds of compartments. With Mars, Mercury and so forth? Need to be able to store feelings, emotions, premonitions, fears, intuitions, and loose thoughts, each one needs a separate container. Tackle box might work, too, but the fishing guys I know? Their whole boat becomes their tackle box, so the analogy outgrows its parameters. Think about that desk, little letter-sized slot for most near any Pisces condition. Feelings. Find a place for that — just for right now.
My “muse” works in a mysterious manner. I know, can’t make this too easy for Aries, right? But my muse tickles me at the weirdest times. One of the most lucrative moments is that little space, a form consciousness somewhere between dead asleep and wide awake. I hit that first thing in the morning, before the alarm goes off, some days, and after I hit the snooze button, some days. Sort of depends. But that’s where it hits for me.
I’m not Aries — but you are. Be prepared. Be prepared for that muse to come along and tickle your fancy, perhaps at the best time, perhaps at the worst time, but whatever time it is? Take note. There are ideas, inspirations, intuitions, and, most all, solutions to existing problems. The one trick to make this work? Be prepared when the idea shows up. Have to have some way to make note of what it is that you’re trying to solve, and then, when the solution appears? Thank the muse — or whatever you choose to call it. But make note of that answer to the Aries question. Weird source, but it works, works well.
One branch of astrology will delineate this as a problem-infused time. I don’t think of this in terms of trials and tribulations for Taurus, but I understand that fear sells better than hope. Mars tends to turn up the heat. Mars tends to lend an urgent, hurried pressure to an already tense situation. Mars can be quite the irritant. Understanding, then finding the correct outlet for this Martian Energy is the way to move forward. I see this as multiple routes that might seem a little longer than than the most expedient way to get there, but with the Mars heat? We take what we can get. There are simpler solutions to your very Taurus troubles, but those are direct routes. Right answers, direct action can be obfuscated. Instead of worrying about the most direct route? Look at what works, and stick with that. “Little convoluted, isn’t it?” Yeah, but the results speak themselves. If it works?
Not everyone likes this stuff. I do, and, while I am Gemini-compliant, I’m not one of the Twins, so I don’t count. It’s not so much confusing as it’s painful. Maybe pain isn’t the correct word to express it, but there’s background noise of confusion wherein nothing is quite the way it should be. Close, but close only really counts in a game called Horseshoes, and that does still apply to Gemini. But “close” is going to be good enough for this week. There’s a question of taste, a question that applies to appearances, a question about, “Does this look right?” While it seems a bit skewed for the Sign of the Twins? It’s not totally off, just might seem that way. I give it to the planets, but I see this as really an OK situation, maybe not the best, but for right now? I’d go with it, even if it goes against what your innate senses are telling you.
There’s always a classical approach that I like. A dated, sedated, mired in the olden ways kind of attempt. Only, it’s less of an attempt and more of a route for Cancer (Moon Children) success. Think: classical. The term might bring up different images from different individuals, but the idea is the same, and as much as it varies from one to another? It still means the same. The classics, classical, or even staid, and conservative. The term, “The Classics,” to me, might mean Greco-Roman literature, of which, my proclivities for odd bits of Latin are well-documented. But for others? This could mean a “coat and tie” scenario, the classical “business suit.” See? The meaning, and applied meaning, varies. Still, the answer to the weekly conundrum for the Moon Children is “Classical.” One buddy dresses sharp, in a conservative business suit, tie, right down to shiny cowboy boots that match his thin leather belt, eschewing the usual license plate sized belt buckle. “Classical.” I dredge up Roman philosophers and flout their commentary on then-modern life. That’s my classical approach. Varies. Wide range of interpretations, but this week’s Cancer answer? Classical.
“The truth may set you free,” but being too bold with it? Be good to learn a little bit of tact. Maybe a lot of tact. Me? I’m the absolute worst person to try and teach tact, not my thing, not really a skill set that I have, or can deploy at will. Wish it was otherwise, but this is a case where I’m preaching to The Leo about something I am — quite probably — incapable of delivering myself. But a little tact, a little bit of quiet while the other person speaks, the other person is probably wrong, misguided, unlettered, or untutored to The Leo’s obvious eye, but there it is. How can you tactfully point out their errors? See what I mean about me not being the best person to teach this lesson, as I’m obviously lacking in this department myself. But this isn’t about me, this is about the best route to approach the next few days, and how to make it better for yourself. And maybe, other people. Not really worried about other people, just don’t want you getting in trouble because what you said, never mind you’re right, wasn’t said in the most judicious manner. Manner of speaking. Know what I mean? A little tact goes long, long way.
“I am tactful, you blithering idiot.”
