“My hands were wet when I flipped on the light switch and I got a mild shock. Did it happen because water is a conductor of electricity, or did it happen because Mercury is retrograde?”
I think it has something to do with the water/electricity thing.
On the other hand, if Mercury were not, in fact, moving in the manner it does, there is a good chance that planet Earth would be uninhabitable by the life forms that now enjoy her lush offerings. The universe hangs in such a precarious balance, after all. Even the smallest alteration in the orbit of a moon, or in the trajectory of a single asteroid can be a game changer for sure — just ask any dinosaur you know. And judging from the strange, dramatic and inconveniently air-free conditions on the other planets I’ve read about, I gather it’s a miracle that a “light switch” exists at all. So there’s that.
“How do you write the horoscope?”
Excellent question!
I once spoke with a spirit named Doctor Peebles, a highly celebrated medical doctor and minister who enjoyed his hey day in mid 19th century. I found the Doctor’s company delightful, his manners elegant, and his conversation surprisingly relevant despite the fact that he had been, by most reliable accounts, dead for nearly a hundred years.
How does one make an appointment with a century old doctor? You might ask.
Admittedly it does sound like a difficult space-time-continum issue to sort out, that is unless you live in Los Angeles and happen to come across a professional spiritual medium named Natalie in your daily travels. You know, you’re at the diner, the post office, the grocery store, and then you’re next to Natalie in the line for coffee. And she seems lovely enough. But one thing leads to another, and you suddenly understand that, social graces aside, most people — or, more aptly, the best people — are freaks.
In a former incarnation, prior to answering the calling to channel other-dimensional voices, Natalie was a professional cheerleader. I know it sounds improbable, but perhaps it wouldn’t had you grown up in a ten mile radius of the Psychic Eye on Ventura Blvd. in Studio City, California…
So, back to my appointment with the dead Doctor Peebles. Not ten minutes into it, he happened to bring up the topic of my “soul group” which was of a different astral lineage from his own, but for which he seemed to have much admiration and respect nonetheless.
I didn’t understand, nor do I currently understand, the intricacies and defining characteristics of such a group. I expect it’s much the way it sounds: a collective of souls that is in some way connected to you. Your ancestors. Your etherial peeps, or guardian angels as it were.
Doctor Peebles enthusiasm for the culture of my “soul group” reminded me of my own enthusiasm for other cultures, especially Japanese, and I wondered briefly whether, if it happened that my “soul group” was to put out a line of, say, bento boxes or an animated series featuring a mystical fairy in boots, Dr. Peebles would rush to purchase related items.
(But there I go again, projecting my commercial interests on the spirit world. I can only imagine how my material preoccupations must peeve the spirits — then again, I would hope they have better things to do than track the petty spirals of my thinking…)
Anyhoo, Dr. Peebles suggested the possibility that on Mondays, when my daily horoscope column is due for the week ahead, and when often I realize simultaneously that
- I still have about 4,000 jillion hundred gazillion words left of it to write, and that
- My mind is producing exactly 0 ideas about what Jupiter’s recent change in direction means to humankind…
and when the peculiar math involved in those word problems add up to an all too familiar swell of panic, sweat and tears followed by waves of utter despair…
… it is then that my “soul group” kicks in with some nifty offerings. And as a result of my ability to channel said “soul group” they, in fact, save the day.
I replied to Doctor Peebles that I was quite certain indeed that I had never attempted to, nor had I accidentally succeeded in channeling my “soul group” or anyone else for that matter — not even once. This statement seemed to, judging from his hearty laughter, amuse the good doctor to no end.
“All real art is channeled. Music, writing, painting — where did you think it was coming from?” he guffawed.
And while I’m unaware of a single art teacher or educational institution that has ever, in the history of the world, categorized horoscope writing as “real art,” (although to be clear, that would be super-awesome and were it ever to occur I would enroll with such a teacher in such a school in a heartbeat…) I felt compelled to reply to the doctor.
“In that case” I said, “tell my ‘soul group’ they are welcome to contribute their suggestions in the earlier stages of the deadline.”