It was a cool day in early February. Sun was out, birds might’ve been chirping, I don’t know, but I had a long day of writing horoscopes, then talking with a few treasured clients, and that was the sum total of my day. The good life. The little house was cold, but the out-of-doors was warming up nicely. I pulled on a pair of shorts, and flannel shirt, and went about doing what needed to be done. I tended the garden a bit. I wrote, worked, curled up on the couch at noon and had a tamale, heated it up in the microwave, convenient nuke food, then I stood at my desk for the rest of the afternoon, working, finally, resting in bed with a good book.
Actually a good series of books, as they are fun, and not really meaningful. The point that I was going to call to your Virgo attention to detail? I never pulled on shoes. Spoke in the front yard with a passing neighbor, but no, never wore anything on my bare feet. Little chilly in the evening, and I curled up in bed, toes warming nicely under the covers. Never put shoes on.
As a measure of success? A day without shoes is a big win. This is about how to measure success. And for me, cold winter’s day in South Texas, a cold February winter’s day? Well, cool, anyway. No shoes, and lots of work? I’d call it good. But is that a good form of measure for Virgo success, too? These days, it might be less of a way test, but still, as a measuring point, no shoes? With current quarantine and Mercury Retrograde protocols in place, might be easier.
Ever watch a snake move forward? Or, how about, ever see snake (usually rattle snake) tracks in the sandy bottom of a draw? There’s a weaving, slithering motion, most often caught in comic form, but that’s how the snake moves forward, weaving a, well, snake-like pattern. Slithering. Sure. I tend to see water snakes in the lakes when I fish, and I’m not always friendly. Like the harmless ones, but they tend to pursue the same fish I do, so there’s kind of competition, there, me or them. But that’s not what this about — it’s about the way the snakes move, on dry land, or in the water, although, that’s not always the best example. As a youth I skinned rattle snakes, when I was braver. Lots of muscle, and not much else. Hear they’re good eating, but I don’t know. The way the snakes move? That’s the way Libra moves forward through these uncertain times. It’s slithering, or sassy, or dance, or wiggle — something. My visual, when I spun up the chart, was to see the way a snake swings back and forth, and probably covers about three times as much ground as necessary in order to move forward. How this works, that three times as much motion, and it doesn’t look like a straight line, but it is.
The opening quote is sad lament from a character who would patiently like to wile away his hours in sad repose, far from the maddening crowds of “civilization.” Not like he’s the first to go through that, am I right? As an avowed fan of All Things Scorpio, I understand that desire for solitude. As an astrologer, and looking at the current placement of the planets? There’s a sense that there will be no such sought after Scorpio solitude, pandemic aside. No one is conspiring against you, no one I know is foolish enough to conspire against a Scorpio, but the subtle nuanced shading of the planets makes it seem like there’s a concerted effort to get you. There isn’t, but sure feels that way.
Didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t much of a revelation, in and of itself, but I’m at a (Sagittarius) station in life, where I can make the distinction between monster tuck tires and belted radials on a passenger car. It came to me, we were out in the parking lot, and I heard that sounded vaguely like thunder, only is kept rolling. Truck tires, big truck tires, probably monster mudders of one sort or another, knobby treads, almost soft in comparison, and it sounded like rolling thunder. Minutes later, a passenger car pulled onto the same dirt lot, and those were a more uniformed, lighter whine with an echo of sorts. It was the thunder rolls, as the tall pickup was trying to ease in quietly — the tires gave it away. My hearing is shot from loud music, loud motorcycles, and incipient age-related failures. But that didn’t stop me from accurately picking up the difference in sounds, against a winter night’s sky, the difference between the two types of tires. Perhaps I’m more attune? However, this is the perfect Sagittarius example of what this immediate week holds. Listen for the similarities, then listen for the nuanced differences. Either way? Tires on a gravel lot is music to me.
The image was a travel blog, headed a paid-placement article for a spa. In the picture, there were three or four swimsuit-slim young women, hair and makeup intact, waist-deep in the bubbling waters of the spa’s communal hot tub. Each female held a champagne flute with a light, effervescent fluid — presumably champagne — and each glass was topped with a strawberry.
Hot tubs? My experience is naked in a retreat, far from prying eyes, and certainly no fluted glass stemware. The people I see in hot tubs? One-piece suit, covers rolls and life-decisions, and the beverage, I tend towards bottled water, but my friends are likely to have cans of beer. Cheap beer, if that. Think: Lone Star Tall-boys. This is a distinct change from what the image promoted, what it showed. Reality and non-reality.
Capricorn: know the difference. Me? I prefer my friends rather than vapid models too afraid to sweat and enjoy the hot tub’s curative powers. For some? Beer is good, too.